As is the manner of our friend, he concludes a letter which was begun
with thoughtful wisdom, with a proposal which, if gravely made, will
seem to most of us both unpractical and impracticable.
Very forcible and very true is the emphatic declaration here made of the
deep, perhaps unpardonable sinfulness of taking in vain the holy name of
God.
But, to my mind, the irremediable fault in the latter proposition in
this letter is the assumption that every honest clergyman of average
capacity, and of ordinary experience of life, is, of course, wise enough
to discern men's characters and to judge them with that unerring
sagacity that will enable him to pronounce without favour or distinction
of persons the severe sentence: "You shall not enter this house of God.
I interdict your presence here. The comforts and privileges of religion
are for other than thou. I deny thee the prayers, the preaching, and the
sacraments of the Church." More briefly--"I excommunicate thee."
Even in the case of a very bad man this would be found impossible to
accomplish without the direst danger to the clergyman's usefulness and
influence, to say nothing of his peace. For our experience abundantly
shows that let a bad man but be audacious, and even ruffianly enough,
helped by his position, he will always find plenty of support among the
powerful and influential. The poor and honest clergyman, if he has
attempted to enforce Church discipline, will be gravely rebuked for his
want of charity, for his sad lack of discretion or tact, for his utter
want of worldly wisdom; he will very soon find, to use the familiar
phrase, the place too hot for him, and he may be thankful if he escapes
with some small remainder of respect or compassion from the
nobler-minded of his flock, who are always in a very small minority.
I know not how it really was in the time when the rubrics of the
Communion Services were framed. One would think, judging from these,
that the clergyman possessed unlimited power to judge and punish with
spiritual deprivation, and that he was alone to unite in himself all the
various offices of accuser and police, counsel, jury, and judge. We are
required to say every Ash Wednesday that we regret the loss of the godly
discipline of the Primitive Church--under which, "at the beginning of
Lent, all such persons as stood convicted of notorious sin were put to
open penance; and that it is much to be wished that the said discipline
may be restored again." But few can seriously view a realization of that
wish without fear for the certain consequences.
The truth is, the world moves on. Human nature may remain the same; but
the laws and usages of society are subject to changes which it is
useless to withstand. At the present day, great, rather too great,
perhaps, are the claims of _charity_. We are told to hope for the best
in the worst of cases; we are to forgive all, even the still hardened
and unrepenting; we are to smile upon heresy and schism; we are to treat
the rude, the churlish, the hard of heart, amidst our flocks, as if we
had the greatest regard for them! I am not prepared to say that this is
in every way to be regretted; for these are errors that lean perhaps to
virtue's side. But I certainly do think that often a little more
fearlessness in rebuking vice would not come amiss.
But, on the other hand, suppose for a moment the clergy to have the
undisputed power to bar out both the wicked rich and the wicked poor
from their churches, this power would be of very little use; nay, it
would be full of mischief and danger, without a sound judgment, a
fearless spirit, and a heart little used to the melting mood. The
clergy, as a class, may perhaps be a trifle superior to the laity in
moral character, in spiritual knowledge, and in judgment in dealing with
people, because their profession has early trained (or at any rate,
ought to have trained) them in the constant and imperative exercise of
self-examination and self-control, and the careful discernment of
character in their intercourse with men. But that superiority, if it
exists at all, is so trifling as to make very little impression on the
laity, who would naturally be ready at any step to dispute the wisdom or
expediency of the judicial acts of the clergy.
Further, again: given both the wisdom to judge and the power to doom,
would it be desirable to establish a rule that the open and notorious
sinner (though there would always be differences of opinion upon what he
really is, even among the clergy themselves) should be prevented from
coming where he might, above all other places, be most likely to hear
words that would touch his heart and bring him to a better mind? From
the pulpit, words of counsel, of holy doctrine, and of heart-stirring
precepts of the Gospel, fall with a power and weight which are rarely to
be found in private conversations. Many an open and notorious sinner has
first yielded up his heart to God under the powerful influence of
preaching. When Jesus sat in the Pharisee's house, all the publicans and
sinners drew near to hear Him; and the orthodox sinners, the Pharisees,
made bitter complaints that He received and ate with the scorned and
rejected sinners. God forbid that the day should ever come when
spiritual pride and exclusiveness shall shut out even the hardest of
sinners from the house of God; for who can tell where or when the word
may be spoken which shall break the stony heart, and replace it with the
tender heart of flesh, soon to be filled with love and devotion to God
the Saviour and Redeemer?
But, as this is a subject of great importance, may I also say a word in
support of Mr. Ruskin's own view that the wicked should be discouraged,
or even forbidden, to enter the house of God? We have 2 Cor. vi. 14-18,
which seems to point out that, in the primitive Church, the wicked were
not allowed in the assemblies of the faithful. And we remember David's
"I have hated the congregation of evil doers, and will not sit with the
wicked" (Psalm xxvi. 5). Is not Mr. Ruskin, perhaps, after all, only
advocating a return to primitive usage?
Mr. Ruskin says in the Preface to his selected works: "What I wrote on
religion was painstaking, and I think forcible, as compared with most
religious writing; especially in its frankness and fearlessness."
Unfortunately he adds, "But it was wholly mistaken."[14] He is still
equally outspoken, frank, and fearless; but what he wrote upon religion,
as far as I know it, in the days which he now condemns, will live and do
good, as long as the noble English language, of which he is one of the
greatest masters, lives to convey to distant generations the great
thoughts of the sons that are her proudest boast.
[14] "Sesame and Lilies," p. iii., 1876.