'Brethren, let every man, wherein he is called, therein
abide with God.'--1 COR. vii. 24.
You find that three times within the compass of a very few verses
this injunction is repeated. 'As God hath distributed to every man,'
says the Apostle in the seventeenth verse, 'as the Lord hath called
every one, so let him walk. And so ordain I in all the churches.'
Then again in the twentieth verse, 'Let every man abide in the same
calling wherein he is called.' And then finally in our text.
The reason for this emphatic reiteration is not difficult to
ascertain. There were strong temptations to restlessness besetting
the early Christians. The great change from heathenism to
Christianity would seem to loosen the joints of all life, and having
been swept from their anchorage in religion, all external things
would appear to be adrift. It was most natural that a man should seek
to alter even the circumstances of his outward life, when such a
revolution had separated him from his ancient self. Hence would tend
to come the rupture of family ties, the separation of husband and
wife, the Jewish convert seeking to become like a Gentile, the
Gentile seeking to become like a Jew; the slave trying to be free,
the freeman, in some paroxysm of disgust at his former condition,
trying to become a slave. These three cases are all referred to in
the context--marriage, circumcision, slavery. And for all three the
Apostle has the same advice to give--'Stop where you are.' In
whatever condition you were when God's invitation drew you to
Himself--for that, and not being set to a 'vocation' in life, is the
meaning of the word 'called' here--remain in it.
And then, on the other hand, there was every reason why the Apostle
and his co-workers should set themselves, by all means in their
power, to oppose this restlessness. For, if Christianity in those
early days had once degenerated into the mere instrument of social
revolution, its development would have been thrown back for
centuries, and the whole worth and power of it, for those who first
apprehended it, would have been lost. So you know Paul never said a
word to encourage any precipitate attempts to change externals. He
let slavery--he let war alone; he let the tyranny of the Roman Empire
alone--not because he was a coward, not because he thought that
these things were not worth meddling with, but because he, like all
wise men, believed in making the tree good and then its fruit good.
He believed in the diffusion of the principles which he proclaimed,
and the mighty Name which he served, as able to girdle the
poison-tree, and to take the bark off it, and the rest, the slow
dying, might be left to the work of time. And the same general idea
underlies the words of my text. 'Do not try to change,' he says, 'do
not trouble about external conditions; keep to your Christian
profession; let those alone, they will right themselves. Art thou a
slave? Seek not to be freed. Art thou circumcised? Seek not to be
uncircumcised. Get hold of the central, vivifying, transmuting
influence, and all the rest is a question of time.'
But, besides this more especial application of the words of my text
to the primitive times, it carries with it, dear brethren, a large
general principle that applies to all times--a principle, I may say,
dead in the teeth of the maxims upon which life is being ordered by
the most of us. _Our_ maxim is, 'Get on!' Paul's is, 'Never mind
about getting _on_, get _up_!' Our notion is--'Try to make the
circumstances what I would like to have them.' Paul's is--'Leave
circumstances to take care of themselves, or rather leave God to take
care of the circumstances. You get close to Him, and hold His hand,
and everything else will right itself.' Only he is not preaching
stolid acquiescence. His previous injunctions were--'Let every man
abide in the same calling wherein he was called.' He sees that that
may be misconceived and abused, and so, in his third reiteration of
the precept, he puts in a word which throws a flood of light upon the
whole thing--'Let every man wherein he is called therein abide.' Yes,
but that is not all--'therein abide _with God_!' Ay, that is it! not
an impossible stoicism; not hypocritical, fanatical contempt of the
external. But whilst that gets its due force and weight, whilst a
man yields himself in a measure to the natural tastes and
inclinations which God has given him, and with the intention that he
should find there subordinate guidance and impulse for his life,
still let him abide where he is called with God, and seek to increase
his fellowship with Him, as the main thing that he has to do.
I. Thus we are led from the words before us first to the thought that
our chief effort in life ought to be union with God.
'Abide with God,' which, being put into other words, means, I think,
mainly two things--constant communion, the occupation of all our
nature with Him, and, consequently, the recognition of His will in
all circumstances.
As to the former, we have the mind and heart and will of God revealed
to us for the light, the love, the obedience of our will and heart
and mind; and our Apostle's precept is, first, that we should try,
moment by moment, in all the bustle and stir of our daily life, to
have our whole being consciously directed to and engaged with,
fertilised and calmed by contact with, the perfect and infinite
nature of our Father in heaven.
As we go to our work again to-morrow morning, what difference would
obedience to this precept make upon my life and yours? Before all
else, and in the midst of all else, we should think of that Divine
Mind that in the heavens is waiting to illumine our darkness; we
should feel the glow of that uncreated and perfect Love, which, in
the midst of change and treachery, of coldness and of 'greetings
where no kindness is,' in the midst of masterful authority and
unloving command, is ready to fill our hearts with tenderness and
tranquillity: we should bow before that Will which is absolute and
supreme indeed, but neither arbitrary nor harsh, which is 'the
eternal purpose that He hath purposed in Himself' indeed, but is also
'the good pleasure of His goodness and the counsel of His grace.'
And with such a God near to us ever in our faithful thoughts, in our
thankful love, in our lowly obedience, with such a mind revealing
itself to us, and such a heart opening its hidden storehouses for us
as we approach, like some star that, as one gets nearer to it,
expands its disc and glows into rich colour, which at a distance was
but pallid silver, and such a will sovereign above all, energising,
even through opposition, and making obedience a delight, what room,
brethren, would there be in our lives for agitations, and
distractions, and regrets, and cares, and fears--what room for
earthly hopes or for sad remembrances? They die in the fruition of a
present God all-sufficient for mind, and heart, and will--even as the
sun when it is risen with a burning heat may scorch and wither the
weeds that grow about the base of the fruitful tree, whose deeper
roots are but warmed by the rays that ripen the rich clusters which
it bears. 'Let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide _with
God_.'
And then, as a consequence of such an occupation of the whole being
with God, there will follow that second element which is included in
the precept, namely, the recognition of God's will as operating in
and determining all circumstances. When our whole soul is occupied
with Him, we shall see Him everywhere. And this ought to be our
honest effort--to connect everything which befalls ourselves and the
world with Him. We should see that Omnipotent Will, the silent energy
which flows through all being, asserting itself through all secondary
causes, marching on towards its destined and certain goal, amidst all
the whirl and perturbation of events, bending even the antagonism of
rebels and the unconsciousness of godless men, as well as the play of
material instruments, to its own purposes, and swinging and swaying
the whole set and motion of things according to its own impulse and
by the touch of its own fingers.
Such a faith does not require us to overlook the visible occasions
for the things which befall us, nor to deny the stable laws according
to which that mighty will operates in men's lives. Secondary causes?
Yes. Men's opposition and crime? Yes. Our own follies and sins? No
doubt. Blessings and sorrows falling indiscriminately on a whole
community or a whole world? Certainly. And yet the visible agents are
not the sources, but only the vehicles of the power, the belting and
shafting which transmit a mighty impulse which they had nothing to do
in creating. And the antagonism subserves the purposes of the rule
which it opposes, as the blow of the surf may consolidate the
sea-wall that it breaks against. And our own follies and sins may
indeed sorrowfully shadow our lives, and bring on us pains of body
and disasters in fortune, and stings in spirit for which we alone are
responsible, and which we have no right to regard as inscrutable
judgments--yet even these bitter plants of which our own hands have
sowed the seed, spring by His merciful will, and _are_ to be regarded
as His loving, fatherly chastisements--sent before to warn us by a
premonitory experience that 'the wages of sin is death.' As a rule,
God does not interpose to pick a man out of the mud into which he has
been plunged by his own faults and follies, until he has learned the
lessons which he can find in plenty down in the slough, if he will
only look for them! And the fact that some great calamity or some
great joy affects a wide circle of people, does not make its having a
special lesson and meaning for each of them at all doubtful. _There_
is one of the great depths of all-moving wisdom and providence, that
in the very self-same act it is in one aspect universal, and in
another special and individual. The ordinary notion of a special
providence goes perilously near the belief that God's will is less
concerned in some parts of a man's life than in others. It is very
much like desecrating and secularising a whole land by the very act
of focussing the sanctity in some single consecrated shrine. But the
true belief is that the whole sweep of a life is under the will of
God, and that when, for instance, war ravages a nation, though the
sufferers be involved in a common ruin occasioned by murderous
ambition and measureless pride, yet for each of the sufferers the
common disaster has a special message. Let us believe in a divine
will which regards each individual caught up in the skirts of the
horrible storm, even as it regards each individual on whom the equal
rays of His universal sunshine fall. Let us believe that every single
soul has a place in the heart, and is taken into account in the
purposes of Him who moves the tempest, and makes His sun to shine
upon the unthankful and on the good. Let us, in accordance with the
counsel of the Apostle here, first of all try to anchor and rest our
own souls fast and firm in God all the day long, that, grasping His
hand, we may look out upon all the confused dance of fleeting
circumstances and say, 'Thy will is done on earth'--if not yet 'as it
is done in heaven,' still done in the issues and events of all--and
done with my cheerful obedience and thankful acceptance of its
commands and allotments in my own life.
II. The second idea which comes out of these words is this--Such
union with God will lead to contented continuance in our place,
whatever it be.
Our text is as if Paul had said, 'You have been "called" in such and
such worldly circumstances. The fact proves that these circumstances
do not obstruct the highest and richest blessings. The light of God
can shine on your souls through them. Since then you have such sacred
memorials associated with them, and know by experience that
fellowship with God is possible in them, do you remain where you are,
and keep hold of the God who has visited you in them.'
If once, in accordance with the thoughts already suggested, our minds
have, by God's help, been brought into something like real, living
fellowship with Him, and we have attained the wisdom that pierces
through the external to the Almighty will that underlies all its mazy
whirl, then why should we care about shifting our place? Why should
we trouble ourselves about altering these varying events, since each
in its turn is a manifestation of His mind and will; each in its turn
is a means of discipline for us; and through all their variety a
single purpose works, which tends to a single end--'that we should be
partakers of His holiness'?
And that is the one point of view from which we can bear to look upon
the world and not be utterly bewildered and over-mastered by it.
Calmness and central peace are ours; a true appreciation of all
outward good and a charm against the bitterest sting of outward evils
are ours; a patient continuance in the place where He has set us is
ours--when by fellowship with Him we have learned to look upon our
work as primarily doing His will, and upon all our possessions and
conditions primarily as means for making us like Himself. Most men
seem to think that they have gone to the very bottom of the thing
when they have classified the gifts of fortune as good or evil,
according as they produce pleasure or pain. But that is a poor,
superficial classification. It is like taking and arranging books by
their bindings and flowers by their colours. Instead of saying, 'We
divide life into two halves, and we put there all the joyful, and
here all the sad, for that is the ruling distinction'--let us rather
say, 'The whole is one, because it all comes from one purpose, and it
all tends towards one end. The only question worth asking in regard
to the externals of our life is--How far does each thing help me to
be a good man? how far does it open my understanding to apprehend
Him? how far does it make my spirit pliable and plastic under His
touch? how far does it make me capable of larger reception of greater
gifts from Himself? what is its effect in preparing me for that world
beyond?' Is there any other greater, more satisfying, more majestic
thought of life than this--the scaffolding by which souls are built
up into the temple of God? And to care whether a thing is painful or
pleasant is as absurd as to care whether the bricklayer's trowel is
knocking the sharp corner off a brick, or plastering mortar on the
one below it before he lays it carefully on its course. Is the
_building_ getting on? That is the one question that is worth
thinking about.
You and I write our lives as if on one of those manifold writers
which you use. A thin filmy sheet _here_, a bit of black paper
below it; but the writing goes through upon the next page, and when
the blackness that divides two worlds is swept away _there_, the
history of each life written by ourselves remains legible in
eternity. And the question is--What sort of autobiography are we
writing for the revelation of that day, and how far do our
circumstances help us to transcribe fair in our lives the will of our
God and the image of our Redeemer?
If, then, we have once got hold of that principle that all which
is--summer and winter, storm and sunshine, possession and loss,
memory and hope, work and rest, and all the other antitheses of
life--is equally the product of His will, equally the manifestation
of His mind, equally His means for our discipline, then we have the
amulet and talisman which will preserve us from the fever of desire
and the shivering fits of anxiety as to things which perish. And, as
they tell of a Christian father who, riding by one of the great lakes
of Switzerland all day long, on his journey to the Church Council
that was absorbing his thoughts, said towards evening to the deacon
who was pacing beside him, 'Where is the lake?' so you and I,
journeying along by the margin of this great flood of things when
wild storms sweep across it, or when the sunbeams glint upon its blue
waters, 'and birds of peace sit brooding on the charmed wave,' will
be careless of the changeful sea, if the eye looks beyond the visible
and beholds the unseen, the unchanging real presences that make glory
in the darkest lives, and 'sunshine in the shady place.' 'Let every
man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God.'
III. Still further, another thought may be suggested from these
words, or rather from the connection in which they occur, and that
is--Such contented continuance in our place is the dictate of the
truest wisdom.
There are two or three collateral topics, partly suggested by the
various connections in which this commandment occurs in the chapter,
from which I draw the few remarks I have to make now.
And the first point I would suggest is that very old commonplace one,
so often forgotten, that after all, though you may change about as
much as you like, there is a pretty substantial equipoise and
identity in the amount of pain and pleasure in all external
conditions. The total length of day and night all the year round is
the same at the North Pole and at the Equator--half and half. Only,
in the one place, it is half and half for four-and-twenty hours at a
time, and in the other, the night lasts through gloomy months of
winter, and the day is bright for unbroken weeks of summer. But, when
you come to add them up at the year's end, the man who shivers in the
ice, and the man who pants beneath the beams from the zenith, have
had the same length of sunshine and of darkness. It does not matter
much at what degrees between the Equator and the Pole you and I live;
when the thing comes to be made up we shall be all pretty much upon
an equality. You do not get the happiness of the rich man over the
poor one by multiplying twenty shillings a week by as many figures as
will suffice to make it up to £10,000 a year. What is the use of such
eager desires to change our condition, when every condition has
disadvantages attending its advantages as certainly as a shadow; and
when all have pretty nearly the same quantity of the raw material of
pain and pleasure, and when the amount of either actually experienced
by us depends not on where we are, but on _what_ we are?
Then, still further, there is another consideration to be kept in
mind upon which I do not enlarge, as what I have already said
involves it--namely, that whilst the portion of external pain and
pleasure summed up comes pretty much to the same in everybody's life,
any condition may yield the fruit of devout fellowship with God.
Another very remarkable idea suggested by a part of the context
is--What is the need for my troubling myself about outward changes
when _in Christ_ I can get all the peculiarities which make any
given position desirable to me? For instance, hear how Paul talks to
slaves eager to be set free: 'For he that is called in the Lord,
_being_ a servant, is the Lord's freeman: likewise also he that
is called, _being_ free, is Christ's servant.' If you generalise
that principle it comes to this, that in union with Jesus Christ we
possess, by our fellowship with Him, the peculiar excellences and
blessings that are derivable from external relations of every sort.
To take concrete examples--if a man is a slave, he may be free in
Christ. If free, he may have the joy of utter submission to an
absolute master in Christ. If you and I are lonely, we may feel all
the delights of society by union with Him. If surrounded and
distracted by companionship, and seeking for seclusion, we may get
all the peace of perfect privacy in fellowship with Him. If we are
rich, and sometimes think that we were in a position of less
temptation if we were poorer, we may find all the blessings for which
we sometimes covet poverty in communion with Him. If we are poor, and
fancy that, if we had a little more just to lift us above the
grinding, carking care of to-day and the anxiety of to-morrow, we
should be happier, we may find all tranquillity in Him. And so you
may run through all the variety of human conditions, and say to
yourself--What is the use of looking for blessings flowing from these
from without? Enough for us if we grasp that Lord who is all in all,
and will give us in peace the joy of conflict, in conflict the calm
of peace, in health the refinement of sickness, in sickness the
vigour and glow of health, in memory the brightness of undying hope,
in hope the calming of holy memory, in wealth the lowliness of
poverty, in poverty the ease of wealth; in life and in death being
all and more than all that dazzles us by the false gleam of created
brightness!
And so, finally--a remark which has no connection with the text
itself, but which I cannot avoid inserting here--I want you to think,
and think seriously, of the antagonism and diametrical opposition
between these principles of my text and the maxims current in the
world, and nowhere more so than in this city. Our text is a
revolutionary one. It is dead against the watchwords that you fathers
give your children--'push,' 'energy,' 'advancement,' 'get on,
whatever you do.' You have made a philosophy of it, and you say that
this restless discontent with a man's present position and eager
desire to get a little farther ahead in the scramble, underlies much
modern civilisation and progress, and leads to the diffusion of
wealth and to employment for the working classes, and to mechanical
inventions, and domestic comforts, and I don't know what besides. You
have made a religion of it; and it is thought to be blasphemy for a
man to stand up and say--'It is idolatry!' My dear brethren, I
declare I solemnly believe that, if I were to go on to the Manchester
Exchange next Tuesday, and stand up and say--'There is no God,' I
should not be thought half such a fool as if I were to go and
say--'Poverty is not an evil _per se_, and men do not come into
this world to get _on_ but to get _up_--nearer and liker to
God.' If you, by God's grace, lay hold of this principle of my text,
and honestly resolve to work it out, trusting in that dear Lord who
'though He was rich yet for our sakes became poor,' in ninety-nine
cases out of a hundred you will have to make up your minds to let the
big prizes of your trade go into other people's hands, and be
contented to say--'I live by peaceful, high, pure, Christ-like
thoughts.' 'He that needs least,' said an old heathen, 'is nearest
the gods'; but I would rather modify the statement into, 'He that
needs most, and knows it, is nearest the gods.' For surely Christ is
more than mammon; and a spirit nourished by calm desires and holy
thoughts into growing virtues and increasing Christlikeness is better
than circumstances ordered to our will, in the whirl of which we have
lost our God. 'In everything by prayer and supplication, with
thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God, and the peace
of God and the God of peace shall keep your hearts and minds in
Christ Jesus.'
'LOVE BUILDETH UP'
'Now, as touching things offered unto idols, we know that
we all have knowledge. Knowledge puffeth up, but charity
edifieth. 2. And if any man think that he knoweth any
thing, he knoweth nothing yet as he ought to know. 3. But
if any man love God, the same is known of him. 4. As
concerning therefore the eating of those things that
are offered in sacrifice unto idols, we know that an
idol is nothing in the world, and that there is none
other God but one. 5. For though there be that are called
gods, whether in heaven or in earth, (as there be gods
many, and lords many,) 6. But to us there is but one God,
the Father, of whom are all things, and we in Him; and
one Lord Jesus Christ, by whom are all things, and we
by Him. 7. Howbeit there is not in every man that
knowledge: for some, with conscience of the idol unto
this hour, eat it as a thing offered unto an idol; and
their conscience being weak is defiled. 8. But meat
commendeth us not to God: for neither, if we eat, are
we the better; neither, if we eat not, are we the worse.
9. But take heed, lest by any means this liberty of
yours become a stumblingblock to them that are weak.
10. For if any man see thee which hast knowledge sit
at meat in the idol's temple, shall not the conscience
of him which is weak be emboldened to eat those things
which are offered to idols; 11. And through thy knowledge
shall the weak brother perish, for whom Christ died?
12. But when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound
their weak conscience, ye sin against Christ.
13. Wherefore, if meat make my brother to offend,
I will eat no flesh while the world standeth,
lest I make my brother to offend.'--1 COR. viii. 1-13.
It is difficult for us to realise the close connection which existed
between idol-worship and daily life. Something of the same sort is
found in all mission fields. It was almost impossible for Christians
to take any part in society and not seem to sanction idolatry. Would
that Christianity were as completely interwoven with our lives as
heathen religions are into those of their devotees! Paul seems to
have had referred to him a pressing case of conscience, which divided
the Corinthian Church, as to whether a Christian could join in the
usual feasts or sacrifices. His answer is in this passage.
The longest way round is sometimes the shortest way home. The Apostle
begins far away from the subject in hand by running a contrast
between knowledge and love, and setting the latter first. But his
contrast is very relevant to his purpose. Small questions should be
solved on great principles.
The first principle laid down by Paul is the superiority of love over
knowledge, the bearing of which on the question in hand will appear
presently. We note that there is first a distinct admission of the
Corinthians' intelligence, though there is probably a tinge of irony
in the language 'We know that we all have knowledge.' 'You
Corinthians are fully aware that you are very superior people.
Whatever else you know, you know that, and I fully recognise it.'
The admission is followed by a sudden, sharp comment, to which the
Corinthians' knowledge that they knew laid them open. Swift as the
thrust of a spear comes flashing 'Knowledge puffeth up.' Puffed-up
things are swollen by wind only, and the more they are inflated the
hollower and emptier they are; and such a sharp point as Paul's
saying shrivels them. The statement is not meant as the assertion of
a necessary or uniform result of knowledge, but it does put plainly a
very usual result of it, if it is unaccompanied by love. It is
a strange, sad result of superior intelligence or acquirements, that
it so often leads to conceit, to a false estimate of the worth and
power of knowing, to a ridiculous over-valuing of certain
acquirements, and to an insolent contempt and cruel disregard of
those who have them not. Paul's dictum has been only too well
confirmed by experience.
'Love builds up,' or 'edifies.' Probably the main direction in which
that building up is conceived of as taking effect, is in aiding the
progress of our neighbours, especially in the religious life. But the
tendency of love to rear a fair fabric of personal character is not
to be overlooked. In regard to effect on character, the palm must be
given to love, which produces solid excellence far beyond what mere
knowledge can effect. Further, that pluming one's self on knowledge
is a sure proof of ignorance. The more real our acquirements, the
more they disclose our deficiencies. All self-conceit hinders us from
growing intellectually or morally, and intellectual conceit is the
worst kind of it.
Very significantly, love to God, and not the simple emotion of love
without reference to its object, is opposed to knowledge; for love so
directed is the foundation of all excellence, and of all real love to
men. Love to God is not the antithesis of true knowledge, but it is
the only victorious antagonist of the conceit of knowing. Very
significantly, too, does Paul vary his conclusion in verse 3 by
saying that the man who loves God 'is known of Him,' instead of, as
we might have expected, 'knows Him.' The latter is true, but the
statement in the verse puts more strongly the thought of the man's
being an object of God's care. In regard, then, to their effects on
character, in producing consideration and helpfulness to others, and
in securing God's protection, love stands first, and knowledge
second.
What has all this to do with the question in hand? This, that if
looked at from the standpoint of knowledge, it may be solved in one
way, but if from that of love, it will be answered in another. So, in
verses 4-6, Paul treats the matter on the ground of knowledge. The
fundamental truth of Christianity, that there is one God, who is
revealed and works through Jesus Christ, was accepted by all the
Corinthians. Paul states it here broadly, denying that there were any
objective realities answering to the popular conceptions or poetic
fancies or fair artistic presentments of the many gods and lords of
the Greek pantheon, and asserting that all Christians recognise one
God, the Father, from whom the universe of worlds and living things
has origin, and to whom we as Christians specially belong, and one
Lord, the channel through whom all divine operations of creation,
providence, and grace flow, and by whose redeeming work we Christians
are endowed with our best life. If a believer was fully convinced of
these truths, he could partake of sacrificial feasts without danger
to himself, and without either sanctioning idolatry or being tempted
to return to it.
No doubt it was on this ground that an idol was nothing that the
laxer party defended their action in eating meat offered to idols;
and Paul fully recognises that they had a strong case, and that, if
there were no other considerations to come in, the answer to the
question of conscience submitted to him would be wholly in favour of
the less scrupulous section. But there is something better than
knowledge; namely, love. And its decision must be taken before the
whole material for a judgment is in evidence.
Therefore, in the remainder of the chapter, Paul dwells on loving
regard for brethren. In verse 7, he reminds the 'knowing' Corinthians
that new convictions do not obliterate the power of old associations.
The awful fascination of early belief still exercises influence. The
chains are not wholly broken off. Every mission field shows examples
of this. Every man knows that habits are not so suddenly overcome,
that there is no hankering after them or liability to relapse. It
would be a dangerous thing for a weak believer to risk sharing in an
idol feast; for he would be very likely to slide down to his old
level of belief, and Zeus or Pallas to seem to him real powers once
more.
The considerations in verse 7 would naturally be followed by the
further thoughts in verse 9, etc. But, before dealing with these,
Paul interposes another thought in verse 8, to the effect that
partaking of or abstinence from any kind of food will not, in itself,
either help or hinder the religious life. The bearing of that
principle on his argument seems to be to reduce the importance of the
whole question, and to suggest that, since eating of idol sacrifices
could not be called a duty or a means of spiritual progress, the way
was open to take account of others' weakness as determining our
action in regard to it. A modern application may illustrate the
point. Suppose that a Christian does not see total abstinence from
intoxicants to be obligatory on him. Well, he cannot say that
drinking is so, or that it is a religious duty, and so the way is
clear for urging regard to others' weakness as an element in the
case.
That being premised, Paul comes to his final point; namely, that
Christian men are bound to restrict their liberty so that they shall
not tempt weaker brethren on to a path on which they cannot walk
without stumbling. He has just shown the danger to such of partaking
of the sacrificial feasts. He now completes his position by showing,
in verse 10, that the stronger man's example may lead the weaker to
do what he cannot do innocently. What is harmless to us may be fatal
to others, and, if we have led them to it, their blood is on our
heads.
The terrible discordance of such conduct with our Lord's example,
which should be our law, is forcibly set forth in verse 11, which has
three strongly emphasised thoughts--the man's fate--he perishes; his
relation to his slayer--a brother; what Christ did for the man whom a
Christian has sent to destruction--died for him. These solemn
thoughts are deepened in verse 12, which reminds us of the intimate
union between the weakest and Christ, by which He so identifies
Himself with them that any blow struck on them touches Him.
There is no greater sin than to tempt weak or ignorant Christians to
thoughts or acts which their ignorance or weakness cannot entertain
or do without damage to their religion. There is much need for laying
that truth to heart in these days. Both in the field of speculation
and of conduct, Christians, who think that they know so much better
than ignorant believers, need to be reminded of it.
So Paul, in verse 13, at last answers the question. His sudden
turning to his own conduct is beautiful. He will not so much command
others, as proclaim his own determination. He does so with
characteristic vehemence and hyperbole. No doubt the liberal party in
Corinth were ready to complain against the proposal to restrict their
freedom because of others' weakness; and they would be disarmed, or
at least silenced, and might be stimulated to like noble resolution,
by Paul's example.
The principle plainly laid down here is as distinctly applicable to
the modern question of abstinence from intoxicants. No one can doubt
that 'moderation' in their use by some tempts others to use which
soon becomes fatally immoderate. The Church has been robbed of
promising members thereby, over and over again. How can a Christian
man cling to a 'moderate' use of these things, and run the risk of
destroying by his example a brother for whom Christ died?