Part 16

The story concludes in the very manner we should now expect from the preceding circumstances. The accusers of the woman had withdrawn themselves; being convicted in their own minds, by the divine energy of Christ’s reproof, of the very same crime, as some suppose, but certainly of some crime of equal malignity with that, which they had objected to this sinner. Their accusation had not been formed on their zeal for the honour of the law, or any antipathy they had conceived to the crime in question, but on the wicked purpose of oppressing an innocent man. When they failed of this end, they thought not of carrying the criminal before the proper judge, or of prosecuting the matter any further. To the question then which our Lord put to her, _hath no man condemned thee_, i. e. hath no man undertaken to see the sentence of the law carried into execution against thee? she answered, _No man, Lord_. _Neither do I_, continued Jesus, _condemn thee_: I, who am a private man, and have no authority to execute the law; I, who _came not to judge the world, but to save the world_, I presume not to pass the sentence of death upon thee. I leave this matter to thine accusers, and to the proper judge. But what my office of a divine instructor of mankind requires, that I am ready to perform towards thee. Let me admonish thee, then, of thy great wickedness in committing this act, and exhort thee to repentance and a better life for the future; GO, AND SIN NO MORE!

Every thing here is so natural and so proper, so suitable to the circumstances of the case, and to the character and office of Jesus, that no shadow of blame can fall upon our Lord’s conduct; nor has any man of sense, who considers the history, the least reason to conclude that any countenance is hereby given to the horrid sin of adultery. The mistake (if it be purely a mistake) has arisen from the ambiguous sense of the words, I CONDEMN THEE NOT; which may either signify, _I blame thee not, or I pass not the legal sentence of death upon thee_. But they cannot be here taken in the former sense, because Christ immediately charges the woman with her guilt, and bids her _sin no more_; Nay, they can only be taken in the latter sense, because that was the sense in which her accusers had _not condemned her_; for otherwise, by bringing her to Jesus, and by their vehement accusation of her, they had sufficiently testified their sense of her crime. When Jesus therefore said, _Neither do I condemn thee_, he could only be understood to mean, “Neither do I take upon me to do that which thine accusers have omitted to do; that is, I do not condemn thee to be put to death; a sentence, which however thou mayest deserve by the law of Moses, I have no authority to pronounce against thee.”

It should further be observed, that although the turn here given by Jesus to this famous accusation be indeed favourable to the criminal (and it could not be otherwise, consistently with his own safety, or even duty) yet it insinuates nothing against the propriety of a legal prosecution, nor gives the least countenance to the magistrate to abate of his rigid execution of the law which is entrusted to him. The mixture of mercy and humanity in Christ’s decision is indeed very amiable and becoming in a private man; but had the question been, “Whether it were not fit to prosecute so great a crime in a legal and regular manner,” there is no reason to believe that his answer would have given any check to the course of public justice.

We see then from the whole narrative, and from this comment upon it, That here is no encouragement given to any man to think more slightly of the sin of adultery, than other passages of the Gospel, and the reason of the thing, authorize him to do. The sin is unquestionably of the deepest dye; is one of the most flagrant that men can commit in society; and is equally and uniformly condemned by nature itself and by the Christian morals. If, besides _condemning_, that is, expressing his abhorrence of the sin, as Jesus did, he further made an adulterous multitude sensible of their iniquity and savage inhumanity in calling for the sudden and tumultuary punishment of one, who had deserved no worse than themselves, this benefit was accessary and incidental to the circumstances of the story; and, while it gives one occasion to admire the address and lenity of our divine master, takes nothing from the enormity of the crime itself, or from the detestation which he had of it. In short, one cannot well conceive how Jesus could have done more in the case, or have expressed his displeasure at the crime more plainly, unless he had become a voluntary and officious informer against the criminal; which, considering the occasion and his own character, no man, I suppose, would think reasonable.

To conclude: if men would call to mind the purity and transcendant holiness of Christ’s character, as evidenced in the general tenour of his history, and considered withall, that _never man spake as he spake_, they could not suspect him of giving any quarter to vice; and might be sure, that, if what he said on any occasion, had the least appearance of looking that way, the presumption must be without grounds, and could only arise from their not weighing and considering his words, so replete with all _wisdom_, as well as goodness, with a proper attention. The case before us, we have seen, is a memorable instance of this kind: and let all readers of the Gospel be taught by it, that to understand the Scriptures, and to cavil at them, are different things. Let them be warned by this example, not to impute their own follies to the sacred text, which they must first misinterpret, before they can abuse: And, above all, let them take heed how they _turn the Grace of God into licentiousness_; that is, how they seek to justify to themselves, or even palliate, their own corruptions, by their loose and negligent, if not perverse, glosses on the word of God; on that WORD, by which they must stand or fall; and which, like the divine Author of it, will surely in the end _be justified in_ all _its sayings, and be clear when it is judged_[150].

SERMON XXIII.

PREACHED MARCH 1, 1772.

St. MATTHEW, xi. 29.

_Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart: And ye shall find rest unto your souls._

The moral quality recommended in the text, was little known and less esteemed[151] in the heathen world. Not that _humility_, in the Christian sense of the word; hath no foundation in natural reason: but heathen practice gave no countenance to this Virtue, and the pride of heathen philosophy would make no acquaintance with her.

She was left then to be acknowledged, for the first time, by Jesus of Nazareth, who knew the worth of this modest stranger; and therefore, as we see, recommends her to the notice and familiarity of his disciples in the most emphatic terms.

One would wonder how a virtue, so advantageously introduced into the Christian world, should be so much neglected by those who call themselves of it. But the reason is not difficult to be explained.

I. It was seen fit, for the ends of human virtue, that, in moulding the constitution of our common nature, a considerable degree of what may be called _a generous pride_, should be infused into it. Man, considered in one view, touches on the brutal creation; in another, he claims an affinity with God himself. To sustain this nobler part of his composition, the subject and source of all his diviner qualities, the adorable wisdom of the Creator saw good to implant in him a conscious sense of worth and dignity; that so a just self-esteem might erect his thoughts and endeavours, and keep him from submitting too easily to what the baser half of his nature might exact from him.

Thus far INSTINCT goes: and, as yet, there is no blame. But then to moderate this instinct, (a blind power of itself, and capable of great excesses) to circumscribe its bounds, and direct its energies to their true end, REASON, a much higher faculty, was conferred on man; and his duty, thenceforth, was to give the reins to the natural sentiment, only so far as this supreme arbitress of human life allowed.

And hence his corruption and misery took its rise. He felt the _instinct_ draw powerfully; and he would not take, or would not be at the pains to ask, the advice of _reason_, who was ready to tell him how far he might yield to it.

This wilfulness, or negligence, broke the balance of his moral nature; till _reason_, in this, as in so many other instances, was little regarded; and the instinctive sentiment of _self-esteem_, long since degenerated into lawless pride, was left to domineer as it would; universally, in the Pagan world, and, though checked by this seasonable admonition of our great Master, too generally in the Christian.

This is the true account of the first and fundamental reason, which makes _humility_ so rare a virtue, and of so difficult practice, even among the disciples of Jesus.

II. A _second_ reason is almost as extensive as the former, because founded upon it; I mean, the power of _habit and institution_.

The bias of our minds towards a just self-esteem, not properly directed, presently became _pride_: and pride, from being a general, was easily mistaken for a _natural_ principle; which would then, of course, be unconfined in its operation, and spread its influence through every quarter of human life.

Hence our earliest education is tinctured with this vicious self-esteem, and all our subsequent institutions are infected with it. It is cherished in the schools, under the name of emulation; and in the world at large, under that of ambition. Either sex, every age, every condition, is governed by it. The female world are called upon to value themselves; and the male world to assert their own dignity. The young are applauded for shewing signs of spirit; and the old must vindicate themselves from contempt. The lower ranks of men are not to be trampled upon; and the higher, not to be affronted. Our camps encourage it, as the spring of courage: and our courts, as the source of honour.

Thus pride predominates every where: and even the moralist or preacher, who would give some check to this principle, is thought to have an abject mind himself, or not to know that world, which he pretends to inform and regulate.

What wonder then that this impatient and tyrannical passion, which has general custom, and therefore claims to have reason, on her side, should yield with reluctance even to the authority of religion?

III. _Another_ cause, which contributes to the same effect, a partial one indeed, but of no small efficacy, where it prevails, is, perhaps, the _Gothic principle of honour_, deeply interwoven with most of our civil constitutions: a principle, in itself not friendly to Christian humility; but, as confederated with the other two principles before mentioned, what can it do but inflame them both, and give an infinite force to all their operations?

In these three considerations then, we have the true account and history of _pride_, the bane of civil life, and the disgrace of our moral nature. It springs, first, from the _natural sentiment_, easily indulged too far: it is, next, fostered by _general habit_; and, in the end, made sacred by _fashion_. Thus, its tyranny grew up, and is now so complete, that _lowliness of mind_ is ill looked upon even in the Christian world; and her offspring, _meekness_, (the more provoking of the two, as being that virtue drawn forth into outward act) seems in a way to be fairly dismissed from it.

It would hardly serve to reinstate these despised virtues in their pristine honours, to tell of their natures and conditions, to define their properties, and deliver the grounds of reason on which their pretensions are founded. Cold, abstracted philosophy, would do but little in this service. Besides, few persons want to be informed what humility is, or how becoming such a creature as man. And no informations, in the general way of reasoning, could be given with so much precision, but that a willing mind might find a way to mistake or pervert them.

’Tis well then that the text supplies another method of combating the universal pride of mankind. It calls upon us to contemplate, in the person of Jesus, the true and living form of _humility_; and holds out a solid, and suitable reward to the votaries of this divine virtue. Would ye know what it is to be _meek and lowly in heart? Learn of Jesus._ Do ye ask for what end ye should learn this lesson of him? the answer is direct and satisfactory, _Ye shall find rest to your souls_. These topics, then, must employ what remains of this discourse.

I. The particulars of Christ’s humility may be seen at large in the history of his life. But they are summed up by the Apostle Paul in few words.

_Let this mind be in you_, says he to the Philippians, _which was also in Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it no robbery to be equal with God_ [i. e. was in no haste to seize upon and assert his right of equality with him]; _but made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of man; and being found in fashion, as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient to death, even the death of the cross_[152].

Who, that hears these words, can have a doubt concerning the nature of humility, or concerning the duties of it? If heaven stooped to earth; if Jesus descended from the dignity, I do not say of an angel, or an archangel, but of God himself, to the abject state of man; if he humbled himself to the lowest condition of that state; veiled all his glories in the form of a servant; in that form administered to our infirmities and necessities; bore all the scorn, the contradiction, the contumely of injurious men; and even submitted himself to death, the ignominious death of the cross, for their sake—If _this mind was in Christ Jesus_, who but must see, that the greatest of mankind may well descend from all his real or fancied eminence, for the service of his brother? may easily forego the little advantage, which his birth, his rank, his wealth, his learning, or his parts, may seem to give him over his fellows, when an act of charity is to be performed by him; when the distresses, the infirmities, nay the vices of humanity, may be relieved, and covered, and corrected, by such condescension? To stoop for such ends is almost pride itself: and to emulate such a pattern, is scarce humility, but glory.

Nor think, that this humility requires of you more than reason requires. You may suppress your pride, without giving up necessary self-defence. Ye may be _meek and lowly in heart_, without being unjust to yourselves, or imprudent. When your essential interests are concerned, ye may assert them with firmness, and even with spirit, in all ways, which good sense allows, or true wisdom recommends. But let not every petty injury, much less any fancied injury, be presently avenged; let not little neglects or discourtesies be hastily resented; overlook many injuries, if not considerable; nay, and many considerable injuries, if they be but tolerable. Think not that your dignity will suffer by such connivance. The true dignity of man, is the performance of his duty. Or, if some indignity be sustained, consider on whose account, and by whose command ye suffer it. Consider, that He, whose dignity was infinitely above yours, submitted to _every_ indignity, and for your sake. The authority of your divine Master is nothing, if it cannot bind you in any instance to bear his _yoke_: And to what end is the example of your divine Saviour set before you, if ye resolve, on no account, to _take up your cross and follow him_[153]?

But, because our compassionate Lord saw how uneasy this precept would be to the indulged and inveterate pride of his followers, he has therefore condescended to assure them that their obedience to it will, even in this world, be attended with a suitable reward. _Ye shall find rest to your souls._ And this

II. Is the other topic, which I engaged to insist upon, in this discourse.

The great objection to the virtues of _meekness and humility_, is, that the practice of them will put us to some present pain in resisting the impulse of our disordered passions. It will do so. Nature prompts us to repel an injury; and that nature, vitiated and depraved, is in haste to repel it with indignation, and even fury. To give way to the impetuous sentiment, would give us immediate ease; and to suppress it, till the practice becomes habitual, will cost us some throws and agitation of mind. To counteract this instant disquiet, a recompence is proposed, exactly suited to the trial. Our mind is discomposed, for the instant, by the struggle we have to make with the incensed passion: When that is over, it settles again into a full and permanent tranquillity. _We find rest_, as the text speaks, _to our souls_: we have the purest peace within, and have no disturbance of it to apprehend, from without.

1. The uneasiness which _pride_ engenders, receives, as I said, some present relief, from the free course of that passion. But see the consequence of giving way to it. Disgust, remorse, fear, and hate, succeed to the indulgence of this fiery sentiment, I mean, when it proceeds so far as to acts of revenge. But, if it stop short of this extreme, still the mind, by nourishing its resentments, and brooding over the idea of a supposed indignity, hurts its own peace; grows sore and fretful, and suspicious; and, though it be somewhat flattered by the first tumultuous effort of its indignation, which looks like courage and high spirit; yet, the briskness of this sensation soon goes off, and flattens into a sullen gloom of thought, the bane of every selfish, as well as social enjoyment.

It is much otherwise with the _meek and lowly in heart_. They never retaliate injuries, and seldom resent them. They either feel not the stroke of them; or, if they do, the wound is instantly healed by the balsamic virtue of their own minds. But, indeed, a man, well disciplined in the school of humility, receives but few injuries, for he _suspects_ none; it being, I think, true, that, for one real injury done us by others, a hundred such things, as we call by that name, are only bred in our own captious and distempered imaginations. And then, for those few injuries which he actually receives, they are easily slighted or forgotten by him; because he sees them only in their true shape and size, and not as magnified by an extravagant opinion of his own worth, and as extravagant a contempt of the aggressor. He knows his own infirmities, and can allow for those of other men. If they are petulant or unjust, he, perhaps, has been inobservant or imprudent: besides, he never thought himself entitled to any special respect, and therefore wonders the less, if no great ceremony has been used towards him. To these suggestions of humanity, he adds those of _religion_. He knows what his Master enjoins, and he remembers on what terms the injunction is pressed upon him. And thus, though the indignity seem great, he easily excuses one half of it, and forgives the other. The issue is, that he finds _rest_ in his own soul, which the proud man never does: so that, as to internal peace, the advantage is clearly on the side of meekness and humility. But then,

2. As to _external peace_, the matter may be thought more problematical. “For that softness of mind, which religion calls _humility_, invites, it is said, and multiplies injuries. Forgive one insult, and you draw upon you a hundred more so that, if humility be a virtue, it is never likely to be out of breath for want of exercise and employment. In a word, the world is so base, that there is no keeping it in respect, but by _fear_: and how is that needful sentiment to be impressed on the minds of injurious men, in those numberless cases which civil justice cannot reach, but by a quick resentment and personal high spirit?”

Such is the language of those who have learned their ethics of the world, and not of the Gospel. But let us see what there is in the allegation itself.

_To connive at one indignity, is_, they say, _the ready way to invite another_. It may be so, in some rare cases, when we have to do with singularly base and ungenerous natures; but even then, I think, chiefly, if not solely, when that connivance is joined with imprudence or folly: and then it is not humility should bear the blame, but our own indiscretion. Besides, the question is concerning a general rule of conduct: and this rule may be a fit and reasonable one, though it admit, as most rules do, of some exceptions.

Again, though a wise and good man will frequently suppress, and always moderate resentment, yet neither reason nor the religion of Jesus requires, that in no case whatsoever should we be actuated by that principle. The principle itself, as I have shewn, is a natural one, and under due restraint may serve to good purposes; one of which, perhaps, is to give check to overbearing insolence and oppression, I mean when it rises to a certain degree and exceeds certain bounds. Even our blessed Lord, who was meekness itself, thought fit on some occasions to express a very strong resentment: as, when he upbraided the Pharisees in no gentle terms, but, in a just indignation at their malice, went so far as to brand them with the bitter names of _vipers and serpents_, and to menace them with the flames of _hell_[154]. So that meekness and resentment are not absolutely incompatible; though the danger of exceeding in this last quality is so great, that the general rule both of reason and Christianity, is to cultivate meekness in ourselves, and to restrain our resentments.

“But, if exceptions be allowed in any case, the rule, it will be said, becomes of no use; for that pride and passion will find an exception in every case.” If they should, they must answer for themselves. In all moral matters, something, nay much, must be left to the fairness and honesty of the mind. Without this principle, the plainest rule of life may be evaded or abused: and with it, even that hard saying, of _loving our enemies_, which is near of kin to this of _meekness_, is easily understood, and may be reasonably applied.

“Still, the rule, it is said, must be an improper one; for that the world, not some few persons, but mankind in general, are only to be kept in order by _force and fear_.” So far as there is truth in this observation, the civil sword, in every country, supplies that needful restraint. But in the general commerce between man and man, in all offices of civility and society, that is, in cases where the stronger passions and more important interests of men are not directly concerned, as they are in what relates to property and power, the observation is clearly not true. Here, pride is the predominant vice of mankind. And pride is naturally softened and disarmed by placability and meekness. The good humour of the world is easily and most effectually maintained by mutual concessions and reciprocal civilities: for pride, having a mixture of generosity in it, yields to these, and loses all the fierceness of its nature. So that they, who bring this charge against the world, calumniate their kind, and either shew that they have kept ill company; or, as I rather suspect, have never tried the experiment, which they say is so hopeless. Let them learn to think more favourably, that is, more justly, of human nature. We are passionate, infirm creatures, indeed; but still men, and not fiends. Let them set the example of that _humility_, which they affect to think so unpromising a guard against injuries: and I dare assure them they will generally find themselves better defended by it, than by any resentment or high spirit which they can possibly exert.