state, had been carried, by his zeal, into all the horrors of
persecution. And _these things_, he says, _he verily believed he ought
to do, contrary to the name of Jesus_.
“But what, you will ask, did this _belief_ then justify those crimes?
And, are blasphemy, murder, and persecution, innocent things, from the
time that a man persuades himself he ought to commit them? This would
open a door to all the evils of the most outrageous fanaticism, and
evacuate the whole moral law, under the pretence of conscience.”
In general, it would do so: and we shall presently find, that St. Paul
does not pretend to justify _himself_, notwithstanding _he verily
believed he ought to do these things_. But to see the degree of his
crime, it will be convenient, and but just to the criminal, to call to
mind, in the first place, the peculiar circumstances under which it was
committed.
Paul was at that time a Jew; and, as a follower of this law, his
conduct, supposing his conscience to have been rightly informed, had
not been blameable; on the contrary, had been highly meritorious. For
the law of Moses made the restraint of opinions, in matter of religion,
lawful: Heterodoxy was to a Jew but another word for disloyalty; and
a zeal to see the rigour of the law executed on that crime, was the
honour of a Jewish subject. Paul, then, conceiving of Jesus as a false
prophet, and the author of a new worship, contrary to that of the God
of Israel, Paul, I say, regarding Jesus in this light, but conformed
to the spirit of the law, when he joined in persecuting the Jewish
Christians, and must esteem himself to have deserved well of it.
And this he, in fact, did. For, reckoning up the several merits,
which, as a Jew, he might claim to himself, he mentions this
zeal of persecution, as one, which did him honour, under that
character—_Concerning zeal_, says he, PERSECUTING THE CHURCH[136].
The crime of Paul, then, as of the other Jews, in persecuting Christ
and his religion, was not _simply_ the crime of persecution (for,
had that religion been a false one, by the peculiar structure of the
Jewish œconomy, there would have been no crime at all in punishing
such of the Jews, as professed themselves of it); but his guilt was,
and, in general, the guilt of the other Jews was, in misapplying the
law to this particular case; in persecuting a just and divine person,
whom their own prophets had foretold and pointed out, who came in no
opposition to the Jewish law, nay, who came _not to destroy_, but _to
fulfill_[137].
The conclusion is, that, though _persecution_ be on no pretence of
conscience excusable in another man, yet in a Jew, and as directed
against an apostate Jew, it had not this malignity, and was not the
proper subject of his abhorrence[138].
To the question then, “Whether Paul’s belief justified his practice,
in the case before us, that is, whether he did right _in doing that
which he verily believed he ought to do_,” You may take his own
answer—_This_, says he, _is a faithful saying, and worthy of all
acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners_,
OF WHOM I AM CHIEF[139]. He owns himself, we see, to have been _the
chief of sinners_, that is, making all allowance for the hyperbole and
modesty of the expression, a very great sinner. And if you ask in what
respect, he tells you that, too: for, in the immediately preceding
verses, he declares the ground of this charge upon himself, _That he
had been a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious_. And in another
place he says of himself, _I am the least of the Apostles; that am
not meet to be called an Apostle, because I persecuted the church of
God_[140].
You see, then, that, notwithstanding his former religion authorized
him to persecute its enemies, notwithstanding he verily believed, that
he ought to persecute Jesus as such, yet he now condemns himself,
as having grievously sinned in giving way to that authority, and to
that persuasion. How is this conduct to be accounted for and made
consistent? plainly, by observing, that he had persecuted without
warrant, even from his former religion; that he had culpably and rashly
overlooked (what he might and ought to have seen) that Jesus was no
fit object of this severity even to a Jew, that he was no enemy or
subverter of the Jewish law, that he was no rebel to the God and king
of Israel, but came indeed from him, acted by his commission, and
displayed all the signs and credentials of the Messiah, in whom the law
and the prophets were finally to be completed.
Without doubt, his being now of a religion, which forbad persecution,
under all its forms, sharpened his sense of this crime, and may perhaps
account for his calling himself the _chief_ of sinners; yet, that the
persecution of Christians was to him a crime, and that he had sinned
in committing it, he could not but know, and is clearly to be inferred
from his expression. All the use he makes of his Jewish persuasion,
is, but to palliate something what he knew was without excuse:—_I
obtained mercy_, says he, _because I did it ignorantly in unbelief_:
that is, because I persecuted in my _unbelieving_ state of a Jew,
and was kept, by the genius of the Mosaic law, from _knowing_ and
considering the general malignity of persecution. And that there may
be some ground of mercy in this consideration, who can doubt, when we
find the Son of God interceding for his very murderers on the same
principle—_Father_, says he, _forgive them, for they know not what
they do_.
There was this difference, you see, between a Jewish and a Gentile
persecutor. The _Jew_ was answerable for his not seeing that Jesus
was the Messiah: The _Gentile_ was to answer for that ignorance, and
for his not seeing the general iniquity of persecution, on account of
religion.
Paul, however, was certainly to blame; nay, he takes much blame on
himself, for acting _ignorantly_ against the name of Jesus, though his
ignorance was of the former kind only.
2. But now another question, and a very important one, arises out of
this state of the case. Paul _verily thought_ that the religion of
Jesus was an imposture. Yet he was _mistaken_ in thinking so; and, what
is more, his mistake was highly _criminal_.
What then shall we say to those persons, who affirm, that, provided a
man be _persuaded_ of the truth of his opinions, he is not answerable
for his mistakes? or, in other words, what becomes of that notion which
many have taken up, concerning _the innocency of error in matters of
religion_?
I understand what is generally alledged in support of this candid and
conciliating opinion. But the text says expressly, that Paul _verily
believed he ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus_; and
with all this firmness of belief Paul was _the chief of sinners_.
Men therefore conclude too hastily, when from the sole _persuasion_ of
their sincerity they infer the innocence of their errors.
“But what then would you require of poor unhappy man, whose _reason_ is
naturally so weak, and whose _prejudices_ are often so strong?” Why,
to use the force he has; to consider well whether he be indeed sincere
(for to be firmly, and to be _sincerely_ persuaded, is not always the
same thing); to employ his reason, such as it is, with care, and to
controul his prejudices, what he can, by an impartial examination.
All this, it will be answered, is already done. It may be so. Let me
then have leave to interrogate the sincere rejecter of Christianity,
and try his good faith, of which he is so well assured, by the
following questions.
“Has he cultivated his mind, and furnished himself with the requisite
helps for religious inquiry? Has he studied the sacred volumes
with care? Has he considered their scope and end? their genius and
character? Has he fixed the boundaries of reason and of faith? Does
he know where the province of the former ends, and where that of the
second commences? Has he studied himself, his faculties and powers, his
wants and necessities? Has he weighed the importance of the search,
he is making into the will and word of God? Has he made that search
with a suitable diligence and sobriety? Has he accustomed himself to
the investigation of moral evidence? Has he collected, compared, and
estimated, what is brought in evidence for the truth of the Christian
religion? Has he, in short, (for I address myself to capable inquirers
only) omitted none of those means which reason requires, and employed
all that industry, and thought, and application, which the sincere love
of truth demands on so momentous an occasion?
“Still, I have other inquiries to make. Has he approached the sanctuary
of religion with awe? Has he purged his mind from all gross, nay from
all refined vices? Had he no interest to serve, no prejudice to sooth,
no predominant passion to gratify, by a hasty conclusion concerning the
truth of Christianity? Or, (not to suspect a philosophic mind of these
vulgar illusions) had he no vanity to flatter, no capricious levity to
indulge, by a short and disdainful rejection of it? Had he no spleen
to divert, no regard of fashion, no partialities of acquaintance or
education to mislead him, from conviction? Had he no secret wish or
hope, which he scarcely durst tell to himself, that his inquiry would
end in doubt at least, if not in infidelity? In a word, can he assure
himself, that in these several respects, he had no bias on his mind, or
did his best at least to have none, against a conclusion, to which an
impartial love of truth might invite and compell him?”
Had St. Paul himself been questioned in this manner, concerning his
sincere belief, that he _ought to do many things contrary to the name
of Jesus_, he would hardly, I suppose, have said, that he had fulfilled
all these conditions;—But we know what he did say, to himself and to
the world: He said, He was THE CHIEF OF SINNERS.
So remote is persuasion from sincerity! and so little acquainted, many
times, are _innocence and error_!
But ‘these questions, it will be said, may be retorted on the believer;
who may be neither more diligent, nor more impartial in his inquiries,
than the unbeliever.’
Allow that they may; yet observe the immense difference of the two
cases, in regard both to the _danger_ incurred, and to the _crime_
committed.
If I _believe_, on insufficient grounds, what do I lose? only what I
can well spare; my unbelief and my vices. And what do I gain? that,
which of all things is most precious to me; peace of mind, and the
hopes of heaven. On the other hand, if I _disbelieve_, I lose all that
is valuable in both worlds, and gain nothing but the sad privilege of
being set free from the restraints of this religion[141].
Consider, too, the difference of the _crime_, in the two cases. If the
Christian errs in admitting the truth of his religion, he has only
to answer for his ill judgment, at most: he could be drawn to this
persuasion by no criminal motives: for, which of these could bias
him to the belief of the holiest of all religions? If the error lies
on the other side, in rejecting this religion, how shall he know,
that, besides the blame of judging ill, some immoral purposes and
dispositions may not have secretly concurred to pervert his judgment?
The Christian may be unreasonable: but the unbeliever, I do not say,
certainly, but, is too probably _vicious_.
Thus the danger, in all views, is on the unbelieving side. And if there
be difficulty in knowing when I am sincere, there is none in knowing
which of the two mistakes is safer and less criminal.
It will be said, perhaps, that an inquirer may be biassed in favour
of Christianity by corrupt motives, that is, by views of _credit_
or _interest_, attending the profession of it, in countries where
this religion is legally established. Without doubt. But such persons
can hardly put themselves in the case of St. Paul, and say, They are
_verily persuaded_, they ought to be Christians. For such gross motives
can be no secret to their own hearts, and they cannot but know that
Christianity condemns all such motives. I regard then such persons
in the light of _hypocrites_ confessed, and by no means in that of
_believers_. On the other hand, men may _affect_ to disbelieve from the
like views of _credit_ or _interest_, in certain circumstances; and so
become hypocrites of another kind; of which the number is, perhaps, not
inconsiderable. But I am here speaking of such corrupt partialities
as may consist with a firm belief, or disbelief of Christianity. And
here it is plain, the criminality is likely to be much greater in him
who without ground rejects, than in him who too hastily admits such a
religion.
To conclude, then, with the case of St. Paul, which has given occasion
to these reflexions.
No firmness of persuasion, it is plain, can justify a man in being led
by it into the commission of gross and acknowledged crimes. And the
reason is, that no persuasion of the truth of any principle can be
greater than that which every man has that he ought not to commit such
actions. If St. Paul’s persuasion saved him from this guilt, it was
owing to the peculiar genius of the Jewish religion.
But, further, St. Paul was blameable for taking up that _persuasion_,
on which he acted. His mind had been corrupted by hasty prejudices,
and ungoverned passion. He concluded too fast, then, when he thought
his persuasion _sincere_, though it was indeed strong and violent. His
persuasion did not exclude error, and that error implied insincerity,
and so was not _innocent_.
It follows from the whole, that we ought never to _act_ wrong on
the pretence of conscience; and that we should learn to suspect the
possibility of guilt’s mixing itself even with what we call our
speculative opinions. Error may be innocent; but not so long as truth
lies before us, and we may, if we do our duty, discover it. Let our
inquiries, then, in all matters of moment, above all in those of
religion, be diligent, and strictly honest. Where these precautions are
not observed, our mistakes are always blameable, because in some degree
they are wilful and insincere.
SERMON XXI.
PREACHED MAY 10, 1767.
St. LUKE, vi. 26.
_Woe unto you, when all men speak well of you._
Among other _woes_ denounced in this chapter by our Saviour against
different sorts of men, we have one in the text against _those, of whom
all men speak well_.
The reason of this severe sentence may not appear at first sight:
first, because it may not immediately occur to us, what hurt or
inconvenience there can be in every man’s good word; and, secondly,
because every man’s good word is not likely to be had.
As to this last particular, it is true, the praise of _all men_, in
the full extent of the words, is not to be obtained. But the sense of
the text requires, only, that we understand a very general praise;
and this we see many men obtain: And if we only want to know, in what
respects, the possession of this praise can be deemed a misfortune, we
shall find them, I suppose, (without looking further) in the following
considerations.
The WOE, of being _well spoken of by all men_, may be apprehended,
if we reflect, That (taking the world as it is) its good word, so
largely bestowed on any man, implies _a mediocrity of virtue, at the
best_;—that it frequently implies, _a considerable degree of positive
ill-desert_;—that it sometimes implies, _a thorough depravity and
prostitution of the moral character_.
From these THREE considerations, I propose to illustrate the _woe_ of
the text.—In moral discourses, it is scarce possible to avoid very
general assertions. These may sometimes want to be restrained: but ye
will do it for yourselves, as ye see cause; for the appeal lies, all
along, to your own bosoms and experience.
I. I say then, _first_; that to be _well spoken of by all men_, implies
A MEDIOCRITY OF VIRTUE AT THE BEST.
And the assertion is founded on many reasons. An eminent degree
of virtue excites envy; is not generally understood; is unapt to
accommodate itself to men’s views and expectations; and, lastly, is
liable to some excesses, and connected with some infirmities, which
are either peculiar to itself, or would less disgrace a virtue of the
common stamp.
Let us weigh these several reasons.
1. The chapter of _envy_ is a common one, and has been exhausted by
every moralist. When a man’s worth lifts him above the generality
of his species, he is thought to depress those who feel themselves
beneath him. Their pride is hurt, their self-love is mortified, by
the acknowledged preference. And in this state of things, no wonder
that much industry is employed to obscure a virtue, whose unclouded
splendour would give pain.
2. But men sometimes detract from a superior character, with perfect
good faith. It is not envy, but _inapprehension_, which sets them on
work. For it is with some virtues, as with those sublimer graces in a
work of art of genius: few, but such as could have set the example,
have any idea or conception of them.
Thus, a disinterested goodness, when carried to a certain length; a
generosity of mind, when stretched beyond certain bounds; a sense of
honour, operating to a certain degree; in a word, temperance, justice,
piety, humanity, any or all of these virtues, exalted to a certain
pitch, are either not comprehended, or are perhaps traduced, as marks
of folly and extravagance, by those who are not capable of ascending to
these heights themselves. Of which, the instances are so frequent in
all history, and even in common life, that no man wants to be reminded
of them.
3. Still, if superior virtue were only envied, or ill-understood,
the misfortune would not be so great. It is, besides, _active,
enterprising, constant, and inflexible_. It contents not itself
with being merely passive, innoxious, blameless: it would oblige,
befriend, and merit of mankind. It would be distinguished by actual
services, or at least by glorious attempts. And in prosecuting these,
it consults no man’s occasions; bends to no man’s prejudices; leans to
no partial interests or considerations; is simple, uniform, invariable,
and holds on its course, steadily and directly, towards its main end
and scope. There is a magnanimity in true worth and goodness, which
scorns and rejects all disguises, and would appear and be itself.
A character of this stamp is too awful to be popular. There is
something of terror in so sublime a virtue; and those who are
distinguished by it, may be esteemed, perhaps, and revered, but are
rarely applauded by the world. What difference between the divine
integrity of Cato, and the specious temporizing virtues of Cæsar! Yet,
if history had been silent, we should easily have known which of these
men was destined to be the idol of the Roman people.
4. Nor is even this the worst. Virtue, in this exalted state, is not
easily restrained from running, at times, into certain EXCESSES:
_excesses_, which spring, as it were, from its very essence, and
which the truly wise allow for, excuse, and almost admire; but which
hurt the reputation more, with base and ordinary minds, than the
virtue itself, under a due exertion, serves and promotes it.
When the virtuous Brutus, in the crisis of the Roman state, struggling
for its last breath of liberty, chose rather to put everything to
hazard, than _violate the strict forms of law and justice_[142]:—And
again, when our virtuous Falkland was kept, by his nice sense of
honour, from _taking some liberties_[143], which the duty of his place,
the public service, and the practice of all times, might seem to
authorize; when these great men, I say, erred from an excess of virtue,
a thousand tongues were ready to blaspheme, and even ridicule their
mistakes, while one or two only revered the honesty of mind, which gave
birth to them.
These glorious excesses, which are frequent in a virtuous character,
hardly deserve the name of infirmities: yet _infirmities_, in the
common sense of the word, are the lot of human nature, in whatever
state of perfection. That heat of mind, which nourishes heroic virtue,
is apt to produce these; and, as the noblest genius sometimes lets fall
inaccuracies, which moderate talents would correct; so the best man
sometimes commits extravagancies, which a moderate virtue would avoid:
and when this mischance happens, the infirmity is sure to be observed,
and never pardoned. Or, let the weakness be such, as is incident to our
common nature; still its effects are very different; it shall eclipse
half the virtues of an excellent man, and, in a common character, be
either not seen, or not regarded.
So true it is, that, to be _well spoken of by all men_, implies but
an ordinary share of virtue, at best! For, consider these several
circumstances, and see what a shade they cast on the reputation of
extraordinary men. To shine out in the full lustre of a general flame,
is reserved for those, _whose virtue is not of a size to give umbrage;
whose merits are to the level of all eyes; who adapt themselves with
dexterity to all occasions; and who are kept, by their very mediocrity,
from any infirmity, or excess_.
And it would be well, if the _woe_ ended here; if the misfortune of
these applauded men were negative only, and amounted to no more than
the absence of vice, or the possession of virtue in the common degrees.
But, I doubt, it amounts to much more: it frequently implies
II. A CONSIDERABLE DEGREE OF POSITIVE ILL-DESERT.
When the Jews, in a fit of ignorant zeal, were taking up stones to cast
at our blessed Lord, he said to them: _Many_ GOOD WORKS _have I shewed
you from my Father; for which of_ THESE _works do ye stone me_[144]?
Intimating, that the resentment of a misjudging multitude is generally
occasioned by praise-worthy actions. On the same principle, when shouts
of popular applause are sounding in a man’s ears, he may reasonably
ask, _For which of my_ EVIL DEEDS _is this praise wasted upon me_? For
it is just as much to be expected that a clamorous praise should attend
a bad action, as that a clamorous rage should be excited by a good one.
And if we look abroad into the world, we shall find, that it is not
virtue, in whatever degree, but some popular vice, that too oft engages
its warmest approbation. In fact, even a moderate share of virtue,
joined to an inoffensive character, shall more frequently secure a
man from the censure, than procure him the applause of mankind. To
be generally _well spoken of_, he must do more than not offend: he
must merit his reward, before it is conferred upon him. And, though
illustrious services may sometimes extort this reward, yet the surer
and easier way to obtain it, is to please. And when I am to please _all
men_, in order to obtain the suffrage of all, tell me what way there
is of executing this project, without dishonouring myself. Men are not
pleased, unless I humour their foibles, sooth their vices, serve their
ill ends, or unjustifiable passions; and _woe_ unto me, if I acquire
their good opinion by these means.
But suppose I am restrained by some sense of decency and of duty, and
not disposed to run all lengths in my endeavours to please. Still it is
not nothing, to be silent where virtue bids me speak; it is something,
to give a man leave to think he is honoured by me for that which
deserves blame; it is base, to flatter and extoll immoderately even his
good qualities; and it is flagitious to countenance and inflame his bad
ones.
Yet one or other of these ways must he take, who is ambitious of every
man’s good word. And is there no _woe_, think ye, in such a conduct
as this? Suppose I but sacrifice one virtue to my reputation, but one
generous quality to my passion for fame; still am I innocent in making
this sacrifice? Can I applaud myself for making thus free with my
moral character? Or, rather, have I not cause to humble myself under a
sense of my ill-desert?
Yes, _woe_ to that man, who, to be well with the world, or with any
part of it, deserts any one virtuous principle, transgresses any one
known duty, corrupts his conscience with any one deliberate vice. Let
the world’s applause be what it will; he is a loser who gains it on
such terms.
But I am still putting matters at the best; For,