power of self-inspection. The brute creation possesses many attributes
that are common to human nature, but it has no faculty that bears even
the remotest resemblance to that of self-examination. Instinctive action,
undoubtedly, approaches the nearest of any to human action. That
wonderful power by which the bee builds up a structure that is not
exceeded in accuracy, and regularity, and economy of space, by the best
geometry of Athens or of Rome; by which the beaver, after having chosen
the very best possible location for it on the stream, constructs a dam
that outlasts the work of the human engineer; by which the faithful dog
contrives to perform many acts of affection, in spite of obstacles, and
in the face of unexpected discouragements,--the _instinct_, we say, of
the brute creation, as exhibited in a remarkably wide range of action and
contrivance, and in a very varied and oftentimes perplexing conjuncture
of circumstances, seems to bring man and beast very near to each other,
and to furnish some ground for the theory of the materialist, that there
is no essential difference between the two species of existences. But
when we pass beyond the mere power of acting, to the additional power of
_surveying_ or _inspecting_ an act, and of forming an estimate of its
relations to moral law, we find a faculty in man that makes him differ in
kind from the brute. No brute animal, however high up the scale, however
ingenious and sagacious he may be, can ever look back and think of what
he has done, "his thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else excusing him."
The mere power of performance, is, after all, not the highest power. It
is the superadded power of calmly looking over the performance, and
seeing _what_ has been done, that marks the higher agency, and denotes a
loftier order of existence than that of the animal or of material nature.
If the mere ability to work with energy, and produce results, constituted
the highest species of power, the force of gravitation would be the
loftiest energy in the universe. Its range of execution is wider than
that of any other created principle. But it is one of the lower and least
important of agencies, because it is blind. It is destitute of the power
of self-inspection. It does not know _what_ it does, or _why_. "Man,"
says Pascal,[1] "is but a reed, and the weakest in all nature; yet he is
a reed that _thinks_. The whole material universe does not need to arm
itself, in order to crush him. A vapor, a drop of water is enough to
destroy him. But if the whole universe of matter should combine to crush
him, man would be more noble than that which destroyed him. For he would
be _conscious_ that he was dying, while, of the advantage which the
material universe had obtained over him, that universe would know
nothing." The action of a little child is altogether nothing and vanity
compared with the energy of the earthquake or the lightning, so far as
the exhibition of force and the mere power to act is concerned; but, on
the other hand, it is more solemn than centuries of merely natural
processes, and more momentous than all the material phenomena that have
ever filled the celestial spaces, when we remember that it is the act of
a thinking agent, and a self-conscious creature. The power to _survey_
the act, when united with the power to act, sets mind infinitely above
matter, and places the action of instinct, wonderful as it is, infinitely
below the action of self-consciousness. The proud words of one of the
characters in the old drama are strictly true:
"I am a nobler substance than the stars,
Or are they better since they are bigger?
I have a will and faculties of choice,
To do or not to do; and reason why
I do or not do this: the stars have none.
They know not why they shine, more than this taper,
Nor how they, work, nor what."[2]
But this characteristic of a rational being, though thus distinctive and
common to every man that lives, is exceedingly marvellous. Like the air
we breathe, like the light we see, it involves a mystery that no man has
ever solved. Self-consciousness has been the problem and the thorn of the
philosophic mind in all ages; and the mystery is not yet unravelled. Is
not that a wonderful process by which a man knows, not some other thing
but, _himself_? Is not that a strange act by which he, for a time,
duplicates his own unity, and sets himself to look at himself? All other
acts of consciousness are comparatively plain and explicable. When we
look at an object other than ourselves,--when we behold a tree or the
sky,--the act of knowledge is much more simple and easy to be explained.
For then there is something outside of us, and in front of us, and
another thing than we are, at which we look, and which we behold. But in
this act of _self_-inspection there is no second thing, external, and
extant to us, which we contemplate. That which is seen is one and the
same identical object with that which sees. The act of knowledge which in
all other instances requires the existence of two things,--a thing to be
known and a thing to know,--in this instance is performed with only one.
It is the individual soul that sees, and it is that very same individual
soul that is seen. It is the individual man that knows, and it is that
very identical man that is known. The eyeball looks at the eyeball.
And when this power of self-inspection is connected with the power of
memory, the mystery of human existence becomes yet more complicated, and
its explanation still more baffling. Is it not exceedingly wonderful,
that we are able to re-exhibit our own thoughts and feelings; that we can
call back what has gone clear by in our experience, and steadily look at
it once more? Is it not a mystery that we can summon before our mind's
eye feelings, purposes, desires, and thoughts, which occurred in the soul
long years ago, and which, perhaps, until this moment, we have not
thought of for years? Is it not a marvel, that they come up with all the
vividness with which they first took origin in our experience, and that
the lapse of time has deprived them of none of their first outlines or
colors? Is it not strange, that we can recall that one particular feeling
of hatred toward a fellow-man which, rankled in the heart twenty years
ago; that we can now eye it, and see it as plainly as if it were still
throbbing within us; that we can feel guilty for it once more, as if we
were still cherishing it? If it were not so common, would it not be
surprising, that we can reflect upon acts of disobedience toward God
which we committed in the days of childhood, and far back in the dim
twilights of moral agency; that we can re-act them, as it were, in our
memory, and fill ourselves again with the shame and distress that
attended their original commission? Is it not one of those mysteries
which overhang human existence, and from which that of the brute is
wholly free, that man can live his life, and act his agency, over,
and over, and over again, indefinitely and forever, in his
self-consciousness; that he can cause all his deeds to pass and re-pass
before his self-reflection, and be filled through and through with the
agony of self-knowledge? Truly _such_ knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high, I cannot attain unto it. Whither shall I _go_ from my _own_
spirit, and whither shall I flee from my _own_ presence. If I ascend up
into heaven, it is there looking at me. If I make my bed in hell, behold
it is there torturing me. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in
the uttermost parts of the sea, even there must I know myself, and acquit
or condemn myself.
But if that knowledge whereby man knows himself is mysterious, then
certainly that whereby God knows him is far more so. That act whereby
_another_ being knows my secret thoughts, and inmost feelings, is most
certainly inexplicable. That cognition whereby _another_ person
understands what takes place in the corners of my heart, and sees the
minutest movements of my spirit, is surely high; most surely I cannot
attain unto it.
And yet, it is a truth of revelation that God searches the heart of man;
that He knows his down-sitting and uprising, and understands his thought
afar off; that He compasses his path and his lying-down, and is
acquainted with all his ways. And yet, it is a deduction of reason, also,
that because God is the creator of the human mind, He must perfectly
understand its secret agencies; that He in whose Essence man lives and
moves and has his being, must behold every motion, and feel every
stirring of the human spirit. "He that planted the ear, shall He not
hear? He that formed the eye, shall He not see?" Let us, then, ponder the
fact of God's exhaustive knowledge of man's soul, that we may realize it,
and thereby come under its solemn power and impression. For all religion,
all holy and reverential fear of God, rises and sets, as in an
atmosphere, in the thought: "Thou God seest me."
I. In analyzing and estimating the Divine knowledge of the human soul, we
find, in the first place, that God accurately and exhaustively knows _all
that man knows of himself_.
Every man in a Christian land, who is in the habit of frequenting the
house of God, possesses more or less of that self-knowledge of which we
have spoken. He thinks of the moral character of some of his own
thoughts. He reflects upon the moral quality of some of his own feelings.
He considers the ultimate tendency of some of his own actions. In other
words, there is a part of his inward and his outward life with which he
is uncommonly well acquainted; of which he has a distinct perception.
There are some thoughts of his mind, at which he blushes at the very time
of their origin, because he is vividly aware what they are, and what they
mean. There are some emotions of his heart, at which he trembles and
recoils at the very moment of their uprising, because he perceives
clearly that they involve a very malignant depravity. There are some
actings of his will, of whose wickedness he is painfully conscious at the
very instant of their rush and movement. We are not called upon, here, to
say how many of a man's thoughts, feelings, and determinations, are thus
subjected to his self-inspection at the very time of their origin, and
are known in the clear light of self-knowledge. We are not concerned, at
this point, with the amount of this man's self-inspection and
self-knowledge. We are only saying that there is some experience such as
this in his personal history, and that he does know something of himself,
at the very time of action, with a clearness and a distinctness that
makes him start, or blush, or fear.
Now we say, that in reference to all this intimate self-knowledge, all
this best part of a man's information respecting himself, he is not
superior to God. He may be certain that in no particular does he know
more of himself than the Searcher of hearts knows. He may be an
uncommonly thoughtful person, and little of what is done within his soul
may escape his notice,--nay, we will make the extreme supposition that he
arrests every thought as it rises, and looks at it, that he analyzes
every sentiment as it swells his heart, that he scrutinizes every purpose
as it determines his will,--even if he should have such a thorough and
profound self-knowledge as this, God knows him equally profoundly, and
equally thoroughly. Nay more, this process of self-inspection may go on
indefinitely, and the man may grow more and more thoughtful, and obtain
an everlastingly augmenting knowledge of what he is and what he does, so
that it shall seem to him that he is going down so far along that path
which the vulture's eye hath not seen, is penetrating so deeply into
those dim and shadowy regions of consciousness where the external life
takes its very first start, as to be beyond the reach of any eye, and
the ken of any intelligence but his own, and then he may be sure that God
understands the thought that is afar off, and deep down, and that at this
lowest range and plane in his experience He besets him behind and before.
O, this man, like the most of mankind, may be an unreflecting person.
Then, in this case, thoughts, feelings, and purposes are continually
rising up within his soul like the clouds and exhalations of an
evaporating deluge, and at the time of their rise he subjects them to no
scrutiny of conscience, and is not pained in the least by their moral
character and significance. He lacks self-knowledge altogether, at these
points in his history. But, notice that the fact that he is not
self-inspecting at these points cannot destroy the fact that he is acting
at them. The fact that he is not a spectator of his own transgression,
does not alter the fact that he is the author of it. If this man, for
instance, thinks over his worldly affairs on God's holy day, and perhaps
in God's holy house, with such an absorption and such a pleasure that he
entirely drowns the voice of conscience while he is so doing, and
self-inspection is banished for the time, it will not do for him to plead
this absence of a distinct and painful consciousness of what his mind was
actually doing in the house of God, and upon the Lord's day, as the
palliative and excuse of his wrong thoughts. If this man, again, indulges
in an envious or a sensual emotion, with such an energy and entireness,
as for the time being to preclude all action of the higher powers of
reason and self-reflection, so that for the time being he is not in the
least troubled by a sense of his wickedness, it will be no excuse for him
at the eternal bar, that he was not thinking of his envy or his lust at
the time when he felt it. And therefore it is, that accountableness
covers the whole field of human agency, and God holds us responsible
for our thoughtless sin, as well as for our deliberate transgression.
In the instance, then, of the thoughtless man; in the case where there is
little or no self-examination; God unquestionably knows the man as well
as the man knows himself. The Omniscient One is certainly possessed of an
amount of knowledge equal to that small modicum which is all that a
rational and immortal soul can boast of in reference to itself. But the
vast majority of mankind fall into this class. The self-examiners are
very few, in comparison with the millions who possess the power to look
into their hearts, but who rarely or never do so. The great God our
Judge, then, surely knows the mass of men, in their down-sitting and
uprising, with a knowledge that is equal to their own. And thus do we
establish our first position, that God knows all that the man knows;
God's knowledge is equal to the very best part of man's knowledge.
In concluding this part of the discussion, we turn to consider some
practical lessons suggested by it.
1. In the first place, the subject reminds us that _we are fearfully and
wonderfully made_. When we take a solar microscope and examine even the
commonest object--a bit of sand, or a hair of our heads-we are amazed at
the revelation that is made to us. We had no previous conception of the
wonders that are contained in the structure of even such ordinary things
as these. But, if we should obtain a corresponding view of our own mental
and moral structure; if we could subject our immortal natures to a
microscopic self-examination; we should not only be surprised, but we
should be terrified. This explains, in part, the consternation with which
a criminal is filled, as soon as he begins to understand the nature of
his crime. His wicked act is perceived in its relation to his own mental
powers and faculties. He knows, now, what a hazardous thing it is to
possess a free-will; what an awful thing it is to own a conscience. He
feels, as he never did before, that he is fearfully and wonderfully made,
and cries out: "O that I had never been born! O that I had never been
created a responsible being! these terrible faculties of reason, and
will, and conscience, are too heavy for me to wield; would that I had
been created a worm, and no man, then, I should not have incurred the
hazards under which I have sinned and ruined myself."
The constitution of the human soul is indeed a wonderful one; and such a
meditation as that which we have just devoted to its functions of
self-examination and memory, brief though it be, is enough to convince us
of it. And remember, that this constitution is not peculiar to you and to
me. It belongs to every human creature on the globe. The imbruted pagan
in the fiery centre of Africa, who never saw a Bible, or heard of the
Redeemer; the equally imbruted man, woman, or child, who dwells in the
slime of our own civilization, not a mile from where we sit, and hear the
tidings of mercy; the filthy savage, and the yet filthier profligate, are
both of them alike with ourselves possessed of these awful powers of
self-knowledge and of memory.
Think of this, ye earnest and faithful laborers in the vineyard of the
Lord. There is not a child that you allure into your Sabbath Schools, and
your Mission Schools, that is not fearfully and wonderfully made; and
whose marvellous powers you are doing much to render to their possessor a
blessing, instead of a curse. When Sir Humphrey Davy, in answer to an
inquiry that had been made of him respecting the number and series of his
discoveries in chemistry, had gone through with the list, he added: "But
the greatest of my discoveries is Michael Faraday." This Michael Faraday
was a poor boy employed in the menial services of the laboratory where
Davy made those wonderful discoveries by which he revolutionized the
science of chemistry, and whose chemical genius he detected, elicited,
and encouraged, until he finally took the place of his teacher and
patron, and acquired a name that is now one of the influences of England.
Well might he say: "My greatest discovery was when I detected the
wonderful powers of Michael Faraday." And never will you make a greater
and more beneficent discovery, than when, under the thick scurf of
pauperism and vice, you detect the human soul that is fearfully and
wonderfully made; than when you elicit its powers of self-consciousness
and of memory, and, instrumentally, dedicate them to the service of
Christ and the Church.
2. In the second place, we see from the subject, that _thoughtlessness in
sin will never excuse sin_. There are degrees in sin. A deliberate,
self-conscious act of sin is the most intense form of moral evil. When a
man has an active conscience; when he distinctly thinks over the nature of
the transgression which he is tempted to commit; when he sees clearly
that it is a direct violation of a command of God which he is about to
engage in; when he says, "I know that this is positively forbidden
by my Maker and Judge, but I _will do it_,"--we have an instance of the
most heaven-daring sin. This is deliberate and wilful transgression. The
servant knows his lord's will and does it not, and he shall be beaten
with "many stripes," says Christ.
But, such sin as this is not the usual form. Most of human transgressions
are not accompanied with such a distinct apprehension, and such a
deliberate determination. The sin of ignorance and thoughtlessness is the
species which is most common. Men, generally, do not first think of what
they are about to do, and then proceed to do it; but they first proceed
to do it, and then think nothing at all about it. But, thoughtlessness
will not excuse sin; though, it is a somewhat less extreme form of it,
than deliberate transgression. Under the Levitical law, the sin of
ignorance, as it was called, was to be expiated by a somewhat different
sacrifice from that offered for the wilful and deliberate sin; but it
must be expiated. A victim must be offered for it. It was guilt before
God, and needed atonement. Our Lord, in His prayer for His murderers,
said, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do." The act of
crucifying the Lord of glory was certainly a sin, and one of an awful
nature. But the authors of it were not fully aware of its import. They
did not understand the dreadful significance of the crucifixion of the
Son of God, as we now understand it, in the light of eighteen centuries.
Our Lord alludes to this, as a species of mitigation; while yet He
teaches, by the very prayer which He puts up for them, that this
ignorance did not excuse His murderers. He asks that they may be
_forgiven_. But where there is absolutely no sin there is no need of
forgiveness. It is one of our Lord's assertions, that it will be more
tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah, in the day of judgment, than it will be
for those inhabitants of Palestine who would not hear the words of His
apostles,--because the sin of the former was less deliberate and wilful
than that of the latter. But He would not have us infer from this, that
Sodom and Gomorrah are not to be punished for sin. And, finally, He sums
up the whole doctrine upon this point, in the declaration, that "he who
knew his master's will and did it not shall be beaten with many stripes;
but he who knew not his master's will and did it not shall be beaten with
few stripes." The sin of thoughtlessness shall be beaten with fewer
stripes than the sin of deliberation,--but it shall be _beaten_, and
therefore it is _sin_.
The almost universal indifference and thoughtlessness with which men live
on in a worldly and selfish life, will not excuse them in the day of
accurate accounts. And the reason is, that they are capable of _thinking_
upon the law of God; of _thinking_ upon their duties; of _thinking_ upon
their sins. They possess the wonderful faculties of self-inspection and
memory, and therefore they are capable of bringing their actions into
light. It is the command of God to every man, and to every rational
spirit everywhere, to walk in the light, and to be a child of the light.
We ought to examine ourselves; to understand our ruling motives and
abiding purposes; to scrutinize our feelings and conduct. But if we do
little or nothing of this, we must not expect that in the day of judgment
we can plead our thoughtless ignorance of what we were, and what we did,
here upon earth, as an excuse for our disobedience. God expects, and
demands, that every one of His rational creatures should be all that he
is capable of being. He gave man wonderful faculties and endowments,--ten
talents, five talents, two talents,--and He will require the whole
original sum given, together with a faithful use and improvement of it.
The very thoughtlessness then, particularly under the Gospel
dispensation,--the very neglect and non-use of the power of
self-inspection,--will go in to constitute a part of the sin that will be
punished. Instead of being an excuse, it will be an element of the
condemnation itself.
3. In the third place, even the sinner himself _ought to rejoice in the
fact that God is the Searcher of the heart_. It is instinctive and
natural, that a transgressor should attempt to conceal his character
from his Maker; but next to his sin itself, it would be the greatest
injury that he could do to himself, should he succeed in his attempt.
Even after the commission of sin, there is every reason for desiring that
God should compass our path and lying down, and be acquainted with all
our ways. For, He is the only being who can forgive sin; the only one who
can renew and sanctify the heart. There is the same motive for having the
disease of the soul understood by God, that there is for having the
disease of the body examined by a skilful physician. Nothing is gained,
but every thing is lost, by ignorance.
The sinner, therefore, has the strongest of motives for rejoicing in the
truth that God sees him. It ought not to be an unwelcome fact even to
him. For how can his sin be pardoned, unless it is clearly understood by
the pardoning power? How can his soul be purified from its inward
corruption, unless it is searched by the Spirit of all holiness?