sense, those many young minds, which we have seen so often, may truly be
called empty. But will they remain so long? How often have I seen the
early innocence of boyhood overcast; the natural simplicity of boyhood,
its open truth, its confident affection, its honest shame, perverted,
blunted, hardened! How often have I seen the seven evil spirits enter in
and dwell there,--I know not, and never may know, whether to be cast out
again, or to abide for ever. But I have seen them enter, and, whilst the
person was yet within my view, I have not seen them depart. And why have
they entered; why have they marred that which was so beautiful? For one
only reason,--because the house was empty, because the Spirit of God was
not there: there was no love of God, no thought of God. Mere innocence
taints and spoils as surely before the influence of the world, as true
principle flourishes in spite of it, and strengthens. This, too, I have
seen, not once only: I have seen the innocence of early boyhood
sanctified by something better than innocence, which gave a promise of
abiding. I have seen, in other words, that the house was not empty; that
the Spirit of God was there. I have watched the effect of those
influences, which you know so well: the second half-year came, a period
when mere innocence is sure to be worn away, greatly tainted, if not
utterly gone; but still, in the cases which I am now alluding to, the
promise of good was not less, but greater, there was a more tried, and,
therefore, a stronger goodness. I have watched this, too, till it passed
on, out of my sight. I never saw the blessed Spirit of God depart from
the house which he had chosen: I well believe that he abides in it
still, and will abide in it even to the day of Jesus Christ.
This I have seen, and this I shall continue to see; for still the great
work of evil and of good is going on; still the house, at first empty,
is possessed by the spirits of evil, or by the Spirit of God. And if we
do not see the signs of the Spirit of God, we are but too sure that the
evil spirit is there. We know him by the manifold signs of folly,
coarseness, carelessness; even when we see not, as yet, his worse fruits
of falsehood and profligacy. We know him by the sign of an increased,
and increasing selfishness, the everlasting cry of the thousand passions
of our nature, all for ever calling out, "Give, give;" all for ever
impatient, complaining, when their gratification is withheld, when the
call of duty is set before them. We know him by pride and
self-importance, as if nothing was so great as self, as if our own
opinions, judgment, feelings were to be consulted in all things. We know
him by the deep ungodliness which he occasions--no thought of God, much
less any love of him; living utterly without him in the world, or, at
least, whilst health and prosperity continue. These are the fatal signs
which show that the house is no longer empty; that the evil spirits have
entered in, and dwell there, to make it theirs, as too often happens,
for time and for eternity.
LECTURE XVI.
* * * * *
MATHEW xi. 10.
_I send my messenger before thy face, who shall prepare thy way before
thee_.
If it was part of God's dispensation, that there should be one to
prepare the way before Christ's first coming, it may be expected much
more, that there should be some to prepare the way before his second.
And so it is expressed in the collect for the third Sunday in Advent: "O
Lord Jesus Christ, who at thy first coming didst send thy messenger to
prepare thy way before thee; grant that the ministers and stewards of
thy mysteries may likewise so prepare and make ready thy way, by turning
the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, that at thy
second coming to judge the world we may be found an acceptable people in
thy sight, who livest and reignest with the Father and the Holy Spirit,
ever one God, world without end. Amen." NOW, in what does this preparing
for him consist; and what is its object? The Scripture will inform us as
to both. The object is, "Lest he come and smite the earth with a curse;"
lest, when he shall come, his coming, which should be our greatest joy
and happiness, should be our everlasting destruction; for there can
abide before him nothing that is evil. This is the object of preparing
for Christ's coming. Next, in what does the preparation consist? It
consists in teaching men to live above the common notions of their age
and country; to raise their standard higher; to live after what is right
in God's judgment, which often casts away, as faulty and bad, what men
were accustomed to think good. And as the people of Israel, although
they had God's revelation among them, had yet let their standard of good
and evil become low, even so it has been in the Christian Israel. We
have God's will in our hands, yet our judgments are not formed upon it;
and, therefore, they who would prepare us for Christ's coming, must set
before us a commandment which is new, although old: in one sense old, in
every generation, inasmuch as it is the same which we had from the
beginning; in another sense, in every generation more new, inasmuch, as
the habits opposed to it have become the more confirmed; and the longer
the night has lasted, the more strange to our eyes is the burst of the
returning light.
But when we thus speak of the common notions of our age and country
being deficient, and thus, in effect, commend notions which would be
singular, do we not hold a language inconsistent with our common
language and practice? Do we not commonly regard singularity as a fault,
and attach a considerable authority to the consent of men in general?
Nay, do we not often appeal to this consent as to a proof which a sane
mind must admit as decisive? Even in speaking of good and evil, have not
the very words gained their present sense because the common consent of
mankind has agreed to combine notions of self-satisfaction, of honour,
and of love, with what we call good, and the contrary with what we
call evil?
A short time may, perhaps, not be misapplied in endeavouring to explain
this matter; in showing where, and for what reasons, the common opinion
of our society is to be followed, where it is to be suspected, and
where it is absolutely to be shunned or trampled under foot, as clearly
and certainly evil.
I must begin with little things, in order to show the whole question
plainly. Take those tastes in us which most resemble the instincts of a
brute; and you will find that in these, as with instinct, common consent
becomes a sure rule. When I speak of those tastes which most resemble
instincts, I mean those in which nature, doing most for us at first,
leaves least for us to learn for ourselves. This seems the character of
instinct: it is far more complete than reason in its first stage, but it
admits of no after improvement; the brute in the thousandth generation
is no way advanced beyond the brute in the first. Of our tastes, even of
those belonging to our bodily senses, that which belongs to what are
called particularly our organs of taste is the one most resembling an
instinct: we have less to do for its improvement than in any other
instance. Men being here, then, upon an equality, with a faculty given
to all by nature, and improved particularly by none, those who differ
from the majority are likely to differ not from excellence but from
defect: not because they have a more advanced reason, but because they
have a less healthy instinct, than their neighbours. Thus, in those
matters which relate to the sense of taste--I am obliged to take this
almost trivial instance, because it so well illustrates the principle of
the whole question--we hold the consent of men in general to be a good
rule. If any one were to choose to feed upon what this common taste had
pronounced to be disgusting, we should not hesitate to say that such an
appetite was diseased and monstrous.
Now, let us take our senses of sight and hearing, and we shall find that
just in the proportion in which these less resemble instincts than the
sense of taste, so is common consent a less certain rule. Up to a
certain point they are instincts: there are certain sounds which, I
suppose, are naturally disagreeable to the ear; while, on the other
hand, bright and rich colours are, perhaps, naturally attractive to the
eye. But, then, sight and hearing are so connected with our minds that
they are susceptible of very great cultivation, and thus differ greatly
from instincts. As the mind opens, outward sights and sounds become
connected with a great number of associations, and thus we learn to
think the one or the other beautiful, for reasons which really depend
very much on the range of our own ideas. Consider, for a moment, the
beautiful in architecture. If the model of the leaning tower of Pisa
were generally adopted in our public buildings, all men's common sense
would cry out against it as a deformity, because a leaning wall would
convey to every mind the notion of insecurity, and every body would feel
that it was unpleasant to see a building look exactly as if it were
going to fall down. Now, what I have called common sense is, in a
manner, the instinct of our reason: it is that uniform level of reason
which all sane persons reach to, and the wisest in matters within its
province do not surpass. But go beyond this, and architecture is no
longer a matter of mere common sense, but of science, and of cultivated
taste. Here the standard of beauty is not fixed by common consent; but,
in the first instance, devised or discovered by the few: and, so far as
it is received by the many, received by them on the authority of the
few, and sanctioned, so to speak, not so much from real sympathy and
understanding, as from a reasonable trust and deference to those who are
believed the best judges.
Here, then, we suppose that the common judgment is right; but we
perceive a difference between this case and the one mentioned before,
inasmuch as in the first instance the right judgment of the mass of
mankind is their own; in the second instance, they have adopted it out
of deference to others. Not only, then, will men's common judgment be
right in matters of instinct and of common sense, but also in higher
matters, where, although they could not have discovered what was right,
yet they were perfectly willing to adopt it, when discovered by others.
And this opens a very wide field. For in all matters which come under
the dominion of fashion, where the avowed object is the convenience or
gratification of society, men listen to those who profess to teach them
with almost an excess of docility: they will adopt sometimes fashions
which are not convenient. But yet, as men can tell well enough by
experience whether they do find a thing convenient and agreeable or not,
so it is most likely that fashions which continue long and generally
prevalent are founded upon sound principles; because else men, being
well capable of knowing what convenience is, and being also well
disposed to follow it, would neither have been very long or very
generally mistaken in this matter; nor would have acquiesced in their
mistake contentedly.
We do perfectly right, then, to regard the common opinion as a rule in
all points of dress, in our houses and furniture, in those lighter
usages of society which come under the denomination of manners, as
distinguished from morals. In all these, if the mass of mankind could
not find out what would best suit them, yet they are quite ready to
adopt it when it is found out; and so they equally arrive at truth. But
take away this readiness, and the whole case is altered. If there be any
point in which men are not ready to adopt what is best for them; if they
are either indifferent, or still more, if they are averse to it; if
they thus have neither the power of discovering it for themselves, nor
the will to avail themselves of it, when discovered for them; then it is
clear that, in such a point, the common judgment will be of no value,
nay, there will even be a presumption that it is wrong.
Now as the common consent of mankind was most sure in matters where
their sense most resembled instinct, that is, where nature had done most
for them, and left them least to do for themselves; as here, therefore,
they who are sound are the great majority, and the exceptions are no
better than disease; so if there be any part of us which is the direct
opposite to instinct, a part in which nature has done next to nothing
for us, and all is to be done by ourselves; then, here the common
consent of mankind will be of the least value; here the majority will be
helpless and worthless; and they who are happy enough to be exceptions
to this majority, will be no other than Christ's redeemed.
Now, again, if this deficient part of our nature could be seen purely
distinct from every other; if it alone dictated our language, and
inspired our actions, then it would follow, that language which must
ever be fixed by the majority, would be, in fact, the language of the
world of infinite evil; and our actions those of mere devils. Then,
whoever of us would be saved, must needs begin by forswearing,
altogether, both the language and the actions of his fellow-men. But
this is not so; in almost every instance this deficient part of our
nature acts along with others that are not so corrupted; it mars their
work, undoubtedly; it often confuses and perverts our language; it
always taints our actions; but it does not wholly usurp either the one
or the other; and thus, by God's blessing, man's language yet affords a
high witness to divine truth, and even men's judgments and actions
testify, though with infinite imperfection, to the existence and
excellence of goodness.
And this it is which forms one of the great perplexities of life; for as
there is enough of what is right in men's judgments and conduct to
forbid us from saying, that we must take the very rule of contraries,
and think and do just the opposite to the opinions and practice of men
in general; so, on the other hand, there is always so much wrong in
them, that we may never dare to follow them as a standard, but shall
find, that if trusted to as such, they will inevitably betray us. So
that in points of greater moment than mere manners and fashion, it will
ever be true, that if we would be prepared for Christ's coming, we must
rise to a far higher standard than that of society in general; that in
the greatest concerns of human life, the practice of the majority,
though always containing something of good, is yet in its prevailing
character, as regards God, so evil, that they who are content to follow
it cannot be saved.
This is the explanation of the apparent difficulty in the general, and
thus, while acknowledging that there are points in which men, by common
consent, make out what is best; and others in which, although they do
not make it out, nor at first appreciate it, yet they are very willing
to adopt it upon trust, and so come by experience to value it; while,
therefore, there are a great many things in which singularity is either
a disease or a foolishness; so again there are other points in which men
in general have not the power to make out what is good, nor yet the
docility to adopt it; and, therefore, in these points, which relate to
the great matters of life, singularity is wisdom and salvation, and he
who does as others do, perishes. That is what is called the corruption
of human nature. I shall attempt, on another occasion, to go into some
further details, and show, by common examples, how strangely our
judgment and practice contain, with much that is right, just that one
taint or defect which, as a whole, spoils them. And this one defect will
be found to be, as the Scripture declares, a defect in our sense of our
relation towards God.
LECTURE XVII.
* * * * *
1 CORINTHIANS ii. 12.
_We have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit which is
of God_.
And, therefore, he goes on to say, our language is different from that
of others, and not always understood by them; the natural man receiveth
not the things of God, for they are foolishness unto him; neither can he
know them, because they are spiritually discerned. That is, they are
discerned only by a faculty which he has not, namely, by the Spirit;
and, therefore, as beings devoid of reason cannot understand the truths
of science, or of man's wisdom, for they are without the faculty which
can discern them; so beings devoid of God's Spirit cannot understand the
truths of God.
Now, in order to turn this passage to our profit, we need not consider
those who are wholly without God's Spirit, or inquire whether, indeed,
there be any such; it is not that there are two broadly marked divisions
of all men, those who have not the Spirit of God at all, and those who
have it abundantly: if it were so, the separation of the great day of
judgment would be begun already, nor would it require, in order to
effect it rightly, the wisdom of Him who trieth the very hearts and
reins. No doubt there will be at last but two divisions of us all, the
saved and the lost; but now the divisions are infinite; so much so that
the great body of us offer much matter for hope as well as for fear. We
cannot say, that they are without the Spirit of God; yet neither can we
say that they are led by the Spirit, so as to be God's true servants. We
cannot say, that the things of God's are absolutely to them as
foolishness; yet certainly, we cannot say either, that they are to them
as the divinest wisdom.
And here we return to the subject on which I was speaking last Sunday.
It is because we are not led by the Spirit of God, but have within us
much of the spirit of the world, that our judgments of right and wrong
are so faulty; and that this faultiness is particularly seen in our
faint sense of our relations to God. These relations seem continually
foolishness to us, because they are spiritually discerned, and we have
so little of God's Spirit to enable us to discern them. And our
blindness here affects our whole souls; we have, in consequence of it, a
much fainter perception even of those truths which reason can discern by
herself; or, at any rate, if we do not doubt them, they have over us
much less influence.
Now we will first see how much of natural reason, and even of the Spirit
of God, does exist in our common judgments; for it is fair to see and to
allow what there is of right in our language and sentiments, as well as
to note what is wrong. Reason influences thus much, that we not only
commend good generally, and blame evil; but even, in particular cases,
we commend, I think, each separate virtue, and we blame each separate
vice. I never heard of justice, truth, kindness, self-denial, &c., being
other than approved of in themselves; or injustice, falsehood, malice,
and selfishness being other than condemned. And the Spirit of God
influences at least thus much, that we shrink from direct blasphemy and
profaneness; we cannot but respect those whom we believe to be living
sincerely in the fear of God; and further, if we thought our death
near, we should desire to hear of God, and to depart from this life
under his favour. No doubt, all such feelings, so far as they go, are
the work of God's Spirit: whatever is good and right in our minds
towards God, that proceeds not from the spirit of the world, but from
the Spirit of God.
Where, then, is the great defect which yet continually makes our
practical judgments quite wrong; which makes us, in fact, so often
countenance and support evil, and discountenance and discourage good?
First, it is owing to the spirit of carelessness. One of the most
emphatic terms by which a good man is expressed in the language of the
Greek philosophers, is that of [Greek: opdouiaos], "one who is in
earnest." To be in earnest is, indeed, with, most of us, the same as to
be good; it is not that we love evil, but that we are indifferent both
to it and to good. Now, many of us are very seldom in earnest. By this I
mean, that the highest part of our minds, and that which judges of the
highest things, is generally slumbering or but half awake. We may go
through, a very busy day, and yet not be, in this true sense, in earnest
at all; our best faculties may, as it were, be all the while sleeping or
playing. It is notorious how much this is so in the common intercourse
of society in the world. Light anecdotes; playful remarks; discussions,
it may be, about the affairs of the neighbourhood, or, in some
companies, on questions of science or party politics; all these may be
often heard; but we may talk on all these brilliantly and well, and yet
our best nature may not once be called to exert itself. So again, in
mere routine business, it is the same: the body may toil; the pen move
swiftly; the thoughts act in the particular matter before them
vigorously; and yet we our proper selves, beings understanding and
choosing between good and evil, have never bestirred ourselves at all.
It has been but a skirmishing at the outposts; not a sword had been
drawn in the main battle. Take younger persons, and the same thing is
the case even more palpably. Here there is less of business in the
common sense of the term; the mind is almost always unbraced and
resting. We pass through the good and evil of our daily life, and our
proper self scarcely ever is aroused to notice either the one or
the other.
But the worst of it is, that this carelessness is not altogether
accidental: it is a carelessness which we do not wish to break. So long
as it lasts, we manage to get the activity and interest of life, without
a sense of its responsibility. We like exceedingly to lay the reins, as
it were, upon the neck of our inclinations, to go where they take us,
and to ask no questions whether we are in the right road or no.
Inclination is never slumbering: this gives us excitement enough to save
us from weariness, without the effort of awakening our conscience too.
Therefore society, expressing in its rules the feelings of its
individual members, prescribes exactly such a style of conversation as
may keep in exercise all other parts of our nature except that one which
should be sovereign of all, and whose exercise is employed on
things eternal.
Not being, then, properly in earnest,--that is, our conscience and our
choice of moral good and evil being in a state of repose,--our language
is happily contrived so as that it shall contain nothing to startle our
sleeping conscience, if her ears catch any of its sounds. We still
commend good and dispraise evil, both in the general and in the
particular. But as good and evil are mixed in every man, and in various
proportions, he who commends, the little good of a bad man, saying
nothing of his evil,--or he who condemns the little evil of a good man,
saying nothing of his good,--leads us evidently to a false practical
conclusion; he leads us to like the bad man and to dislike the good.
Again, the lesser good becomes an evil if it keeps out a greater good;
and, in the same way, the lesser evil becomes a good. If we have no
thought of comparing good things together, if our sovereign nature be
asleep, then we shall most estimate the good to which we are most
inclined; and where we find this we shall praise it, not observing that
it is taking up the place of a greater good which the case requires,
and, therefore, that it is in fact an evil. So that our moral judgments
may lead practically to great evil: we may join with bad men and despise
good; we may approve of qualities which, are, in fact, ruining a man;
and despise others which, in the particular case, are virtues; without
ever in plain words condemning virtue or approving vice.