(Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity, 1858.)
Galatians, v. 16, 17. This I say then, Walk in the spirit, and ye
shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh. For the flesh lusteth
against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh: and these are
contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that
ye would.
Does this text seem to any of you difficult to understand? It need
not be difficult to you; for it does not speak of anything which you
do not know. It speaks of something which you have all felt, which
goes on in you every day of your lives. It speaks of something,
certainly, which is very curious, mysterious, difficult to put into
words: but what is not curious and mysterious? The commonest
things are usually the most curious? What is more wonderful than
the beating of your heart; your pulse which beats all day long,
without your thinking of it?
Just so this battle, this struggle, which St. Paul speaks of in this
text, is going on in us all day long, and yet we hardly think of it.
Now what is this battle? What are these things which are fighting
continually in your mind and in mine? St. Paul calls them the flesh
and the spirit. 'The flesh,' he says, 'lusts against the spirit,
and the spirit against the flesh.' They pull opposite ways. One
wants to do one thing, and the other the other. But if so, one of
them must be in the right, and the other in the wrong. Now, St.
Paul says, when these two fall out with each other, the spirit is in
the right, and the flesh in the wrong. And therefore, the secret of
life is, to walk in the spirit, and so not to fulfil the lusts of
the flesh.
But if so, it must be worth our while to find out which is flesh,
and which is spirit in us, that we may know the foolish part of us
from the wise. What the flesh is, we may see by looking at a dumb
beast, which is all flesh, and has no immortal soul. It may be very
cunning, brave, curiously formed, beautiful, but one thing you will
always see, that a beast does what it likes, and only what it likes.
And this is the mark of the flesh, that it does what it likes. It
is selfish, and self-indulgent, cares for nothing but itself, and
what it can get for itself.
True, you may raise a dumb beast above that, by taming and training
it. You may teach a horse or dog to do what it does _not_ like, and
give it a sense of duty, and as it were awaken a soul in it. That
is very wonderful, that we should be able to do so. It is a sign
that man is made in God's likeness. But I cannot stay to speak of
that now. I say our flesh, our animal nature, is selfish and self-
indulgent. I do not say, therefore, that it is bad: God forbid.
God made our bodies and brains, as well as our souls; and God makes
nothing bad. It is blasphemous to say that he does. No, our bodies
as bodies are good; the flesh as flesh is good, when it is in its
right place; and its right place is to be servant, not master. We
are not to walk after the flesh, says St. Paul: but the flesh is to
walk after the spirit--in English, our bodies are to obey our
spirits, our souls. For man has something higher than body in him.
He has a spirit in him; and it is just having this spirit which
makes him a man. For this spirit cares about higher things than
mere gain and comfort. It can feel pity and mercy, love and
generosity, justice and honour; and when a man not only feels them,
but obeys them, then he is a true man--a Christian man: but, on the
other hand, if a man does not; if he be a man in whom there is no
mercy or pity, no generosity, no benevolence, no justice or honour;
who cares for nothing and no one but himself, and filling his own
stomach and his own pulse, and pleasing his own brute appetites in
some way, what should you say of that man? You would say, he is
like a brute beast--and you would say right--you would say just what
St. Paul says. St. Paul would say, that man is fulfilling the lusts
of the flesh; and you and St. Paul would mean just the same thing.
Now, St. Paul says, 'The flesh in us lusts against the spirit, and
the spirit against the flesh.' And what do we gain by the spirit in
us lusting against the flesh, and pulling us the opposite way? We
gain this, St. Paul says, 'that we cannot do the things that we
would.'
Does that seem no great gain to you? Let me put it a little
plainer. St. Paul means this, and just this, that you may not do
whatever you like. St. Paul thought it the very best thing for a
man not to be able to do whatever he liked. As long, St. Paul says,
as a man does whatever he likes, he lives according to the flesh,
and is no better than a dumb beast: but as soon as he begins to
live according to the spirit, and does not do whatever he likes, but
restrains himself, and keeps himself in order, then, and then only,
he becomes a true man.
But why not do whatever we like? Because if we did do so, we should
be certain to do wrong. I do not mean that you and I here like
nothing but what is wrong. God forbid. I trust the Spirit of God
is with our spirits. But I mean this:--That if you could let a
child grow up totally without any control whatsoever, I believe that
before that lad was twenty-one he would have qualified himself for
the gallows seven times over. Thank God, that cannot happen in
England, because people are better taught, most of them at least;
and more, we dare not do what we like, for fear of the law and the
policeman.
But, if you knew the lives which savages lead, who have neither law
outside them to keep them straight by fear, nor the Spirit of God
within them to keep them straight by duty and honour, then you would
understand what I mean only too well.
Now St. Paul says,--It is a good thing for a man not to be able to
do what he likes. But there are two ways of keeping him from it.
One is by the law, the other is by the Spirit of God. The law works
on a man from the outside by fear; but the Spirit of God works in a
man by honour, by the sense of duty, by making him like and love
what is right, and making him see what a beautiful and noble thing
right is.
Now St. Paul wants us to restrain ourselves, not from fear of being
punished, but because we like to do right. That is what he means
when he says that we are to be led by the Spirit, instead of being
under the law. It is better to be afraid of the law than to do
wrong: but it is best of all to do right from the Spirit, and of
our own free will.
Am I puzzling you? I hope not: but, lest I should be, 1 will give
you one simple example which ought to make all clear as to the
struggle between a man's flesh and his spirit, and also as to doing
right from the Spirit or from law.
Suppose you were a soldier going into battle. You see your comrades
falling around you, disfigured and cut up; you hear their groans and
cries; and you are dreadfully afraid: and no shame to you. It is
the common human instinct of self-preservation. The bravest men
have told me that they are afraid at first going into action, and
that they cannot get over the feeling. But what part of you is
afraid? Your flesh, which is afraid of pain, just as a beast is of
the whip. Then your flesh perhaps says, Run away--or at least skulk
and hide--take care of yourself. But next, if you were a coward,
the law would come into your mind, and you would say, But I dare not
run away; for, if I do, I shall be shot as a deserter, or broke, and
drummed out of the army. So you may go on, even though you are a
coward: but that is not courage. You have not conquered your own
fear--you have not conquered yourself--but the law has conquered
you.
But, if you are a brave man, as I trust you all are, a higher spirit
than your own speaks to your spirit, and makes you say to yourself,
I dare not run away; but, more, I cannot run away. I should like
to--but I cannot do the things that I would. It is my duty to go
on; it is right; it is a point of honour with me to my country, my
regiment, my Queen, my God, and I must go on.
Then you are walking in the Spirit. You have conquered yourself,
and so are a really brave man. You have obeyed the Spirit, and you
have your reward by feeling inspirited, as we say; you can face
death with spirit, and fight with spirit.
But the struggle between the Spirit and the flesh is not ended
there. When you got excited, there would probably come over you the
lust of fighting; you would get angry, get mad and lose your self-
possession.
There is the flesh waking up again, and saying, Be cruel; kill every
one you meet. And to that the Spirit answers, No; be reasonable and
merciful. Do not fulfil the lusts of the flesh, and turn yourself
into a raging wild beast. Your business is not to butcher human
beings, but to win a battle.
Well; and even if you have conquered the enemy, you may not have
conquered your worst enemy, which is yourself. For, after having
fought bravely, and done your duty, what would the flesh say to you?
I am sure it would say it to me. What but--Boast: talk of your own
valiant deeds and successes; get all the praise and honour you can;
and shew how much finer a person you are than any of your comrades.
But what would the Spirit say?--and I trust you would all listen to
the Spirit. The Spirit would say, No; do not boast; do not lower
yourself into the likeness of a vain peacock: but be just, and be
modest. Give every man his due; try to praise and recommend every
one whom you can; and trust to God to make your doing your duty as
clear as the light, and your brave actions as the noonday.
So, you see, all through, a man's flesh might be lusting, and would
be lusting, against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh;
and see, too, how in each case, the flesh is tempting the man to be
cowardly, brutal, vain, selfish, and wrong in some way, and the
Spirit is striving to make him forget himself, and think of his
comrades and his duty.
Now when a man is led by the Spirit, if he is tempted to do wrong,
he does not say, I will not do this wrong thing, but I cannot. I
cannot do what you want me. I like to hear a man say that. It is a
sign that he feels God's voice in him, which he must obey, whether
he likes or not; as Joseph said when he was tempted. Not, I had
rather not, or I dare not: but, How _can_ I do this great
wickedness against my master, who has trusted me, and put everything
into my hand, and so, by being a treacherous traitor, sin against
God?
Now, is this Spirit part of our spirits, or not? I think we confess
ourselves that it is not. St. Paul says that it is not. For he
says, there is one Spirit--that is, one good Spirit--of whom he
speaks as the Spirit; and this, he says, is the Spirit of God, and
the Spirit of Christ, and the Spirit which inspires the spirits of
all noble, Christ-like, God-like men.
In this Spirit there is nothing proud, spiteful, cruel, nothing
selfish, false, and mean; nothing violent, loose, debauched. But he
is an altogether good and noble spirit, whose fruit is love, joy,
peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness,
temperance. This, he says, is the Spirit of God; and this Spirit he
gives to those spirits,--souls, as we call them now,--who desire it,
that they may become righteous with the righteousness of Christ, and
good with the goodness of God.
And is not this good news? I say, my friends, if we will look at it
aright, there is no better news, no more inspiriting news for men
like us, mixed up in the battle of life, and often pulled downward
by our own bad passions, and ashamed of ourselves more or less,
every day of our lives;--no better news, I say, than this, that what
is good and right in us is not our own, but God's; that our longings
after good, our sense of duty and honour, kindliness and charity,
are not merely our own likings or fancies: but the voice of God's
almighty and everlasting Spirit. Good news, indeed! For if God be
for us who can be against us? If God's Spirit be with our spirits,
they must surely be stronger than our selfish pleasure-loving flesh.
If God himself be labouring to make us good; if he be putting into
our hearts good desires; surely he can enable us to bring those
desires to good effect: and all that is wanted of us, is to listen
to God's voice within, and do the right like men, whatever pain it
may cost us, sure that we, by God's help, shall win at last in the
hardest battle of all battles, the victory over our own selves.