CHAPTER III.

This section of our book sets before us the breaking up of the whole scene on which we have been dwelling. It abounds in very weighty principles; and has, very justly, been, in all ages, resorted to as a most fruitful theme for those who desired to set forth the truth as to man's ruin and God's remedy. The serpent enters, with a bold question as to divine revelation,--terrible model and forerunner of all infidel questions since raised by those who have, alas! too faithfully served the serpent's cause in the world,--questions which are only to be met by the supreme authority and divine majesty of Holy Scripture.

"Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?" This was Satan's crafty inquiry; and had the word of God been dwelling richly in Eve's heart, her answer might have been direct, simple, and conclusive. The true way in which to meet Satan's questions and suggestions, is to treat them as his, and repel them by the word. To let them near the heart, for a moment, is to lose the only power by which to answer them. The devil did not openly present himself and say, "I am the devil, the enemy of God, and I am come to traduce him, and ruin you." This would not be serpent-like; and, yet, he really did all this, _by raising questions_ in the mind of the creature. To admit the question, "hath God said?" when I know that God has spoken, is positive infidelity; and the very fact of my admitting it, proves my total incapacity to meet it. Hence, in Eve's case, the form of her reply evidenced the fact that she had admitted to her heart the serpent's crafty inquiry. Instead of adhering strictly to the exact words of God, she, in her reply, actually adds thereto.

Now, either to add to, or take from, God's word, proves, very clearly, that his word is not dwelling in my heart, or governing my conscience. If a man is finding his enjoyment in obedience, if it is his meat and his drink, if he is living by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of Jehovah, he will, assuredly, be acquainted with, and fully alive to, his word. He could not be indifferent to it. The Lord Jesus, in his conflict with Satan, accurately applied the word, because he lived upon it, and esteemed it more than his necessary food. He could not misquote or misapply the word, neither could he be indifferent about it. Not so Eve. She added to what God had said. His command was simple enough, "Thou shalt not eat of it." To this Eve adds her own words, "neither shall ye touch it." These were Eve's words and not God's. He had said nothing about touching; so that whether her misquotation proceeded from ignorance, or indifference, or a desire to represent God in an arbitrary light, or from all three together, it is plain that she was entirely off the true ground of simple confidence in, and subjection to, God's holy word. "By the words of thy mouth, I have kept me from the paths of the destroyer."

Nothing can possess more commanding interest than the way in which the word is everywhere put forward throughout the sacred canon, together with the immense importance of strict obedience thereto. Obedience is due from us to God's word, simply because it is his word. To raise a question when he has spoken, is blasphemy. We are in the place of the creature. He is the Creator; He may, therefore, justly claim obedience from us. The infidel may call this "blind obedience;" but the Christian calls it intelligent obedience, inasmuch as it is based upon the knowledge that it is God's word to which he is obedient. If a man had not God's word, he might well be said to be in blindness and darkness, for there is not so much as a single ray of divine light, within or around us, but what emanates from God's pure and eternal word. All that we want to know is that God has spoken, and then obedience becomes the very highest order of intelligent acting. When the soul gets up to God, it has reached the very highest source of authority. No man, nor body of men, can claim obedience to their word, because it is theirs; and hence the claims of the Church of Rome are arrogant and impious. In her claiming obedience, she usurps the prerogative of God; and all who yield it, rob God of his right. She presumes to place herself between God and the conscience; and who can do this with impunity? When God speaks, man is bound to obey. Happy is he if he does so. Woe be to him if he does not. Infidelity may question if God has spoken; superstition may place human authority between my conscience and what God has spoken; by both alike I am effectually robbed of the word, and, as a consequence, of the deep blessedness of obedience.

There is a blessing in every act of obedience; but the moment the soul hesitates, the enemy has the advantage; and he will assuredly use it to thrust the soul farther and farther from God. Thus, in the chapter before us, the question, "Hath God said?" was followed by, "Ye shall not surely die." That is to say, there was first the question raised, as to whether God had spoken, and then followed the open contradiction of what God had said. This solemn fact is abundantly sufficient to show how dangerous it is to admit near the heart a question as to divine revelation, in its fulness and integrity. A refined rationalism is very near akin to bold infidelity; and the infidelity that dares to judge God's Word is not far from the atheism that denies his existence. Eve would never have stood by to hear God contradicted, if she had not previously fallen into looseness and indifference as to his word. She, too, had her "Phases of Faith," or, to speak more correctly, her phases of infidelity; she suffered God to be contradicted by a creature, simply because his word had lost its proper authority over her heart, her conscience, and her understanding.

This furnishes a most solemn warning to all who are in danger of being ensnared by an unhallowed rationalism. There is no true security, save in a profound faith in the plenary inspiration and supreme authority of "ALL SCRIPTURE." The soul that is endowed with this has a triumphant answer to every objector, whether he issue from Rome or Germany. "There is nothing new under the sun." The self-same evil which is now corrupting the very springs of religious thought and feeling, throughout the fairest portion of the continent of Europe, was that which laid Eve's heart in ruins, in the garden of Eden. The first step in her downward course was her hearkening to the question, "Hath God said?" And then, onward she went, from stage to stage, until, at length, she bowed before the serpent, and owned him as her god, and the fountain of truth. Yes, my reader, the serpent displaced God, and the serpent's lie God's truth. Thus it was with fallen man; and thus it is with fallen man's posterity. God's word has no place in the heart of the unregenerated man; but the lie of the serpent has. Let the formation of man's heart be examined, and it will be found that there is a place therein for Satan's lie, but none whatever for the truth of God. Hence the force of the word to Nicodemus, "Ye must be born again."

But, it is important to observe the mode in which the serpent sought to shake Eve's confidence in God's truth, and thus bring her under the power of infidel "_reason_." It was by shaking her confidence in God's love. He sought to shake her confidence in what God had said by showing that the testimony was not founded in love. "For," said he, "God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods knowing good and evil." (Ver. 5.) In other words, "There is positive advantage connected with the eating of that fruit of which God is seeking to deprive you; why, therefore, should you believe God's testimony? you cannot place confidence in one who, manifestly, does not love you; for, if he loved you, why should he prohibit your enjoying a positive privilege?"

Eve's security against the influence of all this reasoning, would have been simple repose in the infinite goodness of God. She should have said to the serpent, "I have the fullest confidence in God's goodness, and, therefore, I deem it impossible that he could withhold any real good from me. If that fruit were good for me, I should surely have it; but the fact of its being forbidden by God proves that I would be no better, but much worse off by the eating of it. I am convinced of God's _love_, and I am convinced of God's _truth_, and I believe, too, that you are an evil one come to draw my heart away from the fountain of goodness and truth. Get thee behind me, Satan." This would have been a noble reply. But it was not given. Her confidence in truth and love gave way, and all was lost; and so we find that there is just as little place in the heart of fallen man for God's love, as there is for God's truth. The heart of man is a stranger to both the one and the other, until renewed by the power of the Holy Ghost.

Now, it is deeply interesting to turn from Satan's lie in reference to the truth and love of God, to the mission of the Lord Jesus Christ, who came from the bosom of the Father in order to reveal what he really is. "Grace and truth,"--the very things which man lost, in his fall,--"came by Jesus Christ." (John i. 17.) He was "the faithful witness" of what God was. (Rev. i. 5.) Truth reveals God as he is; but this truth is connected with the revelation of perfect grace; and thus the sinner finds, to his unspeakable joy, that the revelation of what God is, instead of being his destruction, becomes the basis of his eternal salvation. "This is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." (John xvii. 3.) I cannot know God and not have life. The loss of the knowledge of God was death; but the knowledge of God is life. This, necessarily, makes life a thing entirely outside of ourselves, and dependent upon what God is. Let me arrive at what amount of self-knowledge I may, it is not said that "this is life eternal, to know themselves;" though, no doubt, the knowledge of God and the knowledge of self will go very much together; still, "eternal life" is connected with the former, and not with the latter. To know God as he is, is life; and "all who know not God" shall be "punished with everlasting destruction from his presence."

It is of the utmost importance to see that what really stamps man's character and condition is his ignorance or knowledge of God. This it is that marks his character here, and fixes his destiny hereafter. Is he evil in his thoughts, evil in his words, evil in his actions? It is all the result of his being ignorant of God. On the other hand, is he pure in thought, holy in conversation, gracious in action? It is but the practical result of his knowledge of God. So also as to the future. To know God is the solid ground of endless bliss,--everlasting glory. To know him not is "everlasting destruction." Thus the knowledge of God is every thing. It quickens the soul, purifies the heart, tranquillizes the conscience, elevates the affections, sanctifies the entire character and conduct.

Need we wonder, therefore, that Satan's grand design was to rob the creature of the true knowledge of the only true God? He misrepresented the blessed God: he said he was not kind. This was the secret spring of all the mischief. It matters not what shape sin has since taken,--it matters not through what channel it has flowed, under what head it has ranged itself, or in what garb it has clothed itself,--it is all to be traced to this one thing, namely, ignorance of God. The most refined and cultivated moralist, the most devout religionist, the most benevolent philanthropist, if ignorant of God, is as far from life and true holiness, as the publican and the harlot. The prodigal was just as much a sinner, and as positively away from the Father, when he had crossed the threshold, as when he was feeding swine in the far country. (Luke xv. 13-15.) So in Eve's case. The moment she took herself out of the hands of God,--out of the position of absolute dependence upon, and subjection to, his word,--she abandoned herself to the government of sense, as used of Satan for her entire overthrow.

The sixth verse presents three things, namely: "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life;" which three, as the apostle states, comprehend "all that is in the world." These things necessarily took the lead, when God was shut out. If I do not abide in the happy assurance of God's love and truth, his grace and faithfulness, I shall surrender myself to the government of some one, or it may be all, of the above principles; and this is only another name for the government of Satan. There is, strictly speaking, no such thing as man's free-will. If man be self-governed, he is really governed by Satan; and if not, he is governed by God.

Now, the three great agencies by which Satan works are "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life." Those were the things presented by Satan to the Lord Jesus, in the temptation. He began by tempting the Second Man to take himself out of the position of absolute dependence upon God. "Command these stones that they be made bread." He asked him to do this, not, as in the case of the first man, to make himself what he was not, but to prove what he was. Then followed the offer of the kingdoms of the world, with all their glory. And, finally, conducting him to a pinnacle of the temple, he tempted him to give himself, suddenly and miraculously, to the admiration of the assembled people below. (Comp. Matt. iv. 1-11 with Luke iv. 1-13.) The plain design of each temptation was to induce the Blessed One to step from the position of entire dependence upon God, and perfect subjection to his will. But all in vain. "_It is written_," was the unvarying reply of the only dependent, self-emptied, perfect man. Others might undertake to manage for themselves: none but God should manage for him.

What an example for the faithful, under all their circumstances! Jesus kept close to scripture, and thus conquered: without any other weapon, save the sword of the Spirit, he stood in the conflict, and gained a glorious triumph. What a contrast with the first Adam! The one had every thing to plead for God: the other had every thing to plead against him. The garden, with all its delights, in the one case; the wilderness, with all its privations, in the other: confidence in Satan, in the one case; confidence in God in the other: complete defeat in the one case; complete victory in the other. Blessed forever be the God of all grace, who has laid our help on One so mighty to conquer, mighty to save!

Let us now inquire how far Adam and Eve realized the serpent's promised advantage. This inquiry will lead us to a deeply-important point in connection with the fall of man. The Lord God had so ordered it, that in and by the fall, man should get what previously he had not, and that was _a conscience_,--a knowledge of both good and evil. This, man evidently could not have had before. He could not have known aught about evil, inasmuch as evil was not there to be known. He was in a state of innocence, which is a state of ignorance of evil. Man got a conscience in and by the fall; and we find that the very first effect of conscience was to make him a coward. Satan had utterly deceived the woman. He had said, "your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." But he had left out a material part of the truth, namely, that they should know good, without the power to do it; and that they should know evil, without the power to avoid it. Their very attempt to elevate themselves in the scale of moral existence involved the loss of true elevation. They became degraded, powerless, Satan-enslaved, conscience-smitten, terrified creatures. "The eyes of them both were opened," no doubt; but alas! to what a sight! It was only to discover their own nakedness. They opened their eyes upon their own condition, which was "wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked." "They knew that they were naked,"--sad fruit of the tree of knowledge! It was not any fresh knowledge of divine excellency they had attained,--no fresh beam of divine light from the pure and eternal fountain thereof,--alas! no: the very earliest result of their disobedient effort after knowledge was the discovery that they were naked.

Now, it is well to understand this; well, too, to know how conscience works,--to see that it can only make cowards of us, as being the consciousness of what we are. Many are astray as to this: they think that conscience will bring us to God. Did it operate thus, in the case of Adam and Eve? Assuredly not. Nor will it, in the case of any sinner. How could it? How could the sense of what _I am_ ever bring me to God, if not accompanied by the faith of what _God is_? Impossible: it will produce shame, self-reproach, remorse, anguish. It may, also, give birth to certain efforts, on my part, to remedy the condition which it discloses; but these very efforts, so far from drawing us to God, rather act as a blind to hide him from our view. Thus, in the case of Adam and Eve, the discovery of their nakedness was followed by an effort of their own to cover it. "They sewed fig-leaves together and made themselves aprons." This is the first record we have of man's attempt to remedy, by his own device, his condition; and the attentive consideration thereof will afford us not a little instruction as to the real character of human religiousness in all ages. In the first place we see, not only in Adam's case, but in every case, that man's effort to remedy his condition is based upon the sense of his nakedness. He is, confessedly, naked, and all his works are the result of his being so. This can never avail. I must know that I am clothed, before I can do any thing acceptable in the sight of God.

And this, be it observed, is the difference between true Christianity and human religiousness. The former is founded upon the fact of a man's being clothed: the latter, upon the fact of his being naked. The former has for its starting-post what the latter has for its goal. All that a true Christian does, is because he is clothed,--perfectly clothed; all that a mere religionist does, is in order that he may be clothed. This makes a vast difference. The more we examine the genius of man's religion, in all its phases, the more we shall see its thorough insufficiency to remedy his state, or even to meet his own sense thereof. It may do very well for a time. It may avail so long as death, judgment, and the wrath of God are looked at from a distance, if looked at at all; but when a man comes to look these terrible realities straight in the face, he will find, in good truth, that his religion is a bed too short for him to stretch himself upon, and a covering too narrow for him to wrap himself in.

The moment Adam heard the voice of the Lord God, in Eden, "_he was afraid_," because, as he himself confessed, "I was naked." Yes, naked, although he had his apron on him. But it is plain that that covering did not even satisfy his own conscience. Had his conscience been divinely satisfied, he would not have been afraid. "If our heart condemn us not, then have we confidence toward God." (1 John iii. 20, 21.) But if even the human conscience cannot find repose in man's religious efforts, how much less can the holiness of God. Adam's apron could not screen him from the eye of God; and he could not stand in his presence naked: therefore he fled to hide himself. This is what conscience will do at all times. It will cause man to hide himself from God; and, moreover, all that his own religiousness offers him is a hiding-place from God. This is a miserable provision, inasmuch as he must meet God, some time or other; and if he has naught save the sad conscience of what he is, he must be afraid,--yea, he must be wretched. Indeed, nothing is needed, save hell itself, to complete the misery of one who feels he has to meet God, and knows only his own unfitness to meet him.

Had Adam known God's perfect love, he would not have been afraid. "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear, because fear hath torment. He that feareth is not made perfect in love." (1 John iv. 17, 18.) But Adam knew not this, because he had believed the serpent's lie. He thought that God was any thing but love; and, therefore, the very last thought of his heart would have been to venture into his presence. He could not do it. Sin was there, and God and sin can never meet; so long as there is sin on the conscience, there must be the sense of distance from God. "He is of purer eyes than to behold evil, and cannot look upon iniquity." (Hab. i. 13.) Holiness and sin cannot dwell together. Sin, wherever it is found, can only be met by the wrath of God.

But, blessed be God, there is something beside the _conscience of what I am_. There is _the revelation of what he is_; and this latter the fall of man really brought out. God had not revealed himself, fully, in creation: he had shown "his eternal power and Godhead,"[6] ([Greek: theiotes]) but he had not told out all the deep secrets of his nature and character. Wherefore Satan made a grand mistake in coming to meddle with God's creation. He only proved to be the instrument of his own eternal defeat and confusion, and "his violent dealing" shall forever "come down upon his own pate." His _lie_ only gave occasion for the display of the full _truth_ in reference to God. Creation never could have brought out what God was. There was infinitely more in him than power and wisdom. There was love, mercy, holiness, righteousness, goodness, tenderness, long-suffering. Where could all these be displayed, but in a world of sinners? God, at the first, came down to _create_; and, then, when the serpent presumed to meddle with creation, God came down to _save_. This is brought out in the first words uttered by the Lord God, after man's fall. "And the Lord God called unto Adam, and said unto him, Where art thou?" This question proved two things. It proved that man was lost, and that God had come to seek. It proved man's sin, and God's grace. "Where art thou?" Amazing faithfulness! Amazing grace! Faithfulness, to disclose, in the very question itself, the truth as to man's condition: grace, to bring out, in the very fact of God's asking such a question, the truth as to his character and attitude, in reference to fallen man. Man was lost; but God had come down to look for him--to bring him out of his hiding-place, behind the trees of the garden, in order that, in the happy confidence of faith, he might find a hiding-place in himself. This was grace. To create man out of the dust of the ground was _power_; but to seek man in his lost estate was _grace_. But who can utter all that is wrapped up in the idea of God's being a _seeker_? God seeking a sinner? What could the Blessed One have seen in man, to lead him to seek for him? Just what the shepherd saw in the lost sheep; or what the woman saw in the lost piece of silver; or what the father saw in the lost son. The sinner is valuable to God; but why he should be so eternity alone will unfold.

How, then, did the sinner reply to the faithful and gracious inquiry of the Blessed God? Alas! the reply only reveals the awful depth of evil into which he had fallen. "And he said, I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself. And he said, Who told thee that thou wast naked? Hast thou eaten of the tree, whereof I commanded thee that thou shouldest not eat? And the man said, The woman whom _thou gavest_ to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat." Here, we find him actually laying the blame of his shameful fall on the circumstances in which God had placed him, and thus, indirectly, upon God himself. This has ever been the way with fallen man. Every one and every thing is blamed but _self_. In the case of true conviction, the very reverse is exhibited. "Is it not _I_ that have sinned?" is the inquiry of a truly humbled soul. Had Adam known himself, how different would have been his style! But he neither knew himself nor God, and, therefore, instead of throwing the blame entirely upon himself, he threw it upon God.

Here, then, was man's terrible position. He had lost all. His dominion--his dignity--his happiness--his innocence--his purity--his peace--all was gone from him; and, what was still worse, he accused God of being the cause of it.[7] There he stood, a lost, ruined, guilty, and yet, _self-vindicating_, and, therefore, _God-accusing_ sinner.

Now, it is perfectly true, that no man can believe the gospel, except by the power of the Holy Ghost; and it is also true, that all who so believe the gospel are the happy subjects of God's eternal counsels. But does all this set aside man's responsibility to believe a plain testimony set before him in God's Word? It most certainly does no such thing. But it does reveal the sad evil of man's heart, which leads him to reject _God's testimony_ which is plainly revealed, and to give as a reason for so doing _God's decree_, which is a profound secret, known only to himself. However, it will not avail, for we read in 1 Thess. i. 8, 9, that those "who obey not the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, shall be punished with everlasting destruction."

Men are responsible to believe the gospel, and they will be punished for not believing it. They are not responsible to know any thing about God's counsels, inasmuch as they are not revealed, and, therefore, there can be no guilt attached to ignorance concerning them. The apostle could say to the Thessalonians, "knowing, brethren beloved, your election of God." How did he know it? Was it by having access to the page of God's secret and eternal decrees? By no means. How then? "Because ([Greek: hoti]) our gospel came not unto you in word only, but also in power." (1 Thess. i. 4, 5.) This is the way to know the election of any. When the gospel comes in power, it is a plain proof of God's election.

But, I doubt not, the people who draw a plea from the divine counsels for rejecting the divine testimony, only want some flimsy excuse to continue in sin. They really do not want God; and it would be far more honest in them to say so, plainly, than to put forward a plea which is not merely flimsy, but positively blasphemous. Such a plea will not avail them much amid the terrors of the day of judgment, now fast approaching.

But, just at this point, God began to reveal himself, and his purposes of redeeming love; and herein lay the true basis of man's peace and blessedness. When man has come to the end of himself, God can show what he is; but not until then. The scene must be entirely cleared of man, and all his vain pretensions, empty boastings, and blasphemous reasonings, ere God can or will reveal himself. Thus it was when man was hidden behind the trees of the garden, that God unfolded his wondrous plan of redemption through the instrumentality of the bruised seed of the woman. Here we are taught a valuable principle of truth as to what it is which alone will bring a man, peacefully and confidingly, into the presence of God.

It has been already remarked that conscience will never effect this. Conscience drove Adam behind the trees of the garden; revelation brought him forth into the presence of God. The consciousness of what he was terrified him; the revelation of what God was tranquillized him. This is truly consolatory for a poor sin-burdened heart. The reality of what I am is met by the reality of what God is; and this is salvation.

There is a point where God and man must meet, whether in grace or judgment, and that point is where both are revealed _as they are_. Happy are they who reach that point in grace! Woe be to them who will have to reach it in judgment! It is with what we are that God deals; and it is as he is that he deals with us. In the cross, I see God descending in grace to the lowest depths, not merely of my negative, but my positive condition, as a sinner. This gives perfect peace. If God has met me, in my actual condition, and himself provided an adequate remedy, all is eternally settled. But all who do not thus, by faith, see God, in the cross, will have to meet him, by and by, in judgment, when he will have to deal, according to what he is, with what they are.

The moment a man is brought to know his real state, he can find no rest until he has found God, in the cross, and then he rests in God himself. He, blessed be his name, is the Rest and Hiding-place of the believing soul. This, at once, puts human works and human righteousness in their proper place. We can say, with truth, that those who rest in such things cannot possibly have arrived at the true knowledge of themselves. It is quite impossible that a divinely quickened conscience can rest in aught save the perfect sacrifice of the Son of God. All effort to establish one's own righteousness must proceed from ignorance of the righteousness of God. Adam might learn, in the light of the divine testimony about "the seed of the woman," the worthlessness of his fig-leaf apron. The magnitude of that which had to be done, proved the sinner's total inability to do it. Sin had to be put away. Could man do that? Nay, it was by him it had come in. The serpent's head had to be bruised. Could man do that? Nay, he had become the serpent's slave. God's claims had to be met. Could man do that? Nay, he had already trampled them under foot. Death had to be abolished. Could man do that? Nay, he had, by sin, introduced it, and imparted to it its terrible sting.

Thus, in whatever way we view the matter, we see the sinner's complete impotency, and, as a consequence, the presumptuous folly of all who attempt to assist God in the stupendous work of redemption, as all assuredly do who think to be saved in any other way but "by grace, through faith."

However, though Adam might, and, through grace, did, see and feel that he could never accomplish all that had to be done, yet God revealed himself as about to achieve every jot and tittle thereof, by the seed of the woman. In short, we see that he graciously took the entire matter into his own hands. He made it, altogether, a question between himself and the serpent; for although the man and the woman were called upon, individually, to reap, in various ways, the bitter fruits of their sin, yet it was to the serpent that the Lord God said, "Because thou hast done this." The serpent was the source of the ruin; and the seed of the woman was to be the source of the redemption. Adam heard all this, and believed it; and, in the power of that belief, "he called his wife's name the mother of _all living_." This was a precious fruit of faith in God's revelation. Looking at the matter from nature's point of view, Eve might be called, "the mother of all _dying_." But, in the judgment of faith, she was the mother of all _living_. "His mother called him Ben-oni; (the son of my sorrow;) but his father called him Benjamin (the son of my right hand)."

It was through the sustaining energy of faith that Adam was enabled to endure the terrible results of what he had done. It was God's wondrous mercy to allow him to hear what he said to the serpent, before he was called to listen to what he had to say to himself. Had it not been so, he must have been plunged in despair. It is despair to be called upon to look at myself, without being able to look at God, as revealed in the cross, for my salvation. There is no child of fallen Adam who could bear to have his eyes opened to the reality of what he is, and what he has done, without being plunged in despair, unless he could take refuge in the cross. Hence, in that place to which all who reject Christ must finally be consigned, hope cannot come. There, men's eyes will be opened to the reality of what they are, and what they have done; but they will not be able to find relief and refuge in God. What God is, will, _then_, involve hopeless perdition; as truly as what God is, doth, _now_, involve eternal salvation. The holiness of God will, then, be eternally against them; as it is now that in which all who believe are called to rejoice. The more I realize the holiness of God, now, the more I know my security; but, in the case of the lost, that very holiness will be but the ratification of their eternal doom. Solemn--unspeakably solemn--reflection!

We shall, now, briefly glance at the truth presented to us in God's providing coats for Adam and Eve. "Unto Adam, also, and to his wife, did the Lord God make coats of skins, and clothed them." We have here, in figure, the great doctrine of divine righteousness set forth. The robe which God provided was an effectual covering, because he provided it; just as the apron was an ineffectual covering because man had provided it. Moreover, God's coat was founded upon blood-shedding. Adam's apron was not. So also, now, God's righteousness is set forth in the cross; man's righteousness is set forth in the works, the sin-stained works, of his own hands. When Adam stood clothed in the coat of skin he could not say, "I was naked," nor had he any occasion to hide himself. The sinner may feel perfectly at rest, when, by faith, he knows that God has clothed him: but to feel at rest till then, can only be the result of presumption or ignorance. To know that the dress I wear, and in which I appear before God, is of his own providing, must set my heart at perfect rest. There can be no true, permanent rest in aught else.

The closing verses of this chapter are full of instruction. Fallen man, in his fallen state, must not be allowed to eat of the fruit of the tree of life, for that would entail upon him endless wretchedness in this world. To take of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever, in our present condition, would be unmingled misery. The tree of life can only be tasted in resurrection. To live forever, in a frail tabernacle, in a body of sin and death, would be intolerable. Wherefore, the Lord God "drove out the man." He drove him out into a world which, everywhere, exhibited the lamentable results of his fall. The Cherubim and the flaming sword, too, forbid fallen man to pluck the fruit of the tree of life; while God's revelation pointed him to the death and resurrection of the seed of the woman, as that wherein life was to be found beyond the power of death.

Thus Adam was a happier, and a safer man, outside the bounds of Paradise, than he had been within, for this reason--that, within, his life depended upon himself; whereas, outside, it depended upon another, even a promised Christ. And as he looked up, and beheld "the Cherubim and the flaming sword," he could bless the hand that had set them there, "to keep the way of the tree of life," inasmuch as the same hand had opened a better, a safer, and a happier way to that tree. If the Cherubim and flaming sword stopped up the way to Paradise, the Lord Jesus Christ has opened "a new and living way" into the holiest of all. "I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father, but by me." (Compare John xiv. 6; Heb. x. 20.) In the knowledge of this, the believer now moves onward through a world which is under the curse,--where the traces of sin are visible on all hands. He has found his way, by faith, to the bosom of the Father; and while he can secretly repose there, he is cheered by the blessed assurance that the one who has conducted him thither, is gone to prepare a place in the many mansions of the Father's house, and that he will soon come again and receive him unto himself, amid the glory of the Father's kingdom. Thus, in the bosom, the house, and the kingdom of the Father, the believer finds his present portion, his future home and reward.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] There is a profoundly interesting thought suggested by comparing the word [Greek: theiotes] (Rom. i. 20) with the word [Greek: theotes] (Col. ii. 9.) They are both rendered "Godhead;" but they present a very different thought. The heathen might have seen that there was something superhuman, something divine, in creation; but pure, essential, incomprehensible Deity dwelt in the Adorable Person of the Son.

[7] Man not only accuses God of being the author of his fall, but also blames him for his non-recovery. How often do we hear persons say that they cannot believe unless God give them the power to believe; and, further, that unless they are the subjects of God's eternal decree, they cannot be saved.

CHAPTERS IV., V.

As each section of the Book of Genesis opens before us, we are furnished with fresh evidence of the fact that we are travelling over, what a recent writer has well termed, "the seed-plot of the whole Bible;" and not only so, but the seed-plot of man's entire history.

Thus, in the fourth chapter, we have, in the persons of Cain and Abel, the first examples of a religious man of the world, and of a genuine man of faith. Born, as they were, outside of Eden, and being the sons of fallen Adam, they could have nothing, natural, to distinguish them, one from the other. They were both sinners. Both had a fallen nature. Neither was innocent. It is well to be clear in reference to this, in order that the reality of divine grace, and the integrity of faith, may be fully and distinctly seen. If the distinction between Cain and Abel were founded in nature, then it follows, as an inevitable conclusion, that they were not the partakers of the fallen nature of their father, nor the participators in the circumstances of his fall; and, hence, there could be no room for the display of grace, and the exercise of faith.

Some would teach us that every man is born with qualities and capacities which, if rightly used, will enable him to work his way back to God. This is a plain denial of the fact so clearly set forth in the history now before us. Cain and Abel were born, not inside, but outside of Paradise. They were the sons, not of innocent, but of fallen Adam. They came into the world as the partakers of the nature of their father; and it mattered not in what phase that nature might display itself, it was nature still,--fallen, ruined, irremediable nature. "That which is born of the flesh is (not merely fleshly, but) flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is, (not merely spiritual, but) spirit." (John iii.)

If ever there was a fair opportunity for the distinctive qualities, capacities, resources, and tendencies of nature to manifest themselves, the lifetime of Cain and Abel furnished it. If there were aught in nature, whereby it could recover its lost innocence, and establish itself again within the bounds of Eden, this was the moment for its display. But there was nothing of the kind. They were both _lost_. They were "flesh." They were not innocent. Adam lost his innocence and never regained it. He can only be looked at as the fallen head of a fallen race, who, by his "disobedience," were made "sinners." (Rom. v. 19.) He became, so far as he was personally concerned, the corrupt source, from whence have emanated the corrupt streams of ruined and guilty humanity,--the dead trunk from which have shot forth the branches of a dead humanity, morally and spiritually dead.

True, as we have already remarked, he himself was made a subject of grace, and the possessor and exhibitor of a lively faith in a promised Savior; but this was not any thing natural, but something entirely divine. And, inasmuch as it was not natural, neither was it within the range of nature's capacity to communicate it. It was not, by any means, hereditary. Adam could not bequeath nor impart his faith to Cain or Abel. His possession thereof was simply the fruit of love divine. It was implanted in his soul by divine power; and he had not divine power to communicate it to another. Whatever was natural, Adam could, in the way of nature, communicate; but nothing more. And seeing that he, as a father, was in a condition of ruin, his son could only be in the same. As is the begetter, so are they also that are begotten of him. They must, of necessity, partake of the nature of him from whom they have sprung. "As is the earthy, such are they also that are earthy." (1 Cor. xv. 48.)

Nothing can be more important, in its way, than a correct understanding of the doctrine of federal headship. If my reader will turn, for a moment, to Rom. v. 12-21, he will find that the inspired apostle looks at the whole human race as comprehended under two heads. I do not attempt to dwell on the passage; but merely refer to it, in connection with the subject in hand. The fifteenth chapter of first Corinthians will also furnish instruction of a similar character. In the first man, we have sin, disobedience, and death. In the Second man, we have righteousness, obedience, and life. As we derive a nature from the former, so do we also from the latter. No doubt, each nature will display, in each specific case, its own peculiar energies; it will manifest, in each individual possessor thereof, its own peculiar powers. Still, there is the absolute possession of a real, abstract, positive nature.

Now, as the mode in which we derive a nature from the first man is by birth, so the mode in which we derive a nature from the Second man is by _new_ birth. Being born, we partake of the nature of the former; being "born _again_," we partake of the nature of the latter. A newly-born infant, though entirely incapable of performing the act which reduced Adam to the condition of a fallen being, is, nevertheless, a partaker of his nature; and so, also, a newly-born child of God,--a newly-regenerated soul, though having nothing whatever to do with the working-out of the perfect obedience of "the man Christ Jesus," is, nevertheless, a partaker of his nature. True it is that, attached to the former nature, there is sin; and attached to the latter, there is righteousness,--man's sin, in the former case; God's righteousness in the latter: yet, all the while, there is the actual, _bona fide_ participation of a real nature, let the adjuncts be what they may. The child of Adam partakes of the human nature and its adjuncts; the child of God partakes of the divine nature and its adjuncts. The former nature is according to "the will of man," (John i.,) the latter is according to "the will of God;" as St. James, by the Holy Ghost, teaches us, "of his own will begat he us by the word of truth." (James i. 18.)

From all that has been said, it follows, that Abel was not distinguished from his brother Cain by any thing natural. The distinction between them was not grounded upon aught in their nature or circumstances, for, as to these, "there was no difference." What, therefore, made the vast difference? The answer is as simple as the gospel of the grace of God can make it. The difference was not in themselves, in their nature, or their circumstances; it lay, _entirely_, in their _sacrifices_. This makes the matter most simple, for any truly convicted sinner,--for any one who truly feels that he not only partakes of a fallen nature, but is himself, also, a sinner. The history of Abel opens, to such an one, the only true ground of his approach to, his standing before, and his relationship with, God. It teaches him, distinctly, that he cannot come to God on the ground of any thing in, of, or pertaining to, nature; and he must seek, _outside himself_, and in the person and work of another, the true and everlasting basis of his connection with the Holy, the Just, and only True God. The eleventh chapter of Hebrews sets the whole subject before us, in the most distinct and comprehensive way. "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice ([Greek: pleiona thysian]) than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God bearing witness ([Greek: martyrountos]) to his gifts; and by it he being dead yet speaketh." Here we are taught that it was, in nowise, a question as to the men, but only as to their "sacrifice,"--it was not a question as to the offerer, but as to his offering. Here lay the grand distinction between Cain and Abel. My reader cannot be too simple in his apprehension of this point, for therein lies involved the truth as to any sinner's standing before God.

And, now, let us inquire what the offerings were. "And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto Jehovah. And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock, and of the fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto Abel, and to his offering; but unto Cain and to his offering, he had not respect." (Gen. iv. 3-5.) This passage sets the difference clearly before us: Cain offered to Jehovah the fruit of a cursed earth, and that, moreover, without any blood to remove the curse. He presented "an unbloody sacrifice," simply because he had no faith. Had he possessed that divine principle, it would have taught him, even at this early moment, that "without shedding of blood there is no remission." (Heb. ix.) This is a great cardinal truth. The penalty of sin is death. Cain was a sinner, and, as such, death stood between him and Jehovah. But, in his offering, there was no recognition whatever of this fact. There was no presentation of a sacrificed life, to meet the claims of divine holiness, or to answer to his own true condition as a sinner. He treated Jehovah as though he were, altogether, such an one as himself, who could accept the sin-stained fruit of a cursed earth.

All this, and much more, lay involved in Cain's "unbloody sacrifice." He displayed entire ignorance in reference to divine requirements, in reference to his own character and condition as a lost and guilty sinner, and in reference to the true state of that ground, the fruit of which he presumed to offer. No doubt, reason might say, "what more acceptable offering could a man present, than that which he had produced by the labor of his hands, and the sweat of his brow?" Reason, and even man's religious mind, may think thus; but God thinks quite differently; and faith is always sure to agree with God's thoughts. God teaches, and faith believes, that there must be a sacrificed life, else there can be no approach to God.

Thus, when we look at the ministry of the Lord Jesus, we see, at once, that, had he not died upon the cross, all his services would have proved utterly unavailing as regards the establishment of our relationship with God. True, "he went about doing good" all his life; but it was his death that rent the veil. (Matt. xxvii. 51.) Naught but his death could have done so. Had he continued, to the present moment, "going about doing good," the veil would have remained entire, to bar the worshipper's approach into "the holiest of all." Hence we can see the false ground on which Cain stood as an offerer and a worshipper. An unpardoned sinner coming into the presence of Jehovah, to present "an unbloody sacrifice," could only be regarded as guilty of the highest degree of presumption. True, he had toiled to produce this offering; but what of that? Could a sinner's toil remove the curse and stain of sin? Could it satisfy the claims of an infinitely holy God? Could it furnish a proper ground of acceptance for a sinner? Could it set aside the penalty which was due to sin? Could it rob death of its sting, or the grave of its victory? Could it do any or all of these things? Impossible. "Without shedding of blood is no remission." Cain's "unbloody sacrifice," like every other unbloody sacrifice, was not only worthless, but actually abominable, in the divine estimation. It not only demonstrated his entire ignorance of his own condition, but also of the divine character. "God is not worshipped with men's hands as though he needed any thing." And yet Cain thought he could be thus approached. And every mere religionist thinks the same. Cain has had many millions of followers, from age to age. Cain-worship has abounded all over the world. It is the worship of every unconverted soul, and is maintained by every false system of religion under the sun.

Man would fain make God a receiver instead of a giver; but this cannot be; for, "it is more blessed to give than to receive;" and, assuredly, God must have the more blessed place. "Without all contradiction, the less is blessed of the better." "Who hath _first_ given to him?" God can accept the smallest gift from a heart which has learnt the deep truth contained in those words, "of thine own have we given thee;" but, the moment a man presumes to take the place of the "first" giver, God's reply is, "if I were hungry, I would not tell thee;" for "he is not worshipped with men's hands, as though he _needed any thing_, seeing he _giveth_ to _all_ life and breath and _all_ things." The great Giver of "all things" cannot possibly "need any thing." Praise is all that we can offer to God; but this can only be offered in the full and clear intelligence that our sins are all put away; and this again can only be known by faith in the virtue of an accomplished atonement.

My readers may pause, here, and read prayerfully the following scriptures, namely, Psalm i.; Isaiah i. 11-18; and Acts xvii. 22-34, in all of which he will find distinctly laid down the truth as to man's true position before God, as also the proper ground of worship.

Let us now consider Abel's sacrifice. "And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock, and of the fat thereof." In other words, he entered, by faith, into the glorious truth, that God could be approached by sacrifice; that there was such a thing as a sinner's placing the death of another between himself and the consequence of his sin, that the claims of God's nature and the attributes of his character could be met by the blood of a spotless victim,--a victim offered to meet God's demands, and the sinner's deep necessities. This is, in short, the doctrine of the cross, in which alone the conscience of a sinner can find repose, because, therein, God is fully glorified.

Every divinely-convicted sinner must feel that death and judgment are before him, as "the due reward of his deeds;" nor can he, by aught that he can accomplish, alter that destiny. He may toil and labor; he may, by the sweat of his brow, produce an offering; he may make vows and resolutions; he may alter his way of life; he may reform his outward character; he may be temperate, moral, upright, and, in the human acceptation of the word, religious; he may, though entirely destitute of faith, read, pray, and hear sermons. In short, he may do any thing, or every thing which lies within the range of human competency; but, notwithstanding all, "death and judgment" are before him. He has not been able to disperse those two heavy clouds which have gathered upon the horizon. There they stand; and, so far from being able to remove them, by all his doings, he can only live in the gloomy anticipation of the moment when they shall burst upon his guilty head. It is impossible for a sinner, by his own works, to place himself in life and triumph, at the other side of "death and judgment,"--yea, his very works are only performed for the purpose of preparing him, if possible, for those dreaded realities.

Here, however, is exactly where the cross comes in. In that cross, the convicted sinner can behold a divine provision for all his guilt and all his need. There, too, he can see death and judgment entirely removed from the scene, and life and glory set in their stead. Christ has cleared the prospect of death and judgment, so far as the true believer is concerned, and filled it with life, righteousness, and glory. "He hath abolished death, and brought life and incorruptibility to light, through the gospel." (2 Tim. i. 10.) He has glorified God in the putting away of that which would have separated us, forever, from his holy and blissful presence. "He has put away sin," and hence it is gone. (Heb. ix. 26.) All this is, in type, set forth in Abel's "more excellent sacrifice." There was no attempt, on Abel's part, to set aside the truth as to his own condition, and proper place as a guilty sinner,--no attempt to turn aside the edge of the flaming sword, and force his way back to the tree of life,--no presumptuous offering of an "unbloody sacrifice,"--no presentation of the fruit of a cursed earth to Jehovah,--he took the real ground of a sinner, and, as such, set the death of a victim between him and his sins, and between his sins and the holiness of a sin-hating God. This was most simple. Abel deserved death and judgment, but he found a substitute.

Thus is it with every poor, helpless, self-condemned, conscience-smitten sinner. Christ is his substitute, his ransom, his most excellent sacrifice, his ALL. Such an one will feel, like Abel, that the fruit of the ground could never avail for him; that were he to present to God the fairest fruits of earth, he would still have a sin-stained conscience, inasmuch as "without shedding of blood is no remission." The richest fruits, and the most fragrant flowers, in the greatest profusion, could not remove a single stain from the conscience. Nothing but the perfect sacrifice of the Son of God can give ease to the heart and conscience. All who by faith lay hold of that divine reality, will enjoy a peace which the world can neither give nor take away. It is faith which puts the soul in present possession of this peace. "Being justified by faith, we have peace with God, through our Lord Jesus Christ." (Rom. v. 1.) "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain."

It is not a question of feeling, as so many would make it. It is entirely a question of faith in an accomplished fact,--faith wrought in the soul of a sinner, by the power of the Holy Ghost. This faith is something quite different from a mere feeling of the heart, or an assent of the intellect. Feeling is not faith. Intellectual assent is not faith. Some would make faith to be the mere assent of the intellect to a certain proposition. This is fearfully false. It makes the question of faith human, whereas it is really divine. It reduces it to the level of man, whereas it really comes from God. Faith is not a thing of to-day or to-morrow. It is an imperishable principle, emanating from an eternal source, even God himself: it lays hold of God's truth, and sets the soul in God's presence.

Mere feeling and sentimentality can never rise above the source from whence they emanate; and that source is self; but faith has to do with God and his eternal word, and is a living link, connecting the heart that possesses it with God who gives it. Human feelings, however intense,--human sentiments, however refined,--could not connect the soul with God. They are neither divine nor eternal, but are human and evanescent. They are like Jonah's gourd, which sprang up in a night, and perished in a night. Not so faith. That precious principle partakes of all the value, all the power, and all the reality of the source from whence it emanates, and the object with which it has to do. It justifies the soul; (Rom. v. 1;) it purifies the heart; (Acts xv. 9;) it works by love; (Gal. v. 6;) it overcomes the world. (1 John v. 4.) Feeling and sentiment never could accomplish such results: they belong to nature and to earth,--faith belongs to God and to heaven; they are occupied with self,--faith is occupied with Christ; they look inward and downward,--faith looks outward and upward; they leave the soul in darkness and doubt,--faith leads it into light and peace; they have to do with one's own fluctuating condition,--faith has to do with God's immutable truth, and Christ's eternally-enduring sacrifice.

No doubt, faith will produce feelings and sentiments,--spiritual feelings and truthful sentiments,--but the fruits of faith must never be confounded with faith itself. I am not justified by feelings, nor yet by faith _and_ feelings, but simply by faith. And why? Because faith believes God when he speaks; it takes him at his word; it apprehends him as he has revealed himself in the person and work of the Lord Jesus Christ. This is life, righteousness, and peace. To apprehend God as he is, is the sum of all present and eternal blessedness. When the soul finds out God, it has found out all it can possibly need, here or hereafter; but he can only be known by his own revelation, and by the faith which he himself imparts, and which, moreover, always seeks divine revelation as its proper object.

Thus, then, we can in some measure enter into the meaning and power of the statement, "By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain." Cain had no faith, and therefore he offered an unbloody sacrifice. Abel had faith, and therefore he offered both "blood and fat," which, in type, set forth the presentation of the life, and also the inherent excellency of the Person of Christ. "The blood" set forth the former; "the fat" shadowed forth the latter. Both blood and fat were forbidden to be eaten under the Mosaic economy. The blood is the life; and man, under law, had no title to life. But, in the sixth of John we are taught that unless we eat blood we have no life in us. Christ is _the_ life. There is not a spark of life outside of him. All out of Christ is death. "In him was life," and in none else.

Now, he gave up his life on the cross; and, to that life, sin was by imputation attached, when the blessed One was nailed to the cursed tree. Hence, in giving up his life, he gave up also the sin attached thereto, so that it is effectually put away, having been left in his grave from which he rose triumphant, in the power of a new life, to which righteousness as distinctly attaches itself as did sin to that life which he gave up on the cross. This will help us to an understanding of an expression used by our blessed Lord after his resurrection, "A spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have." He did not say, "flesh and blood;" because, in resurrection, he had not assumed into his sacred person the blood which he had shed out upon the cross as an atonement for sin. "The life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood which maketh an atonement for the soul." (Lev. xvii. 11.) Close attention to this point will have the effect of deepening in our souls the sense of the completeness of the putting away of sin by the death of Christ; and we know that whatever tends to deepen our sense of that glorious reality, must necessarily tend to the fuller establishment of our peace, and to the more effectual promotion of the glory of Christ as connected with our testimony and service.

We have already referred to a point of much interest and value in the history of Cain and Abel, and that is, the entire identification of each with the offering which he presented. My reader cannot possibly bestow too much attention upon this. The question, in each case, was not as to the person of the offerer; but entirely as to the character of his offering. Hence, of Abel we read that "God testified of his _gifts_." He did not bear witness to Abel, but to Abel's sacrifice; and this fixes distinctly the proper ground of a believer's peace and acceptance before God.

There is a constant tendency in the heart to ground our peace and acceptance upon something in or about ourselves, even though we admit that that something is wrought by the Holy Ghost. Hence arises the constant looking _in_, when the Holy Ghost would ever have us looking _out_. The question for every believer is not, "what am I?" but, "what is Christ?" Having come to God "in the name of Jesus," he is wholly identified with him, and accepted in his name, and, moreover, can no more be rejected than the One in whose name he has come. Before ever a question can be raised as to the feeblest believer, it must be raised as to Christ himself. But this latter is clearly impossible, and thus the security of the believer is established upon a foundation which nothing can possibly move. Being in himself a poor worthless sinner, he has come in the name of Christ, he is identified with Christ, accepted in and as Christ, bound up in the same bundle of life with Christ. God testifies, not of him, but of his gift, and his gift is Christ. All this is most tranquillizing and consolatory. It is our happy privilege to be able, in the confidence of faith, to refer every objection and every objector to Christ and his finished atonement. All our springs are in him. In him we boast all the day long. Our confidence is not in ourselves, but in him who hath wrought every thing for us. We hang on his name, trust in his work, gaze on his person, and wait for his coming.

But the carnal mind at once displays its enmity against all this truth which so gladdens and satisfies the heart of a believer. Thus it was with Cain. "He was very wroth, and his countenance fell." That which filled Abel with peace, filled Cain with wrath. Cain, in unbelief, despised the only way in which a sinner could come to God. He refused to offer blood, without which there can be no remission; and then, because _he_ was not received, _in his sins_, and because Abel was accepted, _in his gift_, "he was wroth, and his countenance fell." And yet, how else could it be? He should either be received with his sins, or without them; but God could not receive him with them, and he would not bring the blood which alone maketh atonement; and, therefore, he was rejected, and, being rejected, he manifests in his ways the fruits of corrupt religion. He persecutes and murders the true witness,--the accepted, justified man,--the man of faith; and, in so doing, he stands as the model and forerunner of all false religionists in every age. At all times, and in all places, men have shown themselves more ready to persecute on religious grounds than on any other. This is Cain-like. Justification--full, perfect, unqualified justification, by faith only, makes God every thing, and man nothing: and man does not like this; it causes his countenance to fall, and draws out his anger. Not that he can give any reason for his anger; for it is not, as we have seen, a question of man at all, but only of the ground on which he appears before God. Had Abel been accepted on the ground of aught in himself, then, indeed, Cain's wrath and his fallen countenance would have had some just foundation; but, inasmuch as he was accepted, exclusively on the ground of his offering; and, inasmuch as it was not to him, but to his gift, that Jehovah bore testimony, his wrath was entirely without any proper basis. This is brought out in Jehovah's word to Cain: "If thou doest well, (or, as the LXX. reads it, if thou offer correctly, [Greek: orthos prosenenkes],) shalt thou not be accepted?" The well-doing had reference to the offering. Abel did well by hiding himself behind an acceptable sacrifice. Cain did badly by bringing an offering without blood; and all his after-conduct was but the legitimate result of his false worship.

"And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him." Thus has it ever been; the Cains have persecuted and murdered the Abels. At all times, man and his religion are the same; faith and its religion are the same: and wherever they have met, there has been conflict.

However, it is well to see that Cain's act of murder was the true consequence--the proper fruit--of his false worship. His foundation was bad, and the superstructure erected thereon was also bad. Nor did he stop at the act of murder; but having heard the judgment of God thereon, despairing of forgiveness through ignorance of God, he went forth from his blessed presence, and built a city, and had in his family the cultivators of the useful and ornamental sciences,--agriculturists, musicians, and workers in metals. Through ignorance of the divine character, he pronounced his sin too great to be pardoned.[8] It was not that he really knew his sin, but that he knew not God. He fully exhibited the terrible fruit of the fall in the very thought of God to which he gave utterance. He did not want pardon, because he did not want God. He had no true sense of his own condition; no aspirations after God; no intelligence as to the ground of a sinner's approach to God. He was radically corrupt,--fundamentally wrong; and all he wanted was to get out of the presence of God, and lose himself in the world and its pursuits. He thought he could live very well without God, and he therefore set about decorating the world as well as he could, for the purpose of making it a respectable place, and himself a respectable man therein, though in God's view it was under the curse, and he was a fugitive and a vagabond.

Such was "_the way of Cain_," in which way millions are at this moment rushing on. Such persons are not by any means divested of the religious element in their character. They would like to offer something to God; to do something for him. They deem it right to present to him the results of their own toil. They are ignorant of themselves, ignorant of God; but with all this there is the diligent effort to improve the world; to make life agreeable in various ways; to deck the scene with the fairest colors. God's remedy to _cleanse_ is rejected, and man's effort to _improve_ is put in its place. This is "the way of Cain." (Jude 11.)

And, my reader, you have only to look around you to see how this "way" prevails at the present moment. Though the world is stained with the blood of "a greater than" Abel, even with the blood of Christ; yet see what an agreeable place man seeks to make of it! As in Cain's day, the grateful sounds of "the harp and organ," no doubt, completely drowned, to man's ear, the cry of Abel's blood; so now, man's ear is filled with other sounds than those which issue from Calvary, and his eye filled with other objects than a crucified Christ. The resources of his genius, too, are put forth to render this world a hot-house, in which are produced, in their rarest form, all the fruits for which nature so eagerly longs. And not merely are the real wants of man, as a creature, supplied, but the inventive genius of the human mind has been set to work for the purpose of devising things, which, the moment the eye sees, the heart desires, and not only desires, but imagines that life would be intolerable without them. Thus, for instance, some years ago, people were content to devote three or four days to the accomplishing of a journey of one hundred miles; but now they can accomplish it in three or four hours; and not only so, but they will complain sadly if they happen to be five or ten minutes late. In fact, man must be saved the trouble of living. He must travel without fatigue, and he must hear news without having to exercise patience for it. He will lay iron rails across the earth, and electric wires beneath the sea, as if to anticipate, in his own way, that bright and blissful age when "there shall be no more sea."[9]

In addition to all this, there is abundance of religion, so called; but, alas! charity itself is compelled to harbor the apprehension, that very much of what passes for religion is but a screw in the vast machine, which has been constructed for man's convenience, and man's exaltation. Man would not be without religion. It would not be respectable; and, therefore, he is content to devote one-seventh of his time to religion; or, as he thinks and professes, to his eternal interests; and then he has six-sevenths to devote to his temporal interests; but whether he works for time or eternity, it is for _himself_, in reality. Such is "the way of Cain." Let my reader ponder it well. Let him see where this way begins, whither it tends, and where it terminates.

How different the way of the man of faith! Abel felt and owned the curse; he saw the stain of sin, and, in the holy energy of faith, offered that which met it, and met it thoroughly,--met it divinely. He sought and found a refuge in God himself; and instead of building a city on the earth, he found but a grave in its bosom. The earth, which on its surface displayed the genius and energy of Cain and his family, was stained underneath with the blood of a righteous man. Let the man of the world remember this; let the man of God remember it; let the worldly-minded Christian remember it. The earth which we tread upon is stained by the blood of the Son of God. The very blood which justifies the Church condemns the world. The dark shadow of the cross of Jesus may be seen by the eye of faith, looming over all the glitter and glare of this evanescent world. "The fashion of this world passeth away." It will soon all be over, so far as the present scene is concerned. "The way of Cain" will be followed by "the error of Balaam," in its consummated form; and then will come "the gainsaying of Core;" and what then? "The pit" will open its mouth to receive the wicked, and close it again, to shut them up in "blackness of darkness forever." (Jude 13.)

In full confirmation of the foregoing lines, we may run the eye over the contents of Chapter V. and find therein the humiliating record of man's weakness, and subjection to the rule of death. He might live for hundreds of years, and "beget sons and daughters;" but, at last, it must be recorded that "_he died_." "Death reigned from Adam to Moses." And, again, "It is appointed unto men once to die." Man cannot get over this. He cannot, by steam, or electricity, or any thing else within the range of his genius, disarm death of its terrible sting. He cannot, by his energy, set aside the sentence of _death_, although he may produce the comforts and luxuries of _life_.

But whence came this strange and dreaded thing, death? St. Paul gives us the answer: "By one man sin entered into the world, and _death by sin_." (Rom. v. 12.) Here we have the origin of death. It came by sin. Sin snapped asunder the link which bound the creature to the living God; and, that being done, he was handed over to the dominion of death, which dominion he had no power whatever to shake off. And this, be it observed, is one of the many proofs of the fact of man's total inability to meet God. There can be no fellowship between God and man, save in the power of life; but man is under the power of death; hence, on natural grounds, there can be no fellowship. Life can have no fellowship with death, no more than light with darkness, or holiness with sin. Man must meet God on an entirely new ground, and on a new principle, even faith; and this faith enables him to recognize his own position, as "sold under sin," and, therefore, subject to death; while, at the same time, it enables him to apprehend God's character, as the dispenser of a new life,--life beyond the power of death,--a life which can never be touched by the enemy, nor forfeited by us.

This it is which marks the security of the believer's life. Christ is his life,--a risen, glorified Christ,--a Christ victorious over every thing that could be against us. Adam's life was founded upon his own obedience; and, therefore, when he disobeyed, life was forfeited. But Christ, having life in himself, came down into this world, and fully met all the circumstances of man's sin, in every possible form; and, by submitting to death, destroyed him who had the power thereof, and, in resurrection, becomes the Life and Righteousness of all who believe in his most excellent name.

Now, it is impossible that Satan can touch this life, either in its source, its channel, its power, its sphere, or its duration. God is its source; a risen Christ, its channel; the Holy Ghost, its power; heaven, its sphere; and eternity, its duration. Hence, therefore, as might be expected, to one possessing this wondrous life, the whole scene is changed; and while, in one sense, it must be said, "in the midst of life we are in death," yet, in another sense, it can be said, "in the midst of death we are in life." There is no death in the sphere into which a risen Christ introduces his people. How could there be? Has not he abolished it? It cannot be an abolished and an existing thing at the same time and to the same people; but God's word tells us it is abolished. Christ emptied the scene of death, and filled it with life; and, therefore, it is not death, but glory that lies before the believer. Death is behind him, and behind him forever. As to the future, it is all glory,--cloudless glory. True, it may be his lot to "fall asleep,"--to "sleep in Jesus,"--but that is not death, but "life in earnest." The mere matter of departing to be with Christ cannot alter the specific hope of the believer, which is to meet Christ in the air, to be with him, and like him, forever.

Of this we have a very beautiful exemplification in Enoch, who forms the only exception to the rule of Chap. V. The rule is, "he died;" the exception is, "he should not see death." "By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him; for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God." (Heb. xi. 5.) Enoch was "the seventh from Adam;" and it is deeply interesting to find, that death was not suffered to triumph over "the seventh;" but that, in his case, God interfered, and made him a trophy of his own glorious victory over all the power of death. The heart rejoices, after reading, six times, the sad record, "he died," to find, that the seventh did not die; and when we ask, How was this? the answer is, "by faith." Enoch lived in the faith of his translation, and walked with God three hundred years. This separated him, practically, from all around. To walk with God must, necessarily, put one outside the sphere of this world's thoughts. Enoch realized this; for, in his day, the spirit of the world was manifested; and then, too, as now, it was opposed to all that was of God. The man of faith felt he had naught to do with the world, save to be a patient witness therein of the grace of God and of coming judgment. The sons of Cain might spend their energies in the vain attempt to improve a cursed world, but Enoch found a better world, and lived in the power of it.[10] His faith was not given him to improve the world, but to walk with God.

And oh, how much is involved in these three words, "walked with God!" What separation and self-denial! what holiness and moral purity! what grace and gentleness! what humility and tenderness! and yet, what zeal and energy! What patience and long-suffering! and yet what faithfulness and uncompromising decision! To walk with God comprehends every thing within the range of the divine life, whether active or passive. It involves the knowledge of God's character as he has revealed it. It involves, too, the intelligence of the relationship in which we stand to him. It is not a mere living by rules and regulations; nor laying down plans of action; nor in resolutions to go hither and thither, to do this or that. To walk with God is far more than any or all of these things. Moreover, it will sometimes carry us right athwart the thoughts of men, and even of our brethren, if they are not themselves walking with God. It may, sometimes, bring against us the charge of doing too much: at other times, of doing too little; but the faith that enables one to "walk with God," enables him also to attach the proper value to the thoughts of man.

Thus we have, in Abel and Enoch, most valuable instruction as to the sacrifice on which faith rests; and, as to the prospect which hope now anticipates; while, at the same time, "the walk with God" takes in all the details of actual life which lie between those two points. "The Lord will give grace and glory;" and between the grace that has been, and the glory that is to be, revealed, there is the happy assurance, that "no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly." (Psalm lxxxiv. 11.)

It has been remarked, that "the cross and the coming of the Lord form the termini of the Church's existence," and these termini are prefigured in the sacrifice of Abel, and the translation of Enoch. The Church knows her entire justification through the death and resurrection of Christ, and she waits for the day when he shall come and receive her to himself. She, "through the Spirit, waits for the hope of righteousness by faith." (Gal. v. 5.) She does not wait for righteousness, inasmuch as she, by grace, has that already; but she waits for the hope which properly belongs to the condition into which she has been introduced.

My reader should seek to be clear as to this. Some expositors of prophetic truth, from not seeing the Church's specific place, portion, and hope, have made sad mistakes. They have, in effect, cast so many dark clouds and thick mists around "the bright and morning star," which is the proper hope of the Church, that many saints, at the present moment, seem unable to rise above the hope of the God-fearing remnant of Israel, which is to see "the Sun of righteousness arise with healing in his wings." (Mal. iv.) Nor is this all. Very many have been deprived of the moral power of the hope of Christ's appearing, by being taught to look for various events and circumstances previous to the moment of his manifestation to the Church. The restoration of the Jews, the development of Nebuchadnezzar's image, the revelation of the man of sin,--all these things, it is maintained, must take place ere Christ comes. That this is not true, might be proved from numerous passages of New-Testament scripture, were this the fitting place to adduce them.

The Church, like Enoch, will be taken away from the evil around, and the evil to come. Enoch was not left to see the world's evil rise to a head, and the judgment of God poured forth upon it. He saw not "the fountains of the great deep broken up," nor "the windows of heaven opened." He was taken away before any of these things occurred; and he stands before the eye of faith as a beautiful figure of those, "who shall not all sleep, but shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye." (1 Cor. xv. 51, 52.) Translation, not death, was the hope of Enoch; and, as to the Church's hope, it is thus briefly expressed by the apostle, "To wait for the Son from heaven." (1 Thess. i. 10.) This, the simplest and most unlettered Christian can understand and enjoy. Its power, too, he can, in some measure, experience and manifest. He may not be able to study prophecy very deeply, but he can, blessed be God, taste the blessedness, the reality, the comfort, the power, the elevating and separating virtue of that celestial hope which properly belongs to him as a member of that heavenly body, the Church; which hope is not merely to see "the Sun of righteousness," how blessed soever that may be in its place, but to see "the bright and morning star." (Rev. ii. 28.) And as, in the natural world, the morning star is seen, by those who watch for it, before the sun rises, so Christ, as the morning star, will be seen by the Church, before the remnant of Israel can behold the beams of the Sun.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] The word used by Cain is [Hebrew: minneso'] which occurs in Psalm xxxii. 1, "whose transgression is _forgiven_." The LXX. renders it by [Greek: aphethenai], "to be remitted."

[9] True, the Lord is using all those things for the furtherance of his own gracious ends; and the Lord's servant can freely use them also; but this does not hinder our seeing the spirit which originates and characterizes them.

[10] It is very evident that Enoch knew nothing whatever about the mode of "making the best of both worlds." To him there was but one world. Thus it should be with us.

CHAPTERS VI.-IX.

We have now arrived at a deeply-important and strongly-marked division of our book. Enoch has passed off the scene. His walk, as a stranger on earth, has terminated in his translation to heaven. He was taken away before human evil had risen to a head, and, therefore, before the divine judgment had been poured out. How little influence his course and translation had upon the world is manifest from the first two verses of Chapter VI. "And it came to pass, when men began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born unto them, that the sons of God saw the daughters of men that they were fair; and they took them wives of all which they chose."

The mingling of that which is of God with that which is of man is a special form of evil, and a very effectual engine, in Satan's hand, for marring the testimony of Christ on the earth. This mingling may frequently wear the appearance of something very desirable; it may often look like a wider promulgation of that which is of God,--a fuller and a more vigorous outgoing of a divine influence,--a something to be rejoiced in rather than to be deplored: but our judgment as to this will depend entirely upon the point of view from which we contemplate it. If we look at it in the light of God's presence, we cannot possibly imagine that an advantage is gained when the people of God mingle themselves with the children of this world; or when the truth of God is corrupted by human admixture. Such is not the divine method of promulgating truth, or of advancing the interests of those, who ought to occupy the place of witnesses for him on the earth. Separation from all evil is God's principle; and this principle can never be infringed without serious damage to the truth.

In the narrative now before us, we see that the union of the sons of God with the daughters of men led to the most disastrous consequences. True, the fruit of that union seemed exceedingly fair, in man's judgment, as we read, "the same became mighty men, which were of old, men of renown;" yet, God's judgment was quite different. He seeth not as man seeth. His thoughts are not as ours. "God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually." Such was man's condition before God,--"evil _only_"--"evil continually." So much for the mingling of the holy with the profane. Thus it must ever be. If the holy seed will not maintain its purity, all must be forfeited, as regards testimony on the earth. Satan's first effort was to frustrate God's purpose, by putting the holy seed to death; and when that failed, he sought to gain his end by corrupting it.

Now, it is of the deepest moment that my reader should clearly understand the aim, the character, and the result of this union between "the sons of God" and "the daughters of men." There is great danger, at the present day, of compromising truth for the sake of union. This should be carefully guarded against. There can be no true union attained at the expense of truth. The true Christian's motto should ever be--"maintain truth at all cost; if union can be promoted in this way, so much the better; but maintain the truth." The principle of expediency, on the contrary, may be thus enunciated:--"Promote union at all cost; if truth can be maintained as well, so much the better; but promote union." This latter principle can only be carried out at the expense of all that is divine in the way of testimony.[11] There can, evidently, be no true testimony where truth is forfeited; and hence, in the case of the antediluvian world, we see that the unhallowed union between the holy and the profane--between that which was divine and that which was human--only had the effect of bringing the evil to a head, and then God's judgment was poured out.

"The Lord said, I will destroy man." Nothing less would do. There must be the entire destruction of that which had corrupted God's way on the earth. "The mighty men, and men of renown," must all be swept away, without distinction. "All flesh" must be set aside, as utterly unfit for God. "The end of _all_ flesh is come before me." It was not merely the end of _some_ flesh; no, it was all corrupt, in the sight of Jehovah,--all irrecoverably bad. It had been tried, and found wanting; and the Lord announces his remedy to Noah in these words, "Make thee an ark of gopher wood."

Thus was Noah put in possession of God's thoughts about the scene around him. The effect of the word of God was to lay bare the roots of all that which man's eye might rest upon with complacency and pride. The human heart might swell with pride, and the bosom heave with emotion, as the eye ran down along the brilliant ranks of men of art, men of skill, "men of might," and "men of renown." The sound of the harp and the organ might send a thrill through the whole soul, while, at the same time, the ground was cultivated, and man's necessities were provided for in such a way as to contradict every thought in reference to approaching judgment. But, oh! those solemn words, "_I will destroy!_" What a heavy gloom they would necessarily cast over the glittering scene! Could not man's genius invent some way of escape? Could not "the mighty man deliver himself by his much strength?" Alas, no: there was one way of escape, but it was revealed to faith, not to sight,--not to reason,--not to imagination.

"By faith Noah, being _warned of God_, of things _not seen_ as yet, moved with fear ([Greek: eulabetheis]), prepared an ark to the saving of his house; by the which he condemned the world, and became heir of the righteousness which is by faith." (Heb. xi. 7.) The word of God brings his light to shine upon all that by which man's heart is deceived. It removes, completely, the gilding with which the serpent covers a vain, deceitful, passing world, over which hangs the sword of divine judgment. But it is only "faith" that will be "warned of God," when the things of which he speaks are "not seen as yet." Nature is governed by what it sees,--it is governed by its senses. Faith is governed by the pure word of God; (inestimable treasure in this dark world!) this gives stability, let outward appearances be what they may. When God spoke to Noah of judgment impending, there was no sign of it. It was "not seen as yet;" but the word of God made it a present reality to the heart that was enabled to mix that word with faith. Faith does not wait to _see_ a thing, ere it believes, for "faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God."

All that the man of faith needs, is to know that God has spoken; this imparts perfect certainty to his soul. "Thus saith the Lord," settles every thing. A single line of sacred scripture is an abundant answer to all the reasonings and all the imaginations of the human mind; and when one has the word of God as the basis of his convictions, he may calmly stand against the full tide of human opinion and prejudice. It was the word of God which sustained the heart of Noah during his long course of service; and the same word has sustained the millions of God's saints from that day to this, in the face of the world's contradiction. Hence, we cannot set too high a value upon the word of God. Without it, all is dark and uncertainty; with it, all is light and peace. Where it shines, it marks out for the man of God a sure and blessed path; where it shines not, one is left to wander amid the bewildering mazes of human tradition. How could Noah have "preached righteousness" for 120 years if he had not had the word of God as the ground of his preaching? How could he have withstood the scoffs and sneers of an infidel world? How could he have persevered in testifying of "judgment to come," when not a cloud appeared on the world's horizon? Impossible. The word of God was the ground on which he stood, and "the Spirit of Christ" enabled him to occupy, with holy decision, that elevated and immovable ground.

And now, my beloved Christian reader, what else have we wherewith to stand, in service for Christ, in an evil day, like the present? Surely, nothing; nor do we want aught else. The word of God, and the Holy Ghost, by whom _alone_ that word can be understood, applied, or used, are all we want to equip us perfectly--to furnish us thoroughly--"to all good works," under whatever head those works may range themselves. (2 Tim. iii. 16, 17.) What rest for the heart! What relief from all Satan's imagery, and man's imaginations! God's pure, incorruptible, eternal word! May our hearts adore him for the inestimable treasure! "Every imagination of the thoughts of man's heart was only evil continually;" but God's word was the simple resting-place of Noah's heart.

"God said unto Noah, The end of all flesh is come before me.... Make thee an ark of gopher wood." Here was man's ruin, and God's remedy. Man had been allowed to pursue his career to the utmost limit, to bring his principles and ways to maturity. The leaven had worked and filled the mass. The evil had reached its climax. "All flesh" had become so bad that it could not be worse; wherefore nothing remained but for God to destroy _it_ totally; and, at the same time, to save all those who should be found, according to his eternal counsels, linked with "the eighth person,"--the only righteous man then existing. This brings out the doctrine of the cross in a very vivid manner. There we find at once God's judgment of nature with all its evil; and, at the same time, the revelation of his saving grace, in all its fulness, and in all its perfect adaptation to those who have really reached the lowest point of their moral condition, as judged by himself. "The Day-spring from on high hath visited us." (Luke i. 78.) Where? Just _where we are_, as sinners. God has come down to the very deepest depths of our ruin. There is not a point in all the sinner's state to which the light of that blessed Day-spring has not penetrated; but, if it has thus penetrated, it must, by virtue of what it is, reveal our true character. The light must judge every thing contrary to itself; but, while it does so, it also "gives the knowledge of salvation through the remission of sins." The cross, while it reveals God's judgment upon "all flesh," reveals his salvation for the lost and guilty sinner. Sin is perfectly judged,--the sinner perfectly saved,--God perfectly revealed, and perfectly glorified, in the cross.

If my reader will turn for a moment to the First Epistle of Peter, he will find much light thrown upon this entire subject. At the third chapter, verse 18, we read, "for Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the Spirit: by which (Spirit) he went and preached (through Noah) to the spirits (now) in prison; which once were disobedient, when the long-suffering of God waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was being prepared, wherein few, that is, eight souls, were saved through water ([Greek: di' hydatos]); to which the antitype ([Greek: antitypon]) baptism doth also now save us, not the putting away of the filth of the flesh, (as by water,)[12] but the answer of a good conscience towards God, by the resurrection of Jesus Christ, who, having gone into heaven, is at the right hand of God, angels, and authorities, and powers, being made subject to him."

This is a most important passage. It sets the doctrine of the ark and its connection with the death of Christ very distinctly before us. As in the Deluge, so in the death of Christ, all the billows and waves of divine judgment passed over that which, in itself, was without sin. The creation was buried beneath the flood Of Jehovah's righteous wrath; and the Spirit of Christ exclaims, "All thy billows and thy waves have gone over me." (Ps. xlii. 7.) Here is a profound truth for the heart and conscience of a believer. "_All_ God's billows and waves" passed over the spotless person of the Lord Jesus, when he hung upon the cross; and, as a most blessed consequence, not one of them remains to pass over the person of the believer. At Calvary we see, in good truth, "the fountains of the great deep broken up, and the windows of heaven opened." "Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts." Christ drank the cup, and endured the wrath perfectly. He put himself, judicially, under the full weight of all his people's liabilities, and gloriously discharged them. The belief of this gives settled peace to the soul. If the Lord Jesus has met all that could be against us, if he has removed out of the way every hindrance, if he has put away sin, if he has exhausted the cup of wrath and judgment on our behalf, if he has cleared the prospect of every cloud, should we not enjoy settled peace? Unquestionably. Peace is our unalienable portion. To us belong the deep and untold blessedness and holy security which redeeming love can bestow on the righteous ground of Christ's absolutely accomplished work.

Had Noah any anxiety about the billows of divine judgment? None whatever. How could he? He knew that "_all_" had been poured forth, while he himself was raised by those very outpoured billows into a region of cloudless peace. He floated in peace on that very water by which "all flesh" was judged. He was put beyond the reach of judgment; and put there, too, by God himself. He might have said, in the triumphant language of Romans viii., "If God be for us, who can be against us?" He had been invited in by Jehovah himself, as we read in