minds cultivated and refined intellectually, they felt the capabilities
of man for acting on a large field, and the need of some stimulus to
make him act thus. They saw that human nature was capable of great
things, and they perceived that some great goods must be attainable in
some way or other, though they did not well know what they were.
Feelings such as these, acting upon men in the tumult of life, with
their passions awake, keenly set on (what are called) political
objects, and averse to those self-denying habits which conscience (if
listened to) would have suggested to be the way to that unknown
happiness which their heart was imagining, led them to think of what
they called glory and popularity as the greatest of goods, and that to
which they ought especially to aspire.
Now what exactly they wished to signify by the word "glory," is
difficult to say, for they were apt to speak of it as if it were some
real thing, and that, too, which one could possess and make one's own;
yet, if we come to consider its real meaning, it plainly stands for
nothing else than the praise of other men, the being admired, honoured,
and feared; or, more commonly, having a celebrated name; that is, for a
something external to ourselves. But whatever precise notions they
wished to attach to the word, they used to talk in glowing language of
the necessity of going through dangers and sufferings for glory's
sake,--labouring to benefit the world for glory,--and dying for glory.
Now when we read of poor heathens using this language, it is our duty
to pity them, for it is plain enough to any sober reasoner, that
nothing is so vain as to talk of this glory being a real and
substantial good; for there is no better reason for my being happy
because my name is celebrated, than because any thing else is
celebrated which, accidentally, and for a time, is connected with
myself, and called mine. My name is my own only in the case of those
who use it in speaking of me; i. e. of those who happen to see and know
me. But when those who never saw me talk much of my name, they do me
no more good or harm than if they celebrated any thing else which _I_
may know to be mine. They may praise a house that was once mine--that
is not praising me; nor, in like manner, is it doing me any good, or
honouring me, when those who never saw me use my name respectfully. It
is a mere imagination, which can give no solid or lasting pleasure.
There is some meaning and sense (though great wickedness) in coveting
our neighbour's house or garden, horse or ass; the unjust steward,
though a bad man, at least acted wisely, i. e. according to a worldly
wisdom; but those who covet honour, I mean a great name, really covet
no substantial thing at all, and are not only "the most offending men
alive," inasmuch as this passion for fame may carry them on to the most
atrocious crimes, but also the most foolish of men.
Now, in the ancient heathen we may blame, but we must pity this sin,
because it at least evidenced in them a knowledge of a great want of
human nature, and was so far the sign of a higher state of mind than
that of others who did not feel any wants at all, who had no notion of
any but selfish enjoyments, and were content to live and die like the
brutes that perish. Their sin lay, not in being anxious for some good
or other, which was not before their eyes, but in not consulting their
own hearts on the subject, and going the way which their conscience
told them. But, I say, they were heathens,--they had no Bible, no
Church; and therefore we pity them; and by their errors are reminded to
look to ourselves, and see how far we are clean from their sin.
Now it is a most melancholy fact, that Christians are chargeable, for
all their light, with the same foolish irrational sin. This was not at
first sight to be expected. This is a peculiar case. Observe; I do
not say it is wonderful that we should seek the praise of persons we
know. This I can understand. We all naturally love to be respected
and admired, and in due limits perhaps we may be allowed to do so; the
love of praise is capable of receiving a religious discipline and
character. But the surprising thing is, that we should leave the
thought of present goods, whether sensual enjoyments, or the more
refined pleasure which the praise of our friends brings us, yet without
going on to seek the good of the next world; that we should deny
ourselves, yet not deny ourselves for a reality, but for a shadow. It
is natural, I say, to love to have deference and respect paid us by our
acquaintance; but I am speaking of the desire of glory, that is, the
praise of a vast multitude of persons we never saw, or shall see, or
care about; and this, I say, is a depraved appetite, the artificial
produce of a falsely enlightened intellect; as unmeaning as it is
sinful, or rather more sinful, because it is so very unmeaning;
excusable indeed in heathen, not only because they knew no better, but
because they had no better good clearly proposed to them; but in
Christians, who have the favour of God and eternal life set before
them, deeply criminal, turning away, as they do, from the bread of
heaven, to feed upon ashes, with a deceived and corrupted imagination.
This love of indiscriminate praise, then, is an odious, superfluous,
wanton sin, and we should put it away with a manly hatred, as something
irrational and degrading. Shall man, born for high ends, the servant
and son of God, the redeemed of Christ, the heir of immortality, go out
of his way to have his mere name praised by a vast populace, or by
various people, of whom he knows nothing, and most of whom (if he saw
them) he would himself be the first to condemn? It is odious, yet
young persons of high minds and vigorous powers, are especially liable
to be led captive by this snare of the devil. If reasoning does not
convince them, let facts,--the love of glory has its peculiar
condemnation in its consequences. No sin has been so productive of
wide-spread enduring ruin among mankind: wars and conquests are the
means by which men have most reckoned on securing it. A tree is known
by its fruit.
These remarks apply to the love of indiscriminate praise in all its
shapes. Few persons, indeed, are in a condition to be tempted by the
love of glory; but all persons may be tempted to indulge in vanity,
which is nothing else but the love of general admiration. A vain
person is one who likes to be praised, whoever is the praiser, whether
good or bad. Now consider, how few men are not in their measure vain,
till they reach that period of life when by the course of nature vanity
disappears? Let all Christians carefully ask themselves, whether they
are not very fond, not merely of the praise of their superiors and
friends--this is right,--but of that of any person, any chance-comer,
about whom they know nothing. Who is not open to flattery? and if he
seems not to be exposed to it, is it not that he is too shrewd or too
refined to be beguiled by any but what is delicate and unostentatious?
A man never considers who it is who praises him. But the most
dangerous, perhaps, of all kinds of vanity is to be vain of our
personal appearance, most dangerous, for such, persons are ever under
temptation--I may say, ever sinning. Wherever they go they carry their
snare with them; and their idle love of admiration is gratified without
effort by the very looks of those who gaze upon them.
Now I shall say something upon the natural and rational love of praise,
and how far it may be safely indulged. As I have already said, it is
_natural_ to desire the esteem of all those with whom we have
intercourse, all whom we love. Indeed, Almighty God intends us to do
so. When we love a person, we cannot but wish he should love us; but
he cannot love us, without also feeling respect and esteem towards us.
And as to the question, from whom we should desire praise, and how far,
we have this simple rule--from all who stand to us in Christ's place.
Christ Himself is our great Judge; from Him we must supremely seek
praise; and as far as men are in His place, so far may we seek it from
men. We may desire the praise of our parents and superiors, and the
praise of good men--in a word, all whom we have a value for; but the
desire of indiscriminate praise, the praise of those for whom we have
no respect or regard, this is the mischief. We may desire the praise
of those we have never seen, if we believe them to be good men. St.
Paul not only speaks of the mutual rejoicing between himself and the
Corinthians[5], who knew each other, but likewise returns thanks that
the fame of the faith of the Romans was spread all over the Christian
world[6]. And in this way we may desire the praise of good persons yet
unborn--I mean the Church of God, to the end of time. St. Mary, in the
hymn we daily use, returns thanks that "from henceforth all generations
shall call her blessed[7]." But this feeling of hers is very different
from the desire of what is called glory, posthumous fame, fame after
death; as if, forsooth, it were a great thing to have one's name
familiar to the mouths of the mixed multitude of this world, of
swearers, and jesters, and liars, and railers, and blasphemers, and of
all those men, who even if they do not sin grossly in deed, yet use
their tongues for evil, speak the words of the world, slander the
Church, speak evil of dignities, propagate error, and defend sinners; a
great thing truly, and much to be desired, to be honoured by that evil
world which dishonours God and His Son!
One additional caution I must add, about allowing ourselves the praise
of others; not only must we desire the praise of none but good men, but
we must not earnestly desire to be known even by many good men. The
truth is, we cannot know, really know, many persons at all, and it is
always dangerous to delight in the praises of strangers, even though we
believe them to be good men, and much more to seek their praises, which
is a kind of ambition. And further than this, it is more agreeable to
the Christian temper to be satisfied rather to know and to be known by
a few, and to grow day by day in their esteem and affection, than to
desire one's name to be on the lips of many, though they profess
religion, and associate us with religious objects. And it is our great
privilege to have the real blessing in our power, while the fancied
good alone is difficult to be gained. Few Christians can be great or
can leave a name to posterity; but most Christians will, in the length
of their lives, be able to secure the love and praise of one or two,
who are to them the representatives of Him whom "having not seen they
love," and in whose presence, or at least in whose memory, they may
comfort their heart till He come. This doubtless has been the
happiness of many saints who have not even left their names behind
them. It was the privilege doubtless of St. Simon and St. Jude. They,
indeed, were not simply unknown to the world in their lifetime, but
even hated and persecuted by it. Upon them came our Saviour's
prophecy, that "men should revile them . . . and say all manner of evil
against them falsely for His sake[8]." Yet in the affection the Church
bore them, in the love they bore to each other, and, above all, the
praise of that Saviour whom they had followed on earth, and who named
them in the number of those who had continued with Him in His
temptations[9], and were written in heaven, they had a real glory, not
as the world giveth. Who can estimate, who can imagine the deep, the
wonderful, the awful joy which the approbation of Christ would impart
to them? When we consider how intimately they were allowed to
associate with Him, how they were witnesses of His heavenly
conversation through the days of His flesh, of His acts of mercy, of
His Divine words, of the grace, the tenderness, the sanctity, the
majesty, the calmness, which reigned within Him; of His knowledge, His
wisdom, His perfect love of God, His zeal for God's service, His
patient obedience,--and much more when they knew the dread secret of
what He was before He came on earth, what He was even while on earth in
presence,--to have had a smile, an encouraging word, from Him, was it
not a privilege to treasure in memory beyond any thing else, a
remembrance so bright that every thing else looked discoloured and dim?
and would it not have amounted to a loss of reason in them to have even
had the thought of seeking the praise of weak, ignorant, sinful mortals?
Let us seek this praise which cometh of God, though we shall not have
that sensible experience of it which the Apostles were vouchsafed. Let
us seek it, for it is to be obtained; it is given to those worthy of
it. The poorest, the oldest, and most infirm among us, those who are
living not merely in obscurity, but are despised and forgotten, who
seem to answer no good purpose by living on, and whose death will not
be felt even by their neighbours as a loss, these even may obtain our
Saviour's approving look, and receive the future greeting, "Well done,
good and faithful servant."
Go on, then, contentedly in the path of duty, seeking Christ in His
house and in His ordinances, and He will be your glory at His coming.
He will own you before His Father. Let the world record in history the
names of heroes, statesmen, and conquerors, and reward courage, and
ability, and skill, and perseverance, with its proud titles of honour.
Verily, these have their reward. Your names will be written in Heaven,
with those of St. Simon and St. Jude, and the other Apostles. You will
have the favour of Him whose favour is life. "The secret of the Lord
is with them that fear Him; and He will show them His covenant[10]."
[1] Preached on the Festival of St. Simon and St. Jude.
[2] Eccles. xliv. 7, 9.
[3] Rev. ii. 2, 3.
[4] Rev. xiv. 18.
[5] 2 Cor. i. 4
[6] Rom. i. 8.
[7] Luke i. 48.
[8] Matt. v. 11.
[9] Luke xxii. 28-30.
[10] Ps. xxv. 14.
SERMON XIII.
Truth hidden when not sought after.
"_They shall turn away their ears from the truth, and shall be turned
unto fables._"--2 Tim. iv. 4.
From these words of the blessed Apostle, written shortly before he
suffered martyrdom, we learn, that there is such a thing as religious
truth, and therefore there is such a thing as religious error. We
learn that religious truth is _one_--and therefore that all views of
religion _but_ one are wrong. And we learn, moreover, that so it was
to be (for his words are a prophecy) that professed Christians,
forgetting this, should turn away their ears from the one Truth, and
should be turned, not to one, but to many fables. All this is
fulfilled before our eyes; our religious creeds and professions at this
day are many; but Truth is one: therefore they cannot all be right, or
rather almost all of them must be wrong. That is, the multitude of men
are wrong, so far as they differ, and as they differ, not about trivial
points, but about great matters, it follows that the multitude of men,
whether by their own fault or not, are wrong even in the greater
matters of religion.
This is a most solemn thought, and a perplexing one. However, there is
another which, though it ought not to be perplexing, is perplexing
still, and perhaps has greater need to be considered and explained; I
mean that men of learning and ability are so often wrong in religious
matters also. It is a stumbling-block to many, when they find that
those who seem the legitimate guides furnished by God's providence, who
are in some sense the natural prophets and expounders of the truth,
that these too are on many sides, and therefore many of them on the
side of error also. There are persons who can despise the opinions of
the _many_, and feel that _they_ are not right, but that truth, if it
be to be found, lies with the _few_; and since men of ability _are_
among the few, they think that truth lies with men of ability, and when
after all they are told that able men are ranged on contrary sides in
religious questions, they either hastily deny the fact, or they are
startled, and stagger in their faith.
But on the contrary, let us honestly confess what is certain, that not
the ignorant, or weakminded, or dull, or enthusiastic, or extravagant
only turn their ears from the Truth and are turned unto fables, but
also men of powerful minds, keen perceptions, extended views, ample and
various knowledge. Let us, I say, confess it; yet let us not believe
in the Truth the less on account of it.
I say that in the number of the adversaries of the Truth, there are
many men of highly endowed and highly cultivated minds. Why should we
deny this? It is unfair to do so; and not only unfair, but very
unnecessary. What is called ability and talent does not make a man a
Christian; nay, often, as may be shown without difficulty, it is the
occasion of his rejecting Christianity, or this or that part of it.
Not only in the higher ranks of society do we see this; even in the
humble and secluded village, it will commonly be found, that those who
have greater gifts of mind than others around them, who have more
natural quickness, shrewdness, and wit, are the very persons who are
the most likely to turn out ill--who are least under the influence of
religious principles--and neither obey nor even revere the Gospel of
salvation which Christ has brought us.
Now if we consult St. Paul's Epistles to the Corinthians, we shall find
the same state of things existing even in the first age of
Christianity. Even the Apostle speaks of those who were blind, or to
whom his Gospel was hid; and he elsewhere describes them, not as the
uneducated and dull of understanding, but as the wise of this world,
the scribe and the disputer. Even then, before the Apostle's prophecy
in the text was fulfilled, there were many who erred from the truth
even in the midst of light, and in spite of superior intellectual
endowments and acquirements.
Does not our Saviour Himself say the same thing, when He thanks His
Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that He hath hid these things from
the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes?
Now it should not surprise us when men of acute and powerful
understandings more or less reject the Gospel, for this reason, that
the Christian revelation addresses itself to our hearts, to our love of
truth and goodness, our fear of sinning, and our desire to gain God's
favour, and quickness, sagacity, depth of thought, strength of mind,
power of comprehension, perception of the beautiful, power of language,
and the like, though they are excellent gifts, are clearly quite of a
different kind from these spiritual excellences--a man may have the one
without having the other. _This_, then, is the plain reason why able,
or again why learned men are so often defective Christians, because
there is no necessary connexion between faith and ability, because
faith is one thing and ability is another; because ability of mind is a
_gift_, and faith is a _grace_. Who would ever argue that a man could,
like Samson, conquer lions or throw down the gates of a city, because
he was able, or accomplished, or experienced in the business of life?
Who would ever argue that a man could see because he could hear, or run
with the swift because he had "the tongue of the learned[1]"? These
gifts are different in kind. In like manner, powers of mind and
religious principles and feelings are distinct gifts; and as all the
highest spiritual excellence, humility, firmness, patience, would never
enable a man to read an unknown tongue, or to enter into the depths of
science, so all the most brilliant mental endowments, wit, or
imagination, or penetration, or depth, will never of themselves make us
wise in religion. And as we should fairly and justly deride the savage
who wished to decide questions of science or literature by the sword,
so may we justly look with amazement on the error of those who think
that they can master the high mysteries of spiritual truth, and find
their way to God, by what is commonly called reason, i. e. by the
random and blind efforts of mere mental acuteness, and mere experience
of the world.
That Truth, which St. Paul preached, addresses itself to our spiritual
nature: it will be rightly understood, valued, accepted, by none but
lovers of truth, virtue, purity, humility, and peace. Wisdom will be
justified of her children. Those, indeed, who are thus endowed may and
will go on to use their powers of mind, whatever they are, in the
service of religion; none but they can use them aright. Those who
reject revealed truth wilfully, are such as do not love moral and
religious truth. It is bad men, proud men, men of hard hearts, and
unhumbled tempers, and immoral lives, these are they who reject the
Gospel. These are they of whom St. Paul speaks in another Epistle--"If
our Gospel be hid, it is hid to them that are lost, in whom the god of
this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe not." With
this agree the instances of turning the ears from the truth which the
New Testament affords us. Who were they who were the enemies of Christ
and His Apostles? The infidel Sadducees, the immoral, hard-hearted,
yet hypocritical Pharisees, Herod, who married his brother Philip's
wife[2], and Felix, who trembled when St. Paul reasoned of
righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come[3]. On the other hand,
men of holy and consistent lives, as Cornelius the Centurion, and those
who were frequenters of religious ordinances, as Simeon and Anna, these
became Christians. So it is now. If men turn unto fables of their own
will, they do it on account of their pride, or their love of indolence
and self-indulgence.
This should be kept in mind when Christians are alarmed, as they
sometimes are, on hearing instances of infidelity or heresy among those
who read, reflect, and inquire, whereas, however we may mourn over such
instances, we have no reason to be surprised at them. It is quite
enough for Christians to be able to show, as they well can, that belief
in revealed religion is not inconsistent with the highest gifts and
acquirements of mind, that men even of the strongest and highest
intellect have been Christians, but they have as little reason to be
perplexed at finding _other_ men of ability not true believers, as at
finding that certain _rich_ men are not true believers, or certain
_poor_ men, or some in every rank and circumstance of life. A belief
in Christianity has hardly more connexion with what is called talent,
than it has with riches, station, power, or bodily strength.
Now let me explain what I have said by a further remark. Is it not
plain that earnestness is necessary for gaining religious truth? On
the other hand, is it not a natural effect of ability to save us
trouble, and even to tempt us to dispense with it, and to lead us to be
indolent? Do not we see this even in the case of children--the more
clever are the more idle, because they rely on their own quickness and
power of apprehension? Is indolence the way to gain knowledge from
God? Yet this surely is continually forgotten in the world. It is
forgotten in a measure even by the best of Christians, for no man on
earth seeks to know God's will, and to do His duty with an earnestness
suitable to the importance of the object. But not to speak thus
rigorously, let us consider for an instant how eagerly men in general
pursue objects of this world; now with what portion of this eagerness
do they exert themselves to know the truth of God's word? Undeniable,
then, as is the doctrine that God does not reveal Himself to those who
do not seek Him, it is certain that its truth is not really felt by us,
or we should seek Him more earnestly than we do.