'And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy
brother's eye, but perceiveth not the beam that is in
thine own eye? 42. Either, how canst thou say to thy
brother, Brother, let me pull out the mote that is in
thine eye, when thou thyself beholdest not the beam
that is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, cast out
first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt
thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy
brother's eye. 43. For a good tree bringeth not forth
corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth
good fruit. 44. For every tree is known by his own
fruit: for of thorns men do not gather figs, nor of a
bramble-bush gather they grapes. 45. A good man, out
of the good treasure of his heart, bringeth forth that
which is good; and an evil man, out of the evil
treasure of his heart, bringeth forth that which is
evil; for of the abundance of the heart his mouth
speaketh, 46. And why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do
not the things which I say? 47. Whosoever cometh to
Me, and heareth My sayings, and doeth them, I will
shew you to whom he is like: 48. He is like a man
which built an house, and digged deep, and laid the
foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the
stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could not
shake it; for it was founded upon a rock. 49. But he
that heareth, and doeth not, is like a man that,
without a foundation, built an house upon the earth;
against which the stream did beat vehemently, and
immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was
great.'--LUKE vi. 41-49.
Three extended metaphors, which may almost be called parables, close
Luke's version of the Sermon on the Mount, and constitute this
passage. These are the mote and the beam, the good and bad trees,
the houses on the rock and on the sand. Matthew puts the first of
these earlier in the sermon, and connects it with other precepts
about judging others. But whichever order is the original, that
adopted by Luke has a clear connection of thought underlying it
which will come out as we proceed.
I. The striking and somewhat ludicrous image of the beam and the
mote is found in Rabbinical writings, and may have been familiar to
Christ's hearers. But His use of it is deeper and more searching
than the rabbis' was. He has just been speaking of blind guides and
their blind followers. That 'parable,' as Luke calls it, naturally
images another defect which may attach to the eye. A man may be
partly blind because some foreign body has got in. If we might
suppose a tacit reference to the Pharisees in the blind guides,
their self-complacent censoriousness would be in view here; but the
application of the saying is much wider than to them only.
Verse 41 teaches that the accurate measurement of the magnitude of
our own failings should precede our detection of our brother's.
Christ assumes the commonness of the opposite practice by asking
'why' it is so. And we have all to admit that the assumption is
correct. The keenness of men's criticism of their neighbour's faults
is in inverse proportion to their familiarity with their own. It is
no unusual thing to hear some one, bedaubed with dirt from head to
foot, declaiming with disgust about a speck or two on his
neighbour's white robes.
Satan reproving sin is not an edifying sight, but Satan criticising
sin is still less agreeable. If only 'he that is without sin among
you' would fling stones, there would be fewer reputations pelted
than there are. Most men know less about their own faults than about
their brother's. They use two pairs of spectacles--one which
diminishes, and is put on for looking at themselves; one which
magnifies, and is worn for their neighbour's benefit. But when their
respective good qualities are to be looked at, the other pair is
used in each case. That is men's way, all the world over.
Christ's question asks the reason for this all but universal
dishonesty of having two weights and measures for faults. He would
have us ponder on the cause, that we may discover the remedy. He
would have us reflect, that we may get a vivid conviction of the
unreasonableness of the practice. There is nothing in the fact that
a fault is mine which should make it small in my judgment; nor, on
the other hand, in the accident that it is another's, which should
make it seem large. A fault is a fault, whoever it belongs to, and
we should judge ourselves and others by the same rule. Only we
should be most severe in its application to ourselves, for we cannot
tell how much our brother has had, to diminish the criminality of
his sin, and we can tell, if we will be honest, how much we have
had, to aggravate that of ours. So the conscience of a true
Christian works as Paul's did when he said 'Of whom I am chief,' and
is more disposed to make its own motes into beams than to censure
its brother's.
The reason, so far as there is a reason, can only lie in our
diseased selfishness, which is the source of all sin. And the
blindness to our 'beams' is partly produced by their very presence.
All sin blinds conscience. A man with a beam in his eye would not be
able to see much. One device of sin, practised in order to withdraw
the doer's attention from his own deed, is to make him censorious of
his fellows, and to compound for the sins he is inclined to by
condemning other people's.
Verse 42 teaches that the conquest of our own discovered evils must
precede efficient attempts to cure other people's. To pose as a
curer of them while we are ignorant of our own faults is,
consciously or unconsciously, hypocrisy, for it assumes a hatred of
evil, which, if genuine, would have found first a field for its
working in ourselves. An oculist with diseased eyes would not be
likely to be a successful operator. 'Physician, heal thyself' would
fit him well, and be certainly flung at him. A cleansed eye will
see the brother's mote clearly, but only in order to help its
extraction. It is a delicate bit of work to get it out, and needs a
gentle hand.
Our discernment of others' faults must be compassionate, not to be
followed by condemnation nor self-complacency but by loving efforts
to help to a cure. And such will not be made unless we have learned
our own sinfulness, and can go to the wrongdoer in brotherly
humility, and win him to use the 'eye-salve' which our conduct shows
has healed us.
II. The second compressed parable of the two trees springs from the
former naturally, as stating the general law of which verse 42 gives
one case, namely, that good deeds (such as casting out the mote) can
only come from a good heart (made good by confession of its own
evils and their ejection). It is often said that Christ's teaching
is unlike that of His Apostles in that He places stress on works,
and says little of faith. But how does He regard works? As fruits.
That is to say, they are of value in His eyes only as being products
and manifestations of character. He does not tell us in this parable
how the character which will effloresce in blossoms and set in
fruits of goodness is produced. That comes in the next parable. But
here is sufficiently set forth the great central truth of Christian
ethics that the inward disposition is the all-important thing, and
that deeds are determined as to their moral quality by the character
from which they have proceeded.
Our actions are our self-revelations. The words are not to be
pressed, as if they taught the entire goodness of one class of men,
so that all their acts were products of their good character, nor
the unmingled evil of another, so that no good of any kind or in any
degree is in them or comes from them. They must be read as embodying
a general truth which is not as yet fully exemplified in any
character or conduct.
In verse 45 the same idea is presented under a different figure--that
of a wealthy man who brings his possessions out of his store-house.
The application of the figure is significantly varied so as to include
the other great department of human activity. Speech is act. It, too,
will be according to the cast of the inner life. Of course, feigned
speech of all sorts is not in view. The lazy judgment of men thinks
less of words than of deeds. Christ always attaches supreme importance
to them. Intentional lying being excluded, speech is an even more
complete self-revelation than act. When one thinks of the floods of
foul or idle or malicious talk which half drown the world as being
revelations of the sort of hearts from which they have gushed, one
is appalled. What a black, seething fountain that must be which
spurts up such inky waters!
III. The third parable, of the two houses, shows in part how hearts may
be made 'good.' It is attached to the preceding by verse 46. Speech
does not always come from 'the abundance of the heart.' Many call Him
Lord who do not act accordingly. Deeds must confirm words. If the two
diverge, the latter must be taken as the credible self-revelation. Now
the first noticeable thing here is Christ's bold assumption that His
words are a rock foundation for any life. He claims to give an absolute
and all-sufficient rule of conduct, and to have the right to command
every man.
And people read such words and then talk about their Christianity
not being the belief of His divinity, but the practice of the Sermon
on the Mount! His words are the foundation for every firm, lasting
life. They are the basis of all true thought about God, ourselves,
our duties, our future. 'That rock was Christ.' Every other
foundation is as sand. Unless we build on Him, we build on
changeable inclinations, short-lived desires, transitory aims,
evanescent circumstances. Only the Christ who ever liveth, and is
ever 'the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever,' is fit to be
the foundation of lives that are to be immortal.
Note the two houses built on the foundations. The metaphor suggests
that each life is a whole with a definite character. Alas, how many
of our lives are liker a heap of stones tilted at random out of a cart
than a house with a plan. But there is a character stamped on every
life, and however the man may have lived from hand to mouth without
premeditation, the result has a character of its own, be it temple
or pig-sty. Each life, too, is built up by slow labour, course by
course. Our deeds become our dwelling-places. Like coral-insects, we
live in what we build. Memory, habit, ever-springing consequences,
shape by slow degrees our isolated actions into our abodes. What do
we build?
One storm tries both houses. That may refer to the common trials of
every life, but it is best taken as referring to the future
judgment, when God 'will lay judgment to the line, and righteousness
to the plummet'; and whatever cannot stand that test will be
swept away. Who would run up a flimsy structure on some windy
headland in northern seas? The lighthouses away out in ocean are
firmly bonded into living rock. Unless our lives are thus built on
and into Christ, they will collapse into a heap of ruin. 'Behold I
lay in Zion for a foundation a stone, a tried stone, a precious
corner stone, a sure foundation: he that believeth shall not make
haste.'