them the soft name of infirmities, or by cloathing them with ideas of
pleasure, that we shall be able to reconcile the mind to them. Such
thin disguises will not conceal their true forms and natures from us.
We shall still take them for what indeed they are, for sorcerers and
assassins, the enchanters of our reason and the murderers of our peace.
The sum of all is comprised in that memorable advice of the Psalmist,
so often quoted in this place (and, for once, let it have its effect
upon us): _Keep innocency, and take heed to the thing that is right,
for that shall bring a man peace at the last_[184].
Or, if the scorner will not listen to this advice, it only remains
to leave him to his own sad experience; but not till we have made
one charitable effort more to provoke his attention by the caustic
apostrophe of the wise man: _Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and
let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways
of thy heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but_ KNOW THOU, _that,
for all these things, God will bring thee into judgement_[185].
SERMON XXVIII.
PREACHED MAY 28, 1769.
ECCLESIASTES vii. 21, 22.
_Take no heed unto all words that are spoken, lest thou hear thy
servant curse thee. For oftentimes, also, thine own heart knoweth,
that thou thyself, likewise, hast cursed others._
The royal author of this book has been much and justly celebrated for
his wise aphorisms and precepts on the conduct of human life. Among
others of this sort, the text may deserve to be had in reverence;
which, though simply and familiarly expressed, could only be the
reflexion of a man who had great experience of the world, and had
studied with care the secret workings of his own mind.
The purpose of it is, to disgrace and discountenance that ANXIOUS
CURIOSITY (the result of our vanity, and a misguided self-love) which
prompts us to inquire into the sentiments and opinions of other persons
concerning us, and to give ourselves no rest till we understand what,
in their private and casual conversations, they say of us.
“This curious disposition, says the preacher, is by all means to be
repressed, as the indulgence of it is both FOOLISH and UNJUST; as it
not only serves to embitter your own lives by the unwelcome discoveries
ye are most likely to make; but at the same time to convict your own
consciences of much iniquity; since, upon reflexion, ye will find that
ye have, yourselves, been guilty at some unguarded hour or other, of
the same malignity or flippancy towards other men.”
In these two considerations is comprised whatever can be said to
discredit this vice: the _one_, you see, taken from the preacher’s
knowledge of human life; the _other_, from his intimate acquaintance
with the secret depravity and corruption of the human heart.
Permit me, then, to enlarge on these two topics; and, by that means, to
open to you more distinctly the WISDOM, and the EQUITY of that conduct,
which is here recommended to us, of _not giving a sollicitous attention
to the frivolous and unweighed censures of other men_.
I. _Take no heed_, says the preacher, _to all words that are spoken_,
LEST THOU HEAR THY SERVANT CURSE THEE. This is the FIRST reason which
he assigns for his advice.
The force of it will be clearly apprehended, if we reflect (as the
observing author of the text had certainly done) that nothing is more
flippant, nothing more unreasonably and unaccountably petulant, than
the tongue of man.
It is so little under the controul, I do not say of candour, or of
good-nature, but of common prudence, and of common justice, that it
moves, as it were, with the slightest breath of rumour; nay, as if a
tendency to speak ill of others were instinctive to it, it waits many
times for no cause from without, but is prompted as we may say, by its
own restlessness and volubility to attack the characters of those who
chance to be the subject of discourse. Without provocation, without
malice, without so much as intentional ill-will, it echoes the voice of
the present company; vibrates with the prevailing tone of conversation;
or takes occasion from the slightest occurrence, from some idle conceit
that strikes the fancy, from the impulse of a sudden and half-formed
suggestion, that stirs within us, to exercise its activity in a
careless censure of other men.
Nay, what is more to be lamented, the sagacious observer of mankind
will find reason to conclude, that no zeal for our interests, no
kindness for our persons, shall at all times restrain this unruly
member, the tongue, from taking unwelcome freedoms with us. The
dearest friend we have, shall at some unlucky moment be seduced by an
affectation of wit, by a start of humour, by a flow of spirits, by a
sudden surmise, or indisposition, by any thing, in short, to let fall
such things of us, as have some degree of sharpness in them, and would
give us pain, if they were officiously reported to us.
This appears to have been the sentiment of the wise preacher in the
text. Avoid, says he, this impertinent curiosity, _lest thou hear thy
servant curse thee_; lest the very persons that live under thy roof
and are most obliged to thee, who are reasonably presumed to have the
warmest concern for thy honour and interest, and on whose fidelity and
gratitude the security and comfort of thy whole life more immediately
depends, lest even these be found to make free with thy character. For
there is a time, when even _these_ may be carried to speak undutifully
and disrespectfully of thee.
And would any man wish to make this discovery of those, who are
esteemed to be, and, notwithstanding these occasional freedoms, perhaps
_are_, his true servants and affectionate friends?
For think not, when this unlucky discovery is made, that the offended
party will treat it with neglect, or be in a condition to consider it
with those allowances, that, in reason and equity, may be required of
him. No such thing: It will appear to him in the light of a heinous
and unpardonable indignity; it will occasion warm resentments, and not
only fill his mind with present disquiet, but most probably provoke
him to severe expostulations; the usual fruit of which is, to make a
deliberate and active enemy of him, who was, before, only an incautious
and indiscreet friend: at the best, it will engender I know not what
uneasy jealousies and black suspicions; which will mislead his judgment
on many occasions; and inspire an anxious distrust, not of the faulty
person himself only, but of others, who stand in the same relation to
him, and, perhaps, of all mankind.
These several ill effects may be supposed, as I said, to flow from the
discovery: and it will be useful to set the malignity of _each_ in its
true and proper light.
1. _First_, then, consider that a likely, or rather infallible effect
of this discovery, is, _to fire the mind with quick and passionate
resentments_. And what is it to be in this state, but to lose the
enjoyment of ourselves; to have the relish of every thing, we possess,
embittered by pungent reflexions on the perfidy and baseness of those,
with whom we live, and of whom it is our happiness to think well; to
have the repose of our lives disturbed by the most painful of all
sensations, that of supposed injury from our very friends? And for
what is this wretchedness, this misery, encountered? For the idleness
of an unweighed discourse; for something, which, if kept secret from
us, had been perfectly insignificant; for a discourtesy, which meant
nothing and tended to nothing; for a word, which came from the tongue,
rather than the heart; or, if the heart had any share in producing it,
was recalled perhaps, at least forgotten, in the moment it was spoken.
And can it be worth while to indulge a curiosity which leads to such
torment, when the object of our inquiry is itself so frivolous, as well
as the concern we have in it?
2. _Another_ mischief attending the gratification of this impertinent
curiosity, is, That the unwelcome discoveries we make, _naturally lead
to peevish complaints and severe expostulations_; the effect of which
is, not only to continue and inflame the sense of the injury already
received, but to draw fresh and greater indignities on ourselves, to
push the offending party on extremes, and compell him, almost, whether
he will or no, to open acts of hostility against us. The former ill
treatment of us, whatever it might be, was perhaps forgotten; at least
it had hitherto gone no further than words, and, while it was, or was
supposed to be, undiscovered, there was no thought of repeating the
provocation, and there was time and opportunity left for repenting
of it, and for recovering a just sense of violated duty. But when
the offence is understood to be no longer a secret, the discovery
provokes fresh offences. Either pride puts the aggressor on justifying
what he has done; or the shame of conviction, and the despair of
pardon, turns indifference into hate; ready to break out into all
sorts of ill offices, and the readier, because the strong resentment
of so slight a matter, as a careless expression, is itself, in turn,
accounted an atrocious injury. And thus a small discourtesy, which, if
unnoticed, had presently died away, shall grow and spread into a rooted
_ill-will_, productive of gross reciprocal hostilities, and permanent
as life itself.
It is on this account that wise men have always thought it better to
connive at moderate injuries, than, by an open resentment of them, to
provoke greater: and nothing is mentioned so much to the honour of a
noble Roman[186], as that, when he had the papers of an enemy in his
hands (which would certainly have discovered the disaffection of many
persons towards the republic and himself) he destroyed them all, and
prudently, as well as generously, resolved to know nothing of what they
contained. And this conduct, which was thought so becoming a great man
in public life, is unquestionably (on the same principle of prudence
and magnanimity, to say nothing of higher motives) the duty and concern
of every private man.
3. But, _lastly_, supposing the resentment conceived on the discovery
of an ungrateful secret, should not break out into overt acts of hatred
and revenge, still the matter would not be much mended. For, _it would
surely breed a thousand uneasy suspicions_, which would prey on the
hurt mind; and do irreparable injury to the moral character, as well as
embitter the whole life of him who was unhappily conscious to them.
The experience of such neglect or infidelity in those whom we had
hitherto loved and trusted, and from whom we had expected a suitable
return of trust and love, would infallibly sour the temper, and
create a constant apprehension of future unkindness. It would efface
the native candour of the mind, and bring a cloud of jealousy over
it; which would darken our views of human life. It would make us
cold, and gloomy, and reserved; indifferent to those who deserved
best of us, and unapt for the offices of society and friendship.
The more we suppressed these sentiments, the more would they fester
and rankle within us; till the mind became all over tenderness and
sensibility, and felt equal pain from its own groundless surmises, as
from real substantial injuries. In a word, we should have no relish
of conversation, no sincere enjoyment of any thing, we should only be
miserable _in_, and _from_ ourselves.
And is this a condition to be officiously courted, and sought after? Or
rather, could we suffer more from the malice of our bitterest enemy,
than we are ready to do from our own anxious curiosity to pry into the
infirmities of our friends?
HITHERTO I have insisted on the danger of _giving heed to all words
that are spoken_, LEST THOU HEAR THY SERVANT CURSE THEE; in other
words, on the FOLLY of taking pains to make a discovery, which may
prove unwelcome in itself, and dreadful in the consequent evils it may
derive upon us.
II. It now remains that I say one word on the INJUSTICE, and want of
equity, which appears in this practice. FOR OFTENTIMES ALSO THINE OWN
HEART KNOWETH, THAT THOU THYSELF, LIKEWISE, HAST CURSED OTHERS.
And as in the former case the preacher drew his remonstrance from
his knowledge of the world; so in this, he reasons from his intimate
knowledge of the human heart.
Let the friendliest, the best man living, explore his own conscience,
and then let him tell us, or rather let him tell himself, if he can,
that he has never offended in the instance here given. I suppose, on a
strict inquiry, he will certainly call to mind some peevish sentiment,
some negligent censure, some sharp reflection, which, at times, hath
escaped him, even in regard to his _second self_, a bosom friend.
Either he took something wrong, and some suspicious circumstance misled
him; or, he was out of health and spirits; or, he was ruffled by some
ungrateful accident; or, he had forgotten himself in an hour of levity;
or a splenetic moment had surprised him. Some or other of these causes,
he will find, had betrayed him into a sudden warmth and asperity of
expression, which he is now ashamed and sorry for, and hath long since
retracted and condemned.
_Still further_, at the very time when this infirmity overtook him, he
had no purposed unfriendliness, no resolved disaffection towards the
person he allowed himself to be thus free with. His tongue indeed had
offended, but his heart had scarce consented to the offence. The next
day, the next hour, perhaps, he would gladly have done all service,
possibly he would not have declined to hazard his life, for this abused
friend.
I appeal, as the wise author of the text does, to yourselves, to the
inmost recollection of your own thoughts, if ye do not know and feel
that this which I have described hath sometimes been your own case.
And what then is the inference from this self-conviction? Certainly,
that ye ought in common justice, to restrain your inclination of prying
into the unguarded moments of other men. If your best friends have not
escaped your flippancy, where is the equity of demanding more reserve
and caution towards yourself from them? Without doubt the proper rule
is to suppose, and to forgive, these mutual indiscretions, which we
are all ready to commit towards each other. We should lay no stress on
these casual discourtesies; we should not desire to be made acquainted
with them; we should dismiss them, if some officious whisperer bring
the information to us, with indifference and neglect. To do otherwise
is not only to vex and disquiet ourselves for trifles: It is to be
unfair, uncandid, and _unjust_, in our dealings with others; it is to
convict ourselves of partiality and hypocrisy, _For thine own heart
knoweth, that thou thyself likewise hast done the same thing_.
Ye have now, then, before you the substance of those considerations
which the text offers, for the prevention of that idle and hurtful
curiosity of looking into the secret dispositions and discourses of
other men. Ye see how foolish, how dangerous, how iniquitous it is, _to
give heed to all words that are spoken_.
It becomes a man indeed to lay a severe check and restraint on his
own tongue. Far better would it be, if all men did so. But they who
know themselves and others, will not much expect this degree of
self-government, will not, if they be wise, be much scandalized at the
want of it; since they know the observance of it is so difficult and
sublime a virtue; since they know that nothing less than extraordinary
wisdom can, at all times, prevent the tongue of man from running into
excesses; since they are even told by an Apostle, _That if any man
offend not in word, the same is a perfect man_[187].
Let us then allow for what we cannot well help. And let this
consideration come in aid of the others, employed in the text, to
expell an inveterate folly, which prompts us to lay more stress upon
words, than such frivolous and fugitive things deserve. Let us regard
them, for the most part, but as the shaking of a leaf, or the murmur of
the idle air: they rarely merit our notice, and attention, more: or,
when they do, we should find it better to indulge our _charity_, than
our curiosity; I mean, to _believe well of others_, as long as we can,
rather than be at the pains of an anxious inquiry for a pretence to
_think ill_ of them.
THE END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
NICHOLS and SON, Printers, Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] διὰ τοῦτο—referring to the good effect of this way of teaching on
the disciples, whom it had enabled, as they confessed, to _understand_
the things, which Jesus had taught them.
[2] Tit. ii. 7.
[3] Rom. xv. 2.
[4] They did this with design, and on principle; as appears from St.
Austin’s discourse _de Doctrinâ Christianâ_, in which he instructs the
Christian preacher to employ, on some occasions, inelegant and even
barbarous terms and expressions, the better to suit himself to the
apprehensions of his less informed hearers—_non curante illo, qui
docet, quantâ eloquentiâ doceat, sed quantâ evidentiâ. Cujus evidentiæ
diligens appetitus aliquando negligit verba cultiora, nec curat
quid benè sonet, sed quid benè indicet atque intimet quod ostendere
intendit_—and what follows. L. iv. p. 74. Ed. Erasm. t. iii.
[5] 1 Cor. ii. 2.
[6] Archbishop Tillotson.
[7] Heb. iii. 2.
[8] 2 Cor. iv. 5.
[9] Matt. xi. 15.
[10] 1 Pet. iii. 3.
[11] 1 Pet iii. 15.
[12] ALPHONSUS THE WISE—I go on the common supposition, that this
Prince intended a reflexion on the _system of nature_ itself; but,
perhaps, his purpose was no more than, in a strong way of expression,
(though it must be owned, no very decent one) to reprobate the
_hypothesis_ [the _Ptolemaic_], which set that system in so bad a light.
[13] —μεταξὺ ἀλλήλων τῶν λογισμῶν κατηγορούντων ἢ καὶ ἀπολογουμένων.
See the Paraphrase and Comment on this text by Mr. Taylor of Norwich,
to whom I acknowledge myself indebted for the idea which governs the
general method of this discourse.
[14] _Nat. Deor._ l. ii. c. 66.
[15] Sallust.
[16] Plato’s _Republic_.
[17] Xenophon’s _Inst. of Cyrus_.
[18] Rom. ch. i. ver. 28-32.—ποιεῖν τὰ μὴ καθήκοντα—συνευδοκοῦσι
τοῖς πράσσουσι.
[19] Cicero, passim.
[20] Felix, Acts xxiv. 25.
[21] Ch. ii. 26.
[22] Ch. iii. 1.
[23] Chap. iii.
[24] Rom. vi. 23.
[25] 2 Cor. v. 15.
[26] 2 Cor. v. 19.
[27] 1 John ii. 2.
[28] Rom. iii. 24.
[29] 1 Tim. iv. 10.
[30] Rom. i. 9.
[31] Rom. xv. 13.
[32] Col. ii. 10.
[33] Ephes. iii. 2.
[34] John xii. 48.
[35] Luke xix. 14.
[36] 2 Peter ii. 21.
[37] St. John, xiii. 1.
[38] Ch. xiv. 1.
[39] St. John, xiv. 2.
[40] Ch. xiv. 6.
[41] Ch. xiv. 7.
[42] 1 Cor. ii. 5.
[43] Matt. xxi. 27.—xxii. 46.—xxvii. 14.
[44] Matt. xii. 38.—xvi. 1.
[45] Mark iv. 34.
[46] Mark iv. 34.
[47] Mark iv. 11.
[48] Matt. xiii. 58. Mark ix. 23.
[49] Matt. vii. 6.
[50] Mark iv. 25.
[51] John xx. 29.
[52] Isaiah lv. 8.
[53] Wisdom, ix. 13.
[54] 1 Cor. ii. 11.
[55] Rom. xiii. 3.
[56] Φῶς ἀπρόσιτον. 1 Tim. vi. 16.
[57] John xiv. 22.
[58] Τὴν λογικὴν λατρείαν. Rom. xii. 1.
[59] The dispute about _Easter_, in the second century.
[60] The dispute about _Images_, in the eighth century.
[61] Matt. xi. 29.
[62] Matt. x. 34.
[63] Job xxxii. 21.
[64] Plutarch, or whoever was the author of a fragment, printed among
his moral discourses, and entitled, Πότερον τὰ τῆς ψυχῆς ἢ τὰ τοῦ
σώματος Πάθη χείρονα. Par. Ed. vol. ii. p. 500.
[65] Called _Æones_. See Grotius in loc.
[66] Ἀπεράντοις.
[67] Dat nobis et Paulus brevem γενεαλογίαν, sed perutilem. GROTIUS.
[68] Rom. xii. 15.
[69] Rom. i. 32.
[70] 1 Peter iii. 16.
[71] _Les petites morales_; as the French moralists call them.
[72] Φιλανθρωπία.
[73] Φιλαδελφία.
[74] Τῆ φιλ. εἰς αλλ. ΦΙΛΟΣΤΟΡΓΟΙ.
[75] _The integrity of the upright shall guide them._ Prov. xi. 3.
[76] Δείπνου γενομένου—
[77] See more on this subject in the DISCOURSE _on Christ’s driving the
merchants out of the temple_, at the end of the next volume.
[78] Ver. 14.
[79] If it be asked, why their _feet_? the answer is, that it was
customary in the east for one to wash the feet of another. And this
practice gave an easy introduction to the present enigmatical washing;
which was equally expressive of the information designed, when
performed on this part of the body, as on any other.
[80] Grotius saw the necessity of looking beyond the literal meaning of
those words—_If I wash thee not_. “Mos Christi, says he, est a rebus,
quæ adspiciuntur, ad sensum sublimiorem ascendere.” His comment then
follows. “_Nisi te lavero_, id est, nisi _et sermone et spiritu eluero_
quod in te restat minus puri,” &c. Considering how near Jesus was to
his crucifixion, when he said this, one a little wonders how the great
commentator, when he was to assign the mystical sense of these words,
should overlook that which lay before him. Surely his gloss should
have been, _Nisi sanguine meo te eluero_, &c.—Let me just add, that
the force of these words, as addressed to Peter, will be perfectly
understood, if we reflect that he, who said to Jesus—_Thou shalt
never wash my feet_—said on a former occasion to him, when he spoke,
without a figure, of his _death_ (though not, then, under the idea of a
propitiatory sacrifice, or ablution)—_Be it far from thee, Lord; this
shall not be unto thee_. Matt. xvi. 22. So little did Peter see the
necessity of being _washed_ by the blood of Christ! And so important
was the information now given him in this _mystical_ washing—_If I
wash thee not, thou hast no part with me_.
[81] A remarkable instance will be given, in the Discourse referred to
above, at the close of the next volume.
[82] Mark iv. 33. John xvi. 12.
[83] John xiv. 26.
[84] 1 John i. 7.
[85] Rev. i. 5.
[86] Eph. i. 7. Coloss. i. 14.
[87] 1 Cor. v. 7.
[88] 1 Pet. i. 12. 1 Cor. vi. 11. and elsewhere, _passim_.
[89] Rom. iii. 25.
[90] Luke xii. 46.
[91] Rev. vii. 14.
[92] 1 John. vi. 7.
[93] Matt. xviii. 7.
[94] Matt. vi.
[95] Ver. 12.
[96] Phil. iv. 18.
[97] See Whitby in loc.
[98] See passages cited by Dr. Hammond.
[99] 1 Cor. iii. 13.
[100] 1 Pet. i. 7.
[101] 1 Pet. iv. 12.
[102] Eccles. ii. 5.
[103] Heb. xii. 1.
[104] Heb. vi. 4, 5, 6.
[105] The difficulty in the two concluding verses of this chapter,
arises from a _vivacity of imagination in the pursuit and application
of metaphors_; a faculty, in which the Orientals excelled, and
delighted. They pass suddenly from one idea to another, nearly, and
sometimes, remotely, allied to it. They relinquish the primary sense,
for another suggested by it; and without giving any notice, as we
should do, of their intention. These numerous _reflected lights_, as we
may call them, eagerly catched at by the mind in its train of thinking,
perplex the attention of a modern reader, and must be carefully
separated by him, if he would see the whole scope and purpose of many
passages in the sacred writings.
[106] 1 Cor. iv. 7.
[107] 1 Cor. xiii.
[108] As in the case of the _real presence_ in the sacrament of the
altar.
[109] As in the case of _good works_.
[110] An ingenious writer, who appears not to have been hackneyed in
the ways of controversy, and is, therefore, the more likely to see
the truth, in any plain question of religion, as well as to declare
it, expresses himself, fully, to the same effect—“It is very weakly
urged, that religion should keep pace with science in improvement; and
that a subscription to articles must always impede its progress: for
nothing can be more absurd than the idea of a progressive religion;
which, being founded upon the declared, not the imagined, will of God,
must, if it attempt to proceed, relinquish that Revelation which is
its basis, and so cease to be a religion founded upon God’s word. God
has revealed himself; and all that he has spoken, and consequently all
that is demanded of us to accede to, is declared in one book, from
which nothing is to be retrenched, and to which nothing can be added.
All that it contains, was as perspicuous to those who first perused it,
after the rejection of the papal yoke, as it can be to us NOW, or as it
can be to our posterity in the FIFTIETH GENERATION.” See _A Scriptural
Confutation of Mr. Lindsey’s Apology_. Lond. 1774. p. 220.
[111] Rom. xi. 33.
[112] Rom. x. 17.
[113] 1 Cor. ix. 16.
[114] Heb. iv. 12.
[115] 1 Cor. xii. 7.
[116]