_well spoken of by all men_, sometimes, and not unfrequently, demands
a sacrifice, not of one, but all the virtues: it implies A THOROUGH
DEPRAVITY AND PROSTITUTION OF THE MORAL CHARACTER.
Our delicacy will not bear to have this matter pushed home, and brought
directly to ourselves. Our self-love revolts against the imputation;
and no man applies so severe a censure to his own case, or that of his
acquaintance. Let us look abroad, then, for what we are willing to
shift off so far from us.
Let us look for this opprobrious character in ancient times, and
distant regions, with which we may take greater liberties, and
concerning which we may discourse without offence. And when we have
found it, let us only remember that the character is no ideal one; that
it is fairly taken from the annals of human nature, and may therefore,
in part at least, concern ourselves.
A noble Roman is described by ONE who knew him well, in the following
manner[145]: “He possessed, in a wonderful degree, the faculty of
engaging all men to himself, by every art of address, and the most
obsequious application to their humours, purposes, and designs. His
fortune, his interest, nay his person, was wholly their’s; and he
was ready to shew his attachment to them by every service, and, if
occasion required it, by every crime. He had the most perfect dexterity
in moulding his own nature, and shaping it into all forms. The men of
austere morals he could gain to himself, by a well-dissembled severity;
the more free and libertine sort, by an unrestrained gaiety. He could
equally adapt himself to the vivacity of youth, and to the gravity
of old age: with men of bold spirits and factious designs, he was
prompt, enterprizing, audacious; with the men of pleasure, he could be
licentious, luxurious, dissolute.”
What think ye, now, of this character? With so various and pliable a
disposition, could he fail of being popular? And with so total a want
of principle, can we doubt of his being abandoned? He was, in truth,
both the one and the other. He was the favourite[146], and the pest of
his country: in a word, this man was, CATILINE.
But let us turn our thoughts from such a prodigy, and conclude only
from the instance here given, that a character may be much applauded
and very worthless; and that, to be _well spoken of by all_, in a
certain extent of those words, one must be, if not a Catiline, yet an
unquestionably vicious and corrupt man.
I have now gone through the several topics, I proposed to illustrate in
this discourse.
My more _immediate_ design was, to explain and justify the text; to
shew that it spake not without reason when it spake, perhaps, somewhat
differently from our expectations; and that our divine master had
abundant cause to pronounce a _woe_ on those, of whom the world is so
ready to speak well.
But in doing this, I persuade myself, I have done more; and, in shewing
the reasons of this _woe_, have said enough to repress and mortify that
lust of general praise, which is so fatal to our virtue, as well as
happiness. For what can be more likely to restrain men from this folly,
than to let them see, that the prize, they so ambitiously contend
for, would be a misfortune to them, if it could be obtained; since a
very general praise is rarely conferred, at best, but upon a feeble
imperfect state of virtue; is, frequently, the reward of positive
ill-desert; and is, sometimes, the pay, that men receive for the
greatest _crimes_.
These considerations shew the only true praise to be that which a well
informed mind gives to itself. This praise is pure and unmixed; is
only bestowed on real merit; and is nicely proportioned to the several
degrees of it. It is the earnest too of every other praise, which ought
to be precious to us. For, when conscience approves, good men and
angels are ready to applaud: nay, when _a man’s heart condemns him not,
then has he confidence towards God_[147].
To conclude: it is in this contention of human life, as in those games
of which the ancient world was so fond: the success consists not in the
acclamations of the attending multitude, but in the crown which the
victor receives at the hands of the appointed judge. If he obtains that
great prize, it is of little moment whether the rest follow or not. The
applause of the by-standers may add to the noise and pageantry of the
day; but the triumph is sincere and complete without it.
As then it would be arrogance and inhumanity to reject universally the
good opinion of the world, so it would be folly, or something worse,
to dote upon it. If it may be honestly obtained, it is well: if not,
let the friend of virtue; above all, let the follower of Jesus, console
himself, under the loss of it, with this reflection, “That it is no
certain argument of true honour and true happiness, nay, that it is a
presumption to the contrary, to be found in the class of those, _of
whom all men speak well_.”
SERMON XXII.
PREACHED FEBRUARY 6, 1774.
St. JOHN viii. 9.
_Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn thee; Go, and sin no more._
Every one understands the occasion of these words: _The absolution of
the woman taken in adultery_, says an ancient writer, _has been always
famous in the church_[148]: Indeed _so_ famous, that some, who know but
little of the other parts of the Gospel history, pretend to be well
acquainted with this; from which they draw conclusions so favourable to
their own loose practices, that others of stricter morals have been
disposed to question its authenticity, and to expunge this obnoxious
passage from the sacred books.
The attempt, indeed, has not succeeded. The obnoxious passage is
unquestionably authentic. But what then shall we say to the narrative
itself? How are we to expound it consistently with the known character
of Jesus? and how are we to obviate the ill consequences which seem so
naturally to flow from it?
These questions will be answered by considering attentively the nature
and circumstances of the case: from which it will appear, that this
decision of our Lord is founded on the highest wisdom; and, when seen
in its true light, affords no countenance to the licentious glosses
of one party, and needs give no alarm to the scrupulous fears and
apprehensions of another.
The fact is related by the sacred historian in these words: “The
Scribes and Pharisees brought to him a woman taken in adultery; and
when they had set her in the midst, they say to him, Master, this
woman was taken in adultery in the very act. Now, Moses in the law
commanded, that such should be stoned; but what sayest thou?”
Thus far we see there was no difficulty. A crime had been committed,
and might be proved; and their law had appointed the punishment. Why
then do the Scribes and Pharisees apply to Jesus, for his judgment in
the case? The text tells us; for it follows immediately—“This they
said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him.” They came to
him then, not for any information about the nature of the crime, or of
the punishment due to it; the crime had been distinctly specified in
their law (the authority of which Jesus admitted, as well as they) and
the sort of punishment had been distinctly specified, too: But they
came with the insidious design of _tempting him_; that is, of drawing
some answer from him, which might give them an occasion to accuse him,
either to the people, or to the rulers of the Jewish state.
In what then did their temptation consist? Or, what crime was it, of
which, by thus tempting him, they supposed they _might have to accuse
him_ to the Jews? The answer to this question will lead us into a
proper view of our Lord’s conduct on this occasion, and will enable
us to form a right judgment of the manner in which he disappointed the
malice of his insidious tempters.
We find in the preceding chapter of St. John’s Gospel, that _the Jews
sought to kill him_, ver. 1.; and that, being alarmed at the progress
of his doctrine among the people, _the Pharisees and chief priests
had even sent their officers to take him by force_, ver. 32. But this
project failing in the execution, by the growing favour of the people
towards him, and by the strange impression which the doctrine of Jesus
had made on those officers themselves, they found it expedient to try
other and more indirect methods.
For this purpose, having taken a woman in adultery, they supposed
they had now obtained a certain method of accomplishing their designs
against him. They therefore bring her to him, and say, _Master, this
woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now, Moses in the law
commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?_
They concluded, that his answer to this question must be such as would
give them a sure hold of him. For either it would be, that the law of
Moses was too severe; and then, they doubted not but he would fall a
sacrifice to the zeal of the people themselves, from whose favour to
him they had now the most dreadful apprehensions: or, if he justified
this law of Moses, and encouraged the execution of it (and this conduct
they had most reason to expect, from the known strictness of his life
and doctrine, and from his professed reverence for the law), in that
case, they would _have to accuse him_ to the Jewish rulers, as taking
to himself a civil and judicial character; or, rather to their Roman
masters, as presuming to condemn to death an offender by his own proper
authority; whereas _it was not lawful_ for the Sanhedrim itself, but by
express leave of the Roman governour, _to put any man to death_[149].
In short, either the people themselves would kill him on the spot, as
a disparager and blasphemer of the law; or, he would be convicted of
that capital crime, which their rulers wanted to fasten upon him, of
making himself _a king_, and so incur the punishment of rebellion to
the state.
Such being the profound artifice, as well as malice, of this _plot_,
the situation of our Lord was very critical; and nothing but that
divine wisdom, by which he spake, and which attended him in all
conjunctures, could deliver him from it.
Let us see, then, what that wisdom suggested to him in his present
perilous condition.
Instead of replying directly to their ensnaring question, “He stooped
down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heared them
not.” His enemies, no doubt, considered this affected inattention as
a poor subterfuge; or, rather, as an evident proof of his confusion,
and inability to avoid the snare they had laid for him; and were ready
to exult over him, as their certain prey, now fallen into their hands.
They therefore repeat and press upon him their insulting question,
urging him with much clamour to give them an immediate reply. “So
when they continued asking him, as the historian proceeds, he lift up
himself, and said to them, He that is without sin among you, let him
first cast a stone at her. And, again he stooped down and wrote on the
ground.”
The divinity of this answer can never be enough admired. He eluded
by it, at once, the two opposite snares they had laid for him:
he disconcerted all their hopes and triumphant expectations; and
carried, at the same time, by the weight of this remonstrance, and the
power which he gave to it, trouble, confusion and dismay into their
affrighted consciences. Without speaking a word against the law, or
taking to himself an authority which he had never claimed, and which
did not belong to him, he turned their _temptation_ on themselves;
and instead of falling a victim to it, astonished them with the moral
use he had made of it, and sent them away overwhelmed with shame,
conviction, and self-contempt. For it follows, “They which heared [this
reply] being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one,
beginning at the eldest, even to the last; and Jesus was left alone,
and the woman standing in the midst.”
This was no time, we see, for declaring his sense of the law of Moses,
or giving his assent to the execution of it; which, upon the least
signification of his mind, had certainly followed from the people (such
was their united zeal for the law, and reverence for his opinion). His
present purpose and duty was to preserve himself from a captious and
malicious question; but in such a manner as might consist with truth
and innocence, and even with a tender concern for the moral state and
condition of those questioners themselves.
No man will then expect, that, in such circumstances, he should
expatiate, to the by-standers, on the heinous crime of adultery,
objected to this unhappy woman: a point, concerning which they deserved
not, from any virtuous indignation they had conceived against it, which
they wanted not, from any ignorance they were under of its general
nature, to be further satisfied or informed. They deserved, and they
wanted to be made sensible of their own guilt and wickedness; and of
this they derived from Jesus the fullest conviction. This was the sole
purport of our Lord’s reply to them: any other had been unseasonable
and improper; and therefore no man will now be surprized to find the
issue of this remarkable conference in the mild dismission which he
gives to the unhappy person, who had furnished the occasion of it.
“When Jesus had lift up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said
to her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned
thee? She said, No man, Lord: Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn
thee; go, and sin no more.”
The story concludes in the very manner we should now expect from the
preceding circumstances. The accusers of the woman had withdrawn
themselves; being convicted in their own minds, by the divine energy
of Christ’s reproof, of the very same crime, as some suppose, but
certainly of some crime of equal malignity with that, which they had
objected to this sinner. Their accusation had not been formed on their
zeal for the honour of the law, or any antipathy they had conceived
to the crime in question, but on the wicked purpose of oppressing
an innocent man. When they failed of this end, they thought not of
carrying the criminal before the proper judge, or of prosecuting the
matter any further. To the question then which our Lord put to her,
_hath no man condemned thee_, i. e. hath no man undertaken to see the
sentence of the law carried into execution against thee? she answered,
_No man, Lord_. _Neither do I_, continued Jesus, _condemn thee_: I, who
am a private man, and have no authority to execute the law; I, who
_came not to judge the world, but to save the world_, I presume not
to pass the sentence of death upon thee. I leave this matter to thine
accusers, and to the proper judge. But what my office of a divine
instructor of mankind requires, that I am ready to perform towards
thee. Let me admonish thee, then, of thy great wickedness in committing
this act, and exhort thee to repentance and a better life for the
future; GO, AND SIN NO MORE!
Every thing here is so natural and so proper, so suitable to the
circumstances of the case, and to the character and office of Jesus,
that no shadow of blame can fall upon our Lord’s conduct; nor has any
man of sense, who considers the history, the least reason to conclude
that any countenance is hereby given to the horrid sin of adultery.
The mistake (if it be purely a mistake) has arisen from the ambiguous
sense of the words, I CONDEMN THEE NOT; which may either signify, _I
blame thee not, or I pass not the legal sentence of death upon thee_.
But they cannot be here taken in the former sense, because Christ
immediately charges the woman with her guilt, and bids her _sin no
more_; Nay, they can only be taken in the latter sense, because that
was the sense in which her accusers had _not condemned her_; for
otherwise, by bringing her to Jesus, and by their vehement accusation
of her, they had sufficiently testified their sense of her crime. When
Jesus therefore said, _Neither do I condemn thee_, he could only be
understood to mean, “Neither do I take upon me to do that which thine
accusers have omitted to do; that is, I do not condemn thee to be put
to death; a sentence, which however thou mayest deserve by the law of
Moses, I have no authority to pronounce against thee.”
It should further be observed, that although the turn here given by
Jesus to this famous accusation be indeed favourable to the criminal
(and it could not be otherwise, consistently with his own safety, or
even duty) yet it insinuates nothing against the propriety of a legal
prosecution, nor gives the least countenance to the magistrate to
abate of his rigid execution of the law which is entrusted to him.
The mixture of mercy and humanity in Christ’s decision is indeed very
amiable and becoming in a private man; but had the question been,
“Whether it were not fit to prosecute so great a crime in a legal and
regular manner,” there is no reason to believe that his answer would
have given any check to the course of public justice.
We see then from the whole narrative, and from this comment upon it,
That here is no encouragement given to any man to think more slightly
of the sin of adultery, than other passages of the Gospel, and the
reason of the thing, authorize him to do. The sin is unquestionably of
the deepest dye; is one of the most flagrant that men can commit in
society; and is equally and uniformly condemned by nature itself and
by the Christian morals. If, besides _condemning_, that is, expressing
his abhorrence of the sin, as Jesus did, he further made an adulterous
multitude sensible of their iniquity and savage inhumanity in calling
for the sudden and tumultuary punishment of one, who had deserved no
worse than themselves, this benefit was accessary and incidental to
the circumstances of the story; and, while it gives one occasion to
admire the address and lenity of our divine master, takes nothing
from the enormity of the crime itself, or from the detestation which
he had of it. In short, one cannot well conceive how Jesus could have
done more in the case, or have expressed his displeasure at the crime
more plainly, unless he had become a voluntary and officious informer
against the criminal; which, considering the occasion and his own
character, no man, I suppose, would think reasonable.
To conclude: if men would call to mind the purity and transcendant
holiness of Christ’s character, as evidenced in the general tenour
of his history, and considered withall, that _never man spake as he
spake_, they could not suspect him of giving any quarter to vice;
and might be sure, that, if what he said on any occasion, had the
least appearance of looking that way, the presumption must be without
grounds, and could only arise from their not weighing and considering
his words, so replete with all _wisdom_, as well as goodness, with a
proper attention. The case before us, we have seen, is a memorable
instance of this kind: and let all readers of the Gospel be taught
by it, that to understand the Scriptures, and to cavil at them,
are different things. Let them be warned by this example, not to
impute their own follies to the sacred text, which they must first
misinterpret, before they can abuse: And, above all, let them take
heed how they _turn the Grace of God into licentiousness_; that is,
how they seek to justify to themselves, or even palliate, their own
corruptions, by their loose and negligent, if not perverse, glosses
on the word of God; on that WORD, by which they must stand or fall;
and which, like the divine Author of it, will surely in the end _be
justified in_ all _its sayings, and be clear when it is judged_[150].
SERMON XXIII.
PREACHED MARCH 1, 1772.
St. MATTHEW, xi. 29.
_Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart: And ye shall find rest
unto your souls._
The moral quality recommended in the text, was little known and less
esteemed[151] in the heathen world. Not that _humility_, in the
Christian sense of the word; hath no foundation in natural reason: but
heathen practice gave no countenance to this Virtue, and the pride of
heathen philosophy would make no acquaintance with her.
She was left then to be acknowledged, for the first time, by Jesus of
Nazareth, who knew the worth of this modest stranger; and therefore, as
we see, recommends her to the notice and familiarity of his disciples
in the most emphatic terms.
One would wonder how a virtue, so advantageously introduced into
the Christian world, should be so much neglected by those who call
themselves of it. But the reason is not difficult to be explained.
I. It was seen fit, for the ends of human virtue, that, in moulding
the constitution of our common nature, a considerable degree of what
may be called _a generous pride_, should be infused into it. Man,
considered in one view, touches on the brutal creation; in another, he
claims an affinity with God himself. To sustain this nobler part of his
composition, the subject and source of all his diviner qualities, the
adorable wisdom of the Creator saw good to implant in him a conscious
sense of worth and dignity; that so a just self-esteem might erect his
thoughts and endeavours, and keep him from submitting too easily to
what the baser half of his nature might exact from him.
Thus far INSTINCT goes: and, as yet, there is no blame. But then to
moderate this instinct, (a blind power of itself, and capable of great
excesses) to circumscribe its bounds, and direct its energies to their
true end, REASON, a much higher faculty, was conferred on man; and his
duty, thenceforth, was to give the reins to the natural sentiment, only
so far as this supreme arbitress of human life allowed.
And hence his corruption and misery took its rise. He felt the
_instinct_ draw powerfully; and he would not take, or would not be at
the pains to ask, the advice of _reason_, who was ready to tell him how
far he might yield to it.
This wilfulness, or negligence, broke the balance of his moral
nature; till _reason_, in this, as in so many other instances, was
little regarded; and the instinctive sentiment of _self-esteem_,
long since degenerated into lawless pride, was left to domineer as
it would; universally, in the Pagan world, and, though checked by
this seasonable admonition of our great Master, too generally in the
Christian.
This is the true account of the first and fundamental reason, which
makes _humility_ so rare a virtue, and of so difficult practice, even
among the disciples of Jesus.
II. A _second_ reason is almost as extensive as the former, because
founded upon it; I mean, the power of _habit and institution_.
The bias of our minds towards a just self-esteem, not properly
directed, presently became _pride_: and pride, from being a general,
was easily mistaken for a _natural_ principle; which would then, of
course, be unconfined in its operation, and spread its influence
through every quarter of human life.
Hence our earliest education is tinctured with this vicious
self-esteem, and all our subsequent institutions are infected with it.
It is cherished in the schools, under the name of emulation; and in the
world at large, under that of ambition. Either sex, every age, every
condition, is governed by it. The female world are called upon to value
themselves; and the male world to assert their own dignity. The young
are applauded for shewing signs of spirit; and the old must vindicate
themselves from contempt. The lower ranks of men are not to be trampled
upon; and the higher, not to be affronted. Our camps encourage it, as
the spring of courage: and our courts, as the source of honour.
Thus pride predominates every where: and even the moralist or preacher,
who would give some check to this principle, is thought to have an
abject mind himself, or not to know that world, which he pretends to
inform and regulate.
What wonder then that this impatient and tyrannical passion, which
has general custom, and therefore claims to have reason, on her side,
should yield with reluctance even to the authority of religion?
III. _Another_ cause, which contributes to the same effect, a partial
one indeed, but of no small efficacy, where it prevails, is, perhaps,
the _Gothic principle of honour_, deeply interwoven with most of our
civil constitutions: a principle, in itself not friendly to Christian
humility; but, as confederated with the other two principles before
mentioned, what can it do but inflame them both, and give an infinite
force to all their operations?