CHRISTIAN LOVE IS NOT TO BE CONFOUNDED
WITH THAT 'SPURIOUS TOLERANCE' WHICH
CONSISTS IN INDIFFERENCE TO RELIGIOUS
TRUTH, OR IN INDULGENCE OF SINFUL PRACTICES A separate and entire section is here devoted to this distinction of love from a counterfeit resemblance of it, because of the importance of the subject, and the frequency with which the mistake is made of confounding things which are so different from each other. No terms have been more misunderstood or abused, than 'toleration' and love. Some have found in them, an authorization to sanction all religious opinions, however opposed to one another or to the word of God; and a permission to indulge in all sinful practices which do not transgress the laws of our country! So that by the aid of these two words, all truth and holiness may be driven out of the world! For if error be innocent, truth must be unimportant. And if we are to be indulgent towards the sins of others, under the sanction and by the command of Scripture, holiness can be of no consequence either to them or to ourselves. If we were to hearken to some, we would conceive of love, not as she really is—a spirit of ineffable beauty, descending from heaven upon our fallen earth, holding in her hand the torch of truth, which she had lighted at the fountain of celestial radiance, and clad in a vest of unsullied purity; and who, as she entered upon the scene of discord, proclaimed "glory to God in the highest," as well as "peace on earth, good-will to men," and having with these magic words, healed the troubled waters of strife, proceeded to draw men closer to each other, by drawing them closer to Christ, the common center of believers; and then hushing the clamours of contention, by removing the pride, the ignorance, and the depravity which produced them. No! but we would think of her as a lying spirit—clad, indeed, in some of the attire of an angel of light, but bearing no heavenly impress, holding no torch of truth, wearing no robe of holiness; smiling, perhaps, but like a flatterer, upon all without distinction; calling upon men, as they are combating for truth and striving against sin, to sheathe their swords, and cast away their shields, to be indulgent towards each other's vices, and tolerant of each other's errors; because they all mean and feel substantially alike, though they have different modes of expressing their opinions, and of giving utterance to their feelings. Is this love? No! It is Satan in the garments of Gabriel. That there is much spurious toleration in the world, and that it is advocated by great names, will appear by the following quotation from Dr. Priestley—"If we could be so happy as to believe that there are no errors but what men may be so circumstanced as to be innocently betrayed into; that any mistake of the head is very consistent with rectitude of heart; and that all differences in modes of worship, may be only the different methods, by which different men, who are equally the offspring of God, are endeavoring to honor and obey their common parent—our difference of opinion would have no tendency to lessen our mutual love and esteem." Dr. Priestley, and the followers of his religious system, are not peculiar in this sentiment. Pope's Universal Prayer is to the same effect— "Father of all, in every age,
In every climate adored,
By saint, by savage, or by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord." The well-known metrical adage of this poet is adopted, to the full extent of its spirit and design, by great multitudes who suppose that they are quite orthodox both in opinion and practice, and who perhaps boast of their love, while they exclaim— "For modes of faith, let graceless zealots fight,
His can't be wrong, whose life is in the right." It is, I imagine, generally thought by at least a great part of mankind, that it is of little consequence what a man's religious opinions are, provided his conduct be tolerably correct; that love requires us to think well of his state; and that it is the very essence of bigotry to question the validity of his claim to the character of a Christian, or to doubt of the safety of his soul. In other words, it is pretended that benevolence requires us to think well of men, irrespective of religious opinions; and that it is almost a violation of the rule of love to attempt to unsettle their convictions, or to render them uneasy in the possession of their sentiments, although we may conclude them to be fundamentally wrong. But does this approval of all opinions—at least this disposition to think well of people as to their religious character, and the safety of their souls, whatever may be the doctrines they hold—enter essentially into the nature of love? Most certainly not—but actually opposes it! Benevolence is good will to men—but this is a very different thing from a good opinion of their false principles and evil practices. For if I believe that a man holds opinions that endanger his safety, benevolence requires not that I should shut my eyes to his danger, and lull him into false confidence; but that I should bear my testimony and express my fears concerning his situation. Benevolence is a very different thing from acceptance or esteem. These are founded on approbation of character. Benevolence is nothing more than a desire to promote happiness. The question, whether love is to be confounded with 'indifference to religious principle'—for such does the spurious toleration I am contending against amount to—is best decided by an appeal to Scripture. How decisive are such passages as the following—"You shall know the truth," said Christ, "and the truth shall make you free." "This is life eternal—to know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent." "He who believes on the Son has everlasting life; and he who believes not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him." With what emphasis did the apostle speak of the conduct of those who attempted to pervert the great doctrine of justification by faith, by introducing the obsolete ceremonies of the Jewish law, "But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed. As we said before, so say I now again, if any preach any other gospel unto you than that you have received, let him be accursed." Now, certainly, this is anything but 'indifference to religious opinion'—for, be it observed, it was matter of opinion, and not the duties of morality, or of practical religion, that was here so strenuously opposed. The apostle commands Timothy "to hold fast the form of sound words—and to give himself to doctrine." The apostle John has this strong language—"Whoever transgresses, and abides not in the doctrine of Christ, has not God. He who abides in the doctrine of Christ, he has both the Father and the Son. If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not take him into your house or welcome him. Anyone who welcomes him shares in his wicked work." Jude commands us "to contend earnestly for the faith once delivered to the saints." From these, and many other passages which might be quoted, it is evident, not only that truth is important and necessary to salvation; but that error is guilty, and in many instances is connected with the loss of the soul. If a man may disbelieve one truth, and yet be free from sin for so doing, he may disbelieve two; and if two, four; and if four, ten; and if ten, half the Bible; and if half the Bible, the whole; and if he may be a Deist and yet be in a safe state, he may be an Atheist and still go to heaven. To such awful lengths may the principle be pushed, that there is no guilt in mental error. "Let those," says Dr. Priestley, "who maintain that the mere holding of opinions (without regard to the motives and state of the mind through which men may have been led to form them,) will necessarily exclude them from the favor of God, be particularly careful with respect to the premises from which they draw so alarming a conclusion." Nothing can be more sophistical than this passage; for we do not, in asserting the 'guiltiness of a false opinion', leave out the state of the heart; but contend that all errors in the judgment have their origin in the depravity of our nature, and, in so far as they prevail, discover a heart not brought into subjection to Christ. A perfectly holy mind could not err in the opinion it derived from the word of God—and it may be most fairly presumed that there are certain fundamental truths, which cannot be rejected, without such a degree of depravity of heart, as is utterly incompatible with true piety towards God. It is to be recollected that the holiness required in the word of God, is a very superior thing to what is called 'mere morality'. Holiness is a right state of mind towards God, and it is enforced by motives drawn from the view which the Scriptures give us of the Divine nature, and of the Divine conduct towards us. If our views of God, and of his scheme of mercy, be false, the motives which influence us cannot be correct. Hence, all right feeling and conduct are traced up by the sacred writers to the truth. Do they speak of regeneration? they tell us we are "begotten by the incorruptible seed of the word." Do they speak of sanctification? they ascribe it, so far as instrumentality is concerned, to the truth; and the truth itself is characterized as a "doctrine according to godliness." It is evident, that without the truth, or in other words, without right opinions, we can neither be born again of the Spirit, nor partake of true holiness. The whole process of practical and experimental religion is carried on by the instrumentality of right sentiments; and to suppose that holiness could be produced in the soul as well by error as by truth, is not only contrary to revelation, but no less contrary to reason. If truth sanctifies—error must in some way or other pollute; for to suppose that two causes, not only so distinct, but so opposite, can produce the same effect, is absurd; and the Scriptures everywhere insist upon the importance of the truth, not merely on its own account, but on account of its moral effect upon the soul. If this view of the subject be correct, Christian love cannot mean 'indifference to religious sentiment'; for if so, it would be a temper of mind in direct opposition to a large portion of the Scripture. Nor are we required by this virtue to give the least countenance to what we think is error. We may, indeed, be called bigots; for this term, in the lips of many, means nothing more than a reproach for attaching importance to right sentiments. No word has been more misunderstood than this. If by bigotry is meant such an overweening attachment to our opinions as makes us refuse to listen to arguments; such a blind regard to our own views as closes the avenues of reason; such a selfish zeal for our creed as actually destroys benevolence, and causes us to hate those who differ from us—it is an evil state of mind, manifestly at variance with love! But if as is generally the case, it means with those who use it, only 'zeal for truth', it is perfectly consistent with love and actually a part of it; for "love rejoices in the truth." It is quite compatible with good-will to men, therefore, to attach high importance to doctrines, to condemn error, to deny the Christianity and safety of those who withhold their assent from fundamental truths, and to abstain from all such religious communion with them, as would imply in the least possible degree anything like indifference to opinion. It appears to me that the most perfect benevolence to men, is that which, instead of looking with complacency on their errors, warns them of their danger, and admonishes them to escape. It is no matter that they think they are right—this only makes their case the more alarming; and to act towards them as if we thought their mistaken views of no consequence, is only to confirm their delusion, and to aid their destruction! It is true we are neither to despise them nor persecute them—we are neither to oppress nor ridicule them—we are neither to look upon them with haughty scorn, nor with callous indifference—but while we set ourselves against their errors, we are to pity them with sincere compassion, and to labor for their conversion with unselfish kindness. We are to bear with unruffled meekness all their provoking sarcasms; and to sustain, with deep humility, the consciousness of our clearer perceptions; and to convince them, that with the steadiest resistance of their principles, we unite the tenderest concern for their welfare. And if love does not imply indifference to religious opinions, so neither does it mean acceptance of sin. There are some people whose views of the evil of sin are so dim and contracted, or their good nature is so accommodating and unscriptural, that they make all kinds of excuses for men's transgressions, and allow of any latitude for human frailty. The greatest sins—if they are not committed against the laws of society—are reduced to the mere 'infirmities of our fallen nature', which should not be visited with harsh censure; and as for the lesser ones, they are mere specks upon a bright and polished surface, which nothing but a most fastidious intolerance would ever notice. Such people severely censure all who oppose and condemn iniquity; and revile them as malignant opposers to the cheerfulness of society—the very dregs of puritanism and barbarism; and reproach them as being destitute of all the charities and courtesies of life! But if toleration be a confounding of the distinctions between sin and holiness—a depreciating of the excellence of holiness, and at the same time a diminishing of the evil of sin; if it necessarily leads us to tolerate with an easy and good-natured air, all iniquity; and to smile with a kind and gentle aspect upon the transgressions which we witness; then it must be something openly at variance with the letter and the spirit of biblical revelation—and surely that toleration which runs counter to the mind of God, cannot be the love on which Paul passes such a eulogium in this chapter. We are told by the Word of God that sin is exceedingly evil; that it is the abominable thing which God hates; that the wages of it are eternal death; that by unholy thoughts and feelings we violate the law. We are commanded to abstain from sin's very appearance; we are warned against excusing it in ourselves, or in each other; we are admonished to reprove it, to resist it, and to oppose it—to the uttermost. Certainly, then, it cannot be required by the law of love, that we should look with a mild and tolerant eye on sin! Love to man arises out of love to God; but can it be possible to love God, and not to hate sin? Love is the fruit of faith, but faith purifies the heart; it is cherished by a sense of redeeming love—and the very end of the scheme of redemption is the destruction of sin. Approval of men in their sins, and toleration of their iniquity, instead of being an act of benevolence, is the greatest cruelty! Hence the emphatic language of God to the Israelites—"Do not hate your brother in your heart. Rebuke your neighbor frankly so you will not share in his guilt." Would it be benevolence to approve that conduct by which any individual was bringing disease upon his body—or poverty into his circumstances? If not, how can it be benevolent to leave him, without a warning, to do that which will involve his soul in eternal ruin? To think more lightly of the evil of sin than the Word of God does—to call that good or even 'indifferent', which Scripture calls evil—to make allowances, which Scripture does not make, for human frailty—to frame excuses for sin which Scripture disallows—to lull the consciences of men, by considerations in extenuation of guilt which Scripture forbids—or to do anything to produce other views and feelings in reference to iniquity, than such as are warranted by Scripture—is not love, but a participation in other men's sins! It is the nature of love, I admit, not to be hasty to impute evil motives to actions of a doubtful nature; not to take pleasure in finding out the faults of others; not to magnify them beyond the reality, but to make all the allowance that a regard to truth will allow; to hope the best in the absence of proof; and to be willing to forgive the offence when it has been committed against ourselves. But to carry it beyond this, and let it degenerate into an affability which is afraid to rebuke, or oppose, or condemn sin—lest we would offend the transgressor, or violate the law of courtesy, or subject ourselves to the reproach of being a censorious bigot; which courts the good-will, and promotes the self-satisfaction of others, by approval of their sins; which seeks to ingratiate itself into their affections, by being indulgent to their vices—is to violate and forget every obligation which we are laid under, both to love God and our neighbor! This kind of 'sentimental toleration' is opposed both to piety and the eternal welfare of humanity! This is not the love enjoined in so many places in the New Testament! No! No! Christian love is not a poor old senile person—creeping about the world, too blind to perceive the distinction between good and evil. Nor is Christian love a fawning flatterer, too timid to reprove the bold transgressor, and smiling with insincere adulation and imbecile approval of the errors and iniquities of the human race! True Christian love is a vigorous and healthy virtue, with an eye keen to discern the boundaries between right and wrong; a hand strong and ready to help the transgressor out of his miserable condition; a heart full of mercy for the sinner and the sufferer; a disposition to forgive rather than revenge—to relieve rather than to aggravate—to conceal rather than to expose—to be kind rather than severe—to be hopeful of good rather than suspicious of evil. But nevertheless, true Christian love is the inflexible, immutable friend of holiness—and the equally inflexible and immutable enemy of sin! We are not allowed, it is true, to be scornful and proud towards the wicked, nor censorious towards anyone. We are not to make the most distant approach to the proud disposition which says, "Stand aside! I am holier than you!" We are not to hunt for the failings of others; nor when we see them, without hunting for them, to condemn them in a tone of arrogance, or with a scathing or sarcastic spirit. But still we must maintain that disposition, which while it reflects the beauty of a God of love—no less brightly reflects his glory, as a God of holiness and a God of truth! THE INDISPENSABLE NECESSITY
OF CHRISTIAN LOVE A distinction has been introduced into the subject of true religion, which, although not wholly free from objection, is sufficient to answer the purpose for which it is employed. I mean the distinction between essentials and non-essentials. It would be a difficult task to trace the boundary line by which these classes are divided; but the truth of the idea of "essentials and non-essentials" cannot be questioned. There are some things, both in faith and practice, which we may neglect, and yet not be destitute of true religion. While there are other things in faith and practice—the absence of which necessarily implies an unrenewed heart. Among the essentials of true piety must be reckoned the disposition we are now considering—Christian love. Christian love is not to be classed with those observances and views, which, though important, are not absolutely essential to salvation. We must possess true Christian love, or we are not Christians now, and shall not be admitted into heaven hereafter. The apostle has expressed this necessity in the clearest and the strongest manner. He has put an hypothetical case of the most impressive kind, which I shall now illustrate. "Though I speak with the tongues of men or of angels—and have not Love, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal."—verse 1. By the tongues of men and of angels, we are not to understand the powers of the loftiest eloquence—but the miraculous gift of tongues, accompanied by an ability to convey ideas according to the method of celestial beings. Should a man be invested with these stupendous endowments, and employ them in the service of the gospel; yet if his heart were not a partaker of Christian love—he would be no more acceptable to God than was the clanging of the brazen instruments employed in the idolatrous worship of the Egyptian Isis, or the noise of the tinkling cymbals which accompanied the orgies of the Grecian Cybele. Such a man's profession of religion is not only worthless in the sight of God—but disagreeable and disgusting! The comparison is remarkably strong, inasmuch as it refers not to soft melodious sounds, as of the flute or of the harp, not to the harmonious chords of a concert—but to the 'harsh dissonance' of instruments of the most inharmonious character. And if, as is probable, the allusion be to the noisy clank of idolatrous musicians, the idea is as strongly presented as it is possible for the force of language to express it. "And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains—and have not Love, I am nothing."—verse 2. Paul still alludes to miraculous endowments. Prophecy in the Scripture use of the term is not limited to the foretelling of future events, but means to speak by inspiration of God; and its exercise in this instance, refers to the power of explaining without premeditation or mistake—the typical and predictive parts of the Old Testament dispensation, together with the facts and doctrines of the Christian economy. "The faith that could remove mountains," is an allusion to an expression of our Lord's, which occurs in the gospel history; "Verily I say unto you, if you have faith as a grain of mustard seed, you shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place—and it shall remove." This faith is of a distinct nature altogether from that by which men are justified and become the children of God. It has been called the 'faith of miracles', and seems to have consisted in a firm persuasion of the power or ability of God to do any miraculous thing for the support of the gospel. It operated two ways—the first was a belief on the part of the person who wrought the miracle, that he was the subject of a divine impulse, and called at that time to perform such an act; and the other was a belief on the part of the person on whom a miracle was about to be performed, that such an effect would be really produced. Now the apostle declared, that although a man had been gifted with prophecy, so as to explain the deepest mysteries of the Scripture, and in addition possessed that miraculous faith by which the most difficult and astonishing changes would have been effected—he was nothing, and less than nothing, without love. "And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned—and have not Love, it profits me nothing."—Verse 3. This representation of the indispensable necessity of Christian love is most striking. It supposes it possible that a man may distribute all his substance in acts of apparent beneficence—and yet after all be without true religion! Actions derive their moral character from the motives under the influence of which they are performed. Therefore, many actions which are beneficial to man, may still be sinful in the sight of God, because they are not done from a right motives! The most diffusive generosity—if prompted by pride, vanity or self-righteousness—is of no value in the eyes of the omniscient Jehovah! On the contrary, it is very sinful! It is too evident to be questioned, that many of the charities of which we are the witnesses, are done from any motives but the right ones. We readily see that multitudes are lavish in their monetary contributions, who are at the same time totally destitute of love to God, and love to man—and if destitute of these sacred virtues, they are, as it respects real religion, less than nothing, although they should spend every penny of their property in relieving the needs of the poor. If our munificence, however great or self-denying, be the operation of mere selfish regard to ourselves, to our own reputation, or to our own safety, and not of pure love, it may do good to others, but will do none to ourselves! "And though I give my body to be burned," that is, as a martyr to true religion, "and have not love, it profits me nothing." Whether such a case as this ever existed we know not—it is not impossible, nor improbable. But if it did, not the tortures of an agonizing death, nor the courage which endured them, nor the seeming zeal for religion which led to them—would be accepted in lieu of true love to man. Such an instance of self-devotedness must have been the result either of that self-righteousness, which substitutes its own sufferings for those of Christ; or of that 'love of fame' which scruples not to seek it even in the fires of martyrdom! In either case it partakes not of the nature, nor will receive the reward, of true religion. It will help to convince us, not only of the necessity of true Christian love, but of the importance of this temper of mind—if we bring into a narrow compass the many and various representations of it, which are to be found in the New Testament. 1. Love is the object of the Divine decree in predestination. "For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will." 2. True Christian love is the end and purpose of the moral law. "The end of the commandment is love." "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment and the second is like unto it—You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets." "Love is the fulfilling of the law." 3. True Christian love is the evidence of regeneration. "Love is of God, and everyone who loves, is born of God." 4. True Christian love is the necessary operation and effect of saving faith. "For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision avails anything nor uncircumcision; but faith which works by love." 5. True Christian love is that grace by which both personal and mutual edification is promoted. "Knowledge puffs up, but love edifies." "Makes increase of the body to the edifying of itself in love." 6. True Christian love is the proof of a mutual inhabitation between God and his people. "If we love one another, God dwells in us, and his love is perfected in us. Hereby know we that we dwell in him, and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have known and believed the love that God has to us. God is love; and he who dwells in love dwells in God, and God in him." 7. True Christian love is declared to be the greatest of all the Christian virtues. "The greatest of these is love!" 8. True Christian love is represented as the perfection of true religion. "Above all these things put on love—which is the bond of perfectness." What eulogies are these! What striking proofs of the supreme importance of Christian love! Who has not been guilty of some neglect of it? Who has not had his attention drawn too much from it? Who can read these passages of Holy Writ, and not feel convinced that not only mankind in general, but the professors of spiritual religion also, have too much mistaken the nature of true piety? What are clear and orthodox views—what are strong feelings—what is our faith—what our enjoyment—what our freedom from gross immorality—without this spirit of pure and universal Christian love? Whether an instance, we again repeat, ever existed of an individual whose circumstances answered to the supposition of the apostle, we cannot determine; the statement certainly suggests to us a most alarming idea of our liability to self-deception in reference to our personal religion. Delusion on the nature of true piety prevails to a truly appalling extent! Millions are in error as to the real condition of their souls, and think that they are journeying to celestial bliss; when in reality they are traveling to perdition! Oh fearful mistake! Oh fatal delusion! What terrible disappointment awaits them! What horror, and anguish, and despair, will take eternal possession of their souls, in that moment of truth, when instead of awaking from the sleep of death amid the glories of the heavenly city—they shall lift up their eyes, "being in torment!" No pen can describe the overwhelming anguish of such a disappointment! The imagination shrinks with amazement and horror. from the contemplation of her own faint sketch of the unendurable scene! To be led on by the 'power of delusion' so far as to commit an error of consequence to our temporal interests; to have impaired our health, our reputation, or our property—is sufficiently painful, especially where there is no prospect, or but a faint one, of repairing the harm. Yet, in this case, true religion opens a balm for the wounded spirit, and eternity presents a prospect, where the sorrows of time will be forgotten! But, O! to be in error on the nature of true religion itself, and to build our hope of immortality on the sand, instead of the rock; to see the lamp of our deceitful profession, which had served to illume us in life, and even to guide us in false peace through the dark valley of the shadow of death, suddenly extinguished as we cross the threshold of eternity, and leaving us in rayless, endless night—instead of quietly expiring amid the blaze of everlasting day! What horror! Is such a delusion possible? Has it ever happened in one solitary instance? Do the annals of the unseen world record one such case, and the prison of lost souls contain one miserable spirit that perished by delusion? Then what deep solicitude ought the possibility of such an event to circulate through the hearts of all—to avoid the error of a self-deceived mind. Is it possible to be mistaken in our judgment, of our eternal state? Then how deeply anxious ought we all to feel, not to be misled by false criteria in forming our decision. But what if, instead of one case, millions should have occurred—of souls irrecoverably lost by self-deception? What if delusion should be the most crowded avenue to the bottomless pit? What if self-delusion should be the common infatuation, the epidemic blindness, which has fallen upon multitudes of the inhabitants of Christendom? What if this 'moral insanity' should have infected and destroyed very many who have made even a stricter profession of true religion than others? How shall we explain, much more justify—that lack of concern about their everlasting welfare—that destitution of care to examine into the nature and evidences of true piety—that willingness to be deluded, in reference to eternity—which many exhibit? Jesus Christ does tell us that "MANY, in that day, shall say, Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name?" to whom he will say, "Depart from me, I never knew you, you workers of iniquity!" He says that "MANY are called, but few chosen." He says that of the four classes of those who hear the word, only one hears it to advantage. He says that of the ten virgins, to whom he likens the kingdom of heaven, only five were wise, while the other five were deceiving themselves with the oil-less lamp of a deceitful profession! He intimates most plainly that self-deception in religion is fearfully common—and common among those who make a more serious profession than others! It is Jesus who has sounded the alarm to awaken slumbering professors of religion from their carnal security. It is he who has said, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." "I know your works, how that you have a name that you live—but are dead." How careful, then, ought we to be, not to be deluded by false evidences of religion, and to conclude that we are Christians—while we are destitute of those things which the Word of God declares to be essential to genuine piety. We must possess true Christian love, therefore—or all else is insufficient. 1. Some conclude, that because they are regular in their ATTENDANCE upon church services—that they are true Christians. They go punctually to church or to meetings—they receive the Lord's supper—they frequent the meetings for prayer—they perhaps repeat prayers in secret, and read the Scriptures. All this is well—if it be done with right views—and in connection with right dispositions of the heart. But it is the 'whole' of their religion? Is it a mere abstraction of devotional exercise? Is it a thing separate and apart from the heart, and temper, and conduct? Is it a 'formal business' of the closet, and of the sanctuary? Is it a sort of penance paid to the Almighty, to be released from all the other demands of Scripture, and obligations of piety? Is it an expression of their willingness to be devout in the church, and on the Sabbath—provided they may be as earthly-minded, as selfish, as malicious, and as unkind, as they please, in all other places and all other times? This is not true religion! 2. Others are depending upon the clearness of their views, and their attainments in biblical KNOWLEDGE. They have a singular zeal for the truth, and are great sticklers for the doctrines of grace, of which they profess to have an acquaintance, little short of inspiration! They look upon all, besides a few of their own class, as mere babes in knowledge, or as individuals who, like the man in the gospel, have their eyes only half open, and who see "men as trees walking." They are the eagles who soar to the sun, and bask in its beams, while the rest of mankind are the moles that burrow, and the bats that flutter in the dark. Doctrine is everything; clear views of the gospel are their great desire—and in their zeal for these things, they suppose they can never say things extravagant enough, nor absurd enough, nor angry enough, against good works, practical religion, or Christian temper. Puffed up with pride, selfish, unkind, irritable, censorious, malicious—they manifest a total lack of that humility and kindness which are the prominent features of true Christianity. Let it be known, however, that clear views of Scripture—even where they have no resemblance to the monstrous caricatures and frightful deformities of modern Antinomianism—are of themselves no evidence of true religion—any more than right theoretical notions of the constitution, are the proofs of patriotism. And as a man with these notions in his mind, may be a traitor in his heart—so may a professor of religion be an enemy to God in his soul—with an evangelical creed upon his tongue! Many profess to be very fond of the 'lamp of truth'—grasp it firmly in their hands, admire its flame—and pity or blame those who are following the delusive and meteoric fires of error. But after all, they make no other use of the 'lamp of truth', than to illuminate the path that leads them to perdition! Their religion begins and ends in adopting a form of sound words for their creed, approving an evangelical ministry, admiring the popular champions of the truth, and joining in the criticism of error. As to any spirituality of mind, any heavenliness of affection, any Christian love—in short, as to any of the natural tendency, the appropriate energy, the vital, elevating influence, of those very doctrines to which they profess to be attached—they are as destitute as the greatest worldling; and like him, are perhaps as selfish, revengeful, implacable, and unkind! This is the religion but too common in the present day, when evangelical sentiments are becoming increasingly popular; a religion but too common in our churches—a cold, heartless, and uninfluential religion; a sort of lunar light, which reflects the beams of the sun, but not its warmth. 3. On the other hand, some are satisfied with the vividness and the intensity of their FEELINGS. Possessed of much excitability and warmth of temperament, they are, of course, susceptible of deep and powerful impressions from true religion. They are not without joy, for even the stony-ground hearers rejoiced for awhile; and they are not without their religious sorrows. Their tears are plentiful, and their smiles in proportion. See them in the house of God, and none appear to feel more under the preaching of the word than they do. The sermon exerts an influential power over their affections, and the preacher seems to have their hearts at command. They talk loudly of "happy frames," "precious seasons," "comfortable opportunities." But follow them from the house of God to their own homes—and, O, how changed the scene! The least offence, perhaps an unintentional one, raises a storm of passion, and the man who looked like a seraph in the sanctuary—seems more like a demon at home! Follow them from the Sabbath into the days of the week, and you will see the man who appeared all for heaven on the Sunday—all for earth on the Monday! Follow them from the assembly of the saints to the chief places of business, where they buy, and sell, and get gain—and you will see the man who looked so devout, now irritated and quarrelsome, selfish and unfair, crude and insulting, envious and malicious, untrusting and defamatory! Yes! And perhaps in the evening of the same day, you will see him at a prayer meeting, enjoying, as he supposes, the holy season. Such is the delusion under which many are living. Their religion is, in great part, a mere susceptibility of impression from religious subjects! It is a selfish religious voluptuousness! It is certain, that more importance is oftentimes attached to "sensible enjoyment," as it is called—to lively frames and feelings—than belongs to them. There is a great variety in the constitution of the human mind, not only as it respects the power of thinking, but also of feeling; some feel far more acutely than others—this is observable even in natural things. The grace of God, in conversion, operates a moral, not a physical change. The grace of God, in conversion, gives a new direction to the faculties, but leaves the faculties themselves as they were. Consequently, with equal depth of conviction and equal strength of principle, there will be various degrees of feeling in different people. The susceptibility of the mind to strong emotions, and its liability to vivid feeling—were there before conversion—and they remain after it. And oftentimes the lively emotion produced by affecting scenes, or seasons, or sermons, is partly an operation of nature—and partly of grace! A man may feel but little, and yet if that little leads him to do much—it is great piety notwithstanding! Two people are listening to a sad and touching account—one is seen to weep profusely, and is overwhelmed by the story. The other is attentive and thoughtful, but neither weeps nor sobs. They retire—the former, perhaps, to wipe her tears, and to forget the misery which caused them; the latter to seek out the sufferer and relieve him. Which had most 'feeling'? The former! Which had most 'true benevolence'? The latter! The conduct of one was the result of an emotional nature! The conduct of the other the effect of pious principle. Take another illustration, still more in point. Conceive of two real Christians listening to a sermon, in which the preacher is discoursing from such a text as this—"Beloved; if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another," or this—"You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that you through his poverty might be rich." His object, as that of every man should be, who preaches from such a text—is to show that a sense of divine love to us, should fill us with benevolence towards others. In order to bring the heart to feel its obligations, he gives a vivid description of God's love to man; and then, while his hearers are affected with God's mercy, he calls upon them (in imitation of Jehovah's love to them), to relieve those who are in poverty; to bear with those who are vexatious; to forgive those who have injured them; to lay aside their wrath, and abound in all expressions of genuine affection to their fellow-Christians. One of the individuals is deeply interested and affected by the first part of the discourse, sheds many tears, and is wrought up to a high pitch of feeling—while the preacher paints in glowing colors the love of God. The other person hears with fixed attention, with genuine faith, the whole sermon, but his emotions are not powerful—he feels, it is true, but it is a tranquil feeling, unattended by either smiles or tears. They both go home; the latter perhaps in silence, the former exclaiming to his friends, "Oh what a delightful sermon! what a precious season! did you ever hear the love of God so impressively, so beautifully described?" With all his feeling, however, he does not go forth to relieve one child of poverty, nor does he attempt to extinguish one angry or implacable feeling towards an individual who has offended him. He is as angry and unforgiving, as unkind and selfish, after the sermon—as he was before he heard it! The other person retires with more of calm reflection, than of strong emotion. Hearken to his soliloquy—"The preacher has given us a most astonishing idea of the love of God to us, and most clearly and effectually deduced from it our obligations to love one another. Am I saved this great love? What! has this ineffable grace lavished all its benefits on me, a rebel against God—upon me, a sinner? And shall I not feel this love constraining me to relieve the needs, to heal the sorrows, to forgive the offences of my fellow-creatures? I will bear ill-will no longer! I will put out the kindling spark of revenge! I will go in a spirit of meekness and of love, and forgive the offender, and be reconciled to my brother." By that grace on which he depended, he is enabled to act up to his resolution. He becomes, upon principle, upon conviction—more merciful, more meek, more affectionate. Which has most 'feeling'? The former. Which has most 'true religion'? The latter! Any emotion, however pleasurable and intense, that does not lead to action, is 'mere natural feeling', not holy piety. While that emotion, however feeble it may seem, which leads us to do the will of God—is sincere piety. In order to ascertain our degree of true religion, we must not merely ask how we feel under sermons—but how this feeling leads us to act afterwards. The operative strength of our principles—and not the contemplative strength of our feelings—is the test of godliness. All that imaginative emotion, produced by a sense of God's love to us, which does not lead to a cultivation of the virtue considered in this treatise—is one of the delusive fires—which, instead of guiding aright, misleads the souls of men. 4. It is to be feared that many, in the present day, satisfy themselves that they are Christians, because of their ZEAL in the cause of religion. Happily for the church of God, happily for the world at large—there is now a great and general eagerness for the diffusion of biblical knowledge. Throwing off the torpor of ages, the friends of Christ are laboring to extend his kingdom in every direction. Almost every possible object of Christian philanthropy is seized upon; societies are organized; means adapted to every kind of plan; instruments are employed; the whole mass of the religious world is called out—and Christendom presents an interesting scene of benevolent energy. Such a state of things, however, has its dangers in reference to personal religion, and may become an occasion of delusion to many. It does not require genuine piety to associate us with these religious movements and societies. From a natural liberality of disposition, or regard to reputation, or a desire of influence, or by the compulsion of example—we may give our money. And as to personal exertions, how many inducements may lead to this, without a sincere and an ardent love to Christ in the heart! An inherent fondness for activity, a love of display, a party-spirit, the persuasion of friends—may all operate—and unquestionably do operate in many cases—to produce astonishing effects in the cause of religious benevolence— there is a total absence of genuine piety! The mind of man, prone to self-deception, and anxious to find some reasons to satisfy itself in reference to its eternal state, short of the true evidence of a renewed heart—is too apt to derive a false peace from the contemplation of its zeal. In proportion as the cause of the delusion approximates to the nature of true religion—is its power to blind and to mislead the judgment. If the mind can perceive anything in itself, or in its operations—which bears the semblance of godliness—it will convert it into a means of lulling the conscience, and removing anxiety! To many people the fatal opiate—the soul-destroying delusion—is their activity in the cause of Christian zeal! None are more diligent in their devotedness to the duties of committees—none are more constant in their attendance upon public meetings—others again weary themselves in their weekly rounds to collect the contributions of the rich, or the offerings of the poor. These things, if they do not lead them coolly to reason, and to conclude that they are believers—take off their attention from the real condition of their souls—leave them no leisure for reflection—repress the rising fear, and either stifle the voice of conscience, or enable them to drown its remonstrances in the eloquence of the platform, or in the discussions of the committee room. We doubt not that some unworthy professors of religion in the present age resort to public meetings for the same reason as many a guilty votary of pleasure does, to public amusements—to forget his own condition, and to turn away his ear, for a short season, from the voice that speaks to him from within. Individuals are known to us all, who, amid the greatest zeal for various public institutions, are living in malice and all uncharitableness, in the indulgence of a predominant selfishness and uncontrolled wrath. But it will not do. This is not Christian piety. Could we support the whole expenditure of the Missionary Society by our affluence, and direct its counsels by our wisdom, and keep alive its energy by our ardor, and yet at the same time were destitute of love—we would perish eternally, amid the munificence of our liberality. And of those who have the grace of love, and who are real believers, some are far more deficient in its influence and activity than they should be—and endeavor to quiet an accusing conscience with the wretched sophistry, "that as a Christian cannot be supposed to excel in everything, their forte lies in the active virtues of true religion, more than in the passive graces; and that, therefore, any little deficiency in the latter is made up by their greater abundance of the former." This reasoning is as false in its principle, as it is frequent, we fear, in its adoption. Where, in all the Word of God, is this species of moral composition of duties taught or sanctioned? This is really carrying the Popish error of indulgences into our own private concerns, and creating a surplus stock of one virtue to be available for the deficiencies of another. It is to be apprehended, that as every age is marked with a peculiar tendency, either to some prevailing error or defect, the tendency of the present age is to exalt the active virtues of piety, at the expense of the passive ones; and, while the former is forced into an increasing luxuriance, to permit the latter to wither in their shade; or, at least, there is a disposition to devote all that time and attention to the culture of one, which ought to be shared between both. It cannot be denied that our love of activity and of display, will generally incline us to prefer the cultivation of public spirit, rather than the more private and self-denying tempers of meekness, humility, and forbearance; for it is inconceivably more easy, and more pleasant, to float upon the tide of public feeling toward the objects of religious zeal, than to wade against the stream of our own corrupt tendencies, and to accomplish an end which He only who sees in secret will duly appreciate. 5. May it not be said, that in many cases a PROFESSION of 7religion seems to release some individuals from all obligation to cultivate the dispositions which it necessarily implies; who, instead of deriving from this circumstance a stimulus to seek after the Christian temper, find in it a reason for general negligence? They have been admitted as members of a dissenting church, and have thus received, as it were, a certificate of personal religion; and instead of being anxious from that moment to excel in every virtue that can adorn the doctrine of God their Savior, they sink into carelessness and lukewarmness. A profession of religion, unsupported by Christian love, will only increase our guilt here, and sink us immeasurably lower in the bottomless pit hereafter. Woe, eternal woe, will be upon that man who bears the name of our Lord Jesus—without his image. Woe, eternal woe, will be upon those members of our churches who are content to find their way into the fellowship of the faithful, without adding to their character the luster of this sacred virtue. Thus have we shown how many things there are, which, though good in themselves, when performed from right motives, and in connection with other parts of true religion, cannot, in the absence of love, be depended upon as unequivocal evidences of personal piety. Let us beware of self-deception in this awfully important business; for it will be dreadful beyond the power of imagination to conceive of, to find ourselves the next moment after death amid the horrors of the infernal pit, instead of the felicities of the celestial city!
Love is required by God as an essential part of true religion; and the total absence of it as necessarily prevents a man from being a true Christian, as the lack of temperance or purity. Besides, love is the temper of heaven. Love is the unvarying state of mind in the innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect. Love is the heart of Jesus, the mediator of the new covenant, and the image of God, the Judge of all. Without love, there would be no fitness for the society of paradise, no fitness for an association of which the bond of fellowship is love. Without love, there can be no grace here—and therefore no glory hereafter! THE PROPERTIES OF CHRISTIAN LOVE "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails." 1 Cor. 13:4-8 By a beautiful personification, the Apostle has described this grace under the figure of an interesting female, who, like an angel of light, lifts her cherubic form and smiling countenance amid the children of men; shedding, as she passes along, a healing influence on the wounds of society, hushing the notes of discord, driving before her the spirits of mischief, bringing the graces in her train, and converting earth into a resemblance of heaven. Her charms are sufficient to captivate every heart, if every heart were as it should be; and her influence such as every mind should court. 1. The first remark which I make on these properties, is, that they describe such expressions of our love as have a particular reference to our TEMPER. By the temper, we mean the prevailing spirit and disposition of the mind, as it respects the irritable or selfish affections. If we examine, we shall find that all the qualities here enumerated bear on these dispositions. There are other operations and manifestations of love, besides those which are here specified—such, for instance, as justice and chastity—for it is impossible to love mankind, and violate the rules of either of these duties—but the apostle restricts his specification to those properties of it, which are comprehended in the word temper. Nothing surely can teach more clearly, or more impressively, the great truth—that true religion must govern the temper—than this chapter. It is strange, but true, that many seem to think that temper is a part of man's self and conduct, over which true religion has no legal jurisdiction. They admit their obligations to be holy, and moral, and devout; but they do not feel, at least do not acknowledge, that it is their duty to be meek, gentle, and kind. They may not affirm so much in words, but it is the secret and tacit system of conduct which they have adopted. Hence it is, that although they are correct in their morals, and regular in their attendance on the means of grace, they are withal so apt to receive offense, and so forward to give it; they are either so passionate, or so sullen; so implacable or revengeful—that the real excellencies of their character are lost sight of in the deep shadow of their infirmities, and the ways of godliness are spoken ill of, on their account. This arises from their not being sufficiently convinced of the evil of such infirmities; and this blindness itself is the consequence of a supposition, that the removal of the evil is physically impossible. "Our temper," say they, "is as much a part of ourselves, as the color of our skin, or the makeup of our body; it is naturally inherent in us, and we cannot help it." As long as this is the conviction of the judgment—or the admission of a deceitful heart—it is almost vain to hope for a reformation. But let us reason with such people. It must be admitted that there do exist constitutional tendencies to the exercise of particular passions—without being able to account for these effects, or whether the cause be wholly in the body or partly in the mind—the effects are too obvious to be denied. No, these constitutional tendencies are no less hereditary, sometimes, than direct physical disease. One man is naturally propensity to anger; another to sullenness; a third to envy; a fourth to pride—all this is indisputable. But these sinful tendencies are not uncontrollable! They are impulses, but not constraints; incitements, but not compulsions. It would subvert the whole system of moral obligation, to suppose that we were under a physical necessity of sinning—which we certainly should be, if inherent tendencies were beyond the power of moral restraint. That cannot be duty, which a man could not do if he would; nor can that be sin, which he cannot avoid by any exercise of disposition or will. If, therefore, we cannot help indulging revenge, envy, pride, unkindness, they are no sins; and in this case, would such vices have been condemned, if there were an impossibility in the way of avoiding them? Certainly not. It is no actual sin to have the liability—the guilt consists in indulging it! If the existence of constitutional propensities be an excuse for their indulgence, the lecherous man may plead it in justification of his sensuality; for he may have stronger incitement to his besetting sin, than many others who run not to the same excess of riot. But if lechery or cruelty cannot be excused on this ground—why should anger, revenge, or envy? Once let it be granted that natural physical tendency is an excuse for any kind of sinful indulgence, no matter of what kind, and you overturn the whole system of Christian morals! Besides, natural propensities of the most impetuous kinds have been, in innumerable instances, not only successfully resisted—but almost entirely vanquished. We have known people who were once addicted to all kinds of vile impure gratifications, but who have become as distinguished for chastity as they were once for lewdness. Drunkards have become sober; men as furious as enraged tigers, have become gentleness itself. It is said of that eminently holy and useful man, Mr. Fletcher, of Madeley, "that he was meek like his Master, as well as lowly in heart. Not that he was so by nature, but a man of strong passions, and prone to anger in particular; inasmuch that he has frequently spent the greater part of the night bathed in tears, imploring victory over his own spirit. And he did not strive in vain. He did obtain the victory in a very eminent degree. Yes, so thoroughly had grace subdued nature; so fully was he renewed in the spirit of his mind—that for many years before his death, I believe he was never observed by anyone, friend or foe, to be out of temper on any provocation whatever." The testimony that Burnet bears of Leighton, might be borne of him with equal propriety. "After an intimate acquaintance with Leighton for many years, and after being with him by night and by day, at home and abroad, in public and in private, I must say I never heard an idle word drop from his lips; I never saw him in any temper in which I myself would not have wished to be found at death." What a character! What a testimony! But it is not the beauty, the inexpressible moral loveliness of it alone which should be remarked; but the convincing proof which it furnishes that a naturally bad temper may be subdued! So many instances of people conquering sinful propensities exist, that the man who indulges in a sinful constitutional tendency of any kind, under the mistaken idea that it is absolutely invincible and altogether irresistible—accumulates only reproach upon himself. That everything which pertains to our physical nature will remain after our conversion, is true, for grace produces no change in the bodily organization; and that occasional ebullitions of inherent natural temper will occur in our renewed state, is allowed—for very few attain to Mr. Fletcher's eminence of piety. But if we are as passionate and revengeful, as proud and envious, as selfish and unkind, as we were before our supposed conversion, we may be assured that it is but a supposed conversion. It is nothing that we go regularly to worship—it is nothing that we strongly feel under sermons—it is nothing that we have happy frames and feelings; for a heart under the predominant influence of petulant passions can no more have undergone the change of the new birth, than one that is filled with a prevailing lecherousness. And where the heart is renewed, and the badness of the temper is not constant, but only occasional—is not prevailing, but only prominent—it is, in so far as it prevails, a sad blot on real piety. True it is, that inherent natural tendency to a vice, will require more vigorous resistance and unsleeping vigilance, more laborious effort, more painful mortification, more earnest prayer—on the part of those who are conscious of it, than is necessary on theirs in whom it does not exist. It is not uncommon for such people to be contented with a few feeble struggles, and then to flatter themselves with the idea that there is more grace displayed in those efforts than in the conduct of others, who, being naturally good-tempered, are never exposed to their temptations. To adorn true religion will certainly cost them far more labor than it does those of a better natural temper; just as a man afflicted with a weakly constitution, or a chronic disease, must take more pains with himself than one who has sound health—and he will, after all, look more sickly than the other. But as his bodily malady does exist, he must give himself this more laborious effort—or he cannot rationally expect the least share of health. So it is with the soul; if the disease of any evil temper is there, immense and unwearied pains must be taken to resist and repress it. This is what is meant by our "plucking out a right eye, or cutting off a right hand," by "denying ourselves," by "mortifying the deeds of the body," by "the spirit struggling against the flesh," by "casting aside every weight, and the sin which does most easily beset us." The subjection of our temper to the control of true religion, is a thing which must be done. It is that to which we must apply as to a matter of indispensable necessity; it is an object which we must accomplish by any mortification of feeling—and by any expenditure of labor. The virtues which we are about to consider will spring up in no soil without strenuous culture! But there are some soils peculiarly unfriendly to their growth, and in which productions of an opposite kind thrive spontaneously, and grow with frightful profuseness! With these greater pains must be taken, and greater patience exercised, until at length the beautiful imagery of the prophet shall be realized—"Where once there were thorns, cypress trees will grow. Where briers grew, myrtles will sprout up. This miracle will bring great honor to the Lord's name; it will be an everlasting sign of his power and love." Isaiah 55:13 But for effecting such a transformation there must be a degree of labor and pains-taking, which very few are willing to endure—"This kind goes not forth but by prayer and fasting." To obtain this victory over ourselves, much time must be spent in the closet—much communion with God must be maintained—much strong crying with tears must be poured forth. We must undergo what the apostle calls by a term very appropriate, as well as strikingly descriptive, a "crucifixion,"—"we must crucify the flesh with the affections and lusts thereof,"—"we must beat under our body." We must bring our mind, from time to time, under the influence of redeeming grace—we must ascend the hill of Calvary, and gaze upon that scene of love, until our cold hearts melt, our hard hearts soften, and all the cruel selfishness of our nature relaxes into gentleness. We must make all the doctrines of the gospel, with all the motives they contain, bear upon our nature—the example of the meek and lowly Jesus must be contemplated, admired, and copied. And especially after all must we breathe forth internal longings for the influence of the Holy Spirit, without whose aid our souls will no more yield to the influence of motive, than the polar ice will melt by the feeble beams of the great northern constellation. We must pray for the Spirit; long for the Spirit; expect the Spirit; live, walk, struggle in the Spirit. Thus must we set ourselves to work to obtain more of that love, which alone can subdue our evil temper. 2. The properties here enumerated are ALL included in love, and must ALL be sought by every real Christian. The general disposition of biblical love, includes all these particular and distinct operations—and opposes all these separate evils. True love is as much opposed to envy as to revenge—and is as humble as it is kind. Consequently, we are not to select for ourselves such modes of its operation as we may think most adapted to our taste and to our circumstances—giving to these all our attention, and neglecting the rest. One is not to say, "I am most inclined to kindness, and I shall cherish this aspect of love—which I find to be more easy and pleasant than to cultivate humility and meekness." Another is not to say, "I find no great difficulty in forgiving injuries, and I shall practice this—but as for envy, I have such a great propensity to it, that I shall give up all attempts to eradicate this weed from my heart." This parceling out of one disposition—and selecting that part which is most congenial to our constitutional tendency—will not do. Yet is the attempt made by many, who to appease in some measure the clamorous demands of their conscience, and at the same time to avoid the obligation of 'benevolence as a whole', thus impose upon themselves a supposed attention to some 'partial view' of the subject. They carry on a wretched and useless attempt to balance those points in which they succeed, against those in which they fail; their excellencies against their defects. It may be said, in reference to this law of our duty, as well as to the still more comprehensive one, that "He who offends but in one point is guilty of all," for that authority which says, "Be kind," says also, "You shall not think evil of your neighbor." These amiable properties must go together; the general principle which comprises them must be taken as a whole. It is one and indivisible, and as such must be received by us. "Love is the bond of perfectness." Like the band around the sheaf, it holds all the separate ears together. Instead, therefore, of allowing ourselves to select certain aspects—we must open our hearts to its whole and undivided influence. And if, indeed, there is one property of love, in which we are more than ordinarily deficient—to that one we must direct a still greater portion of our attention. 3. These properties are perfectly homogeneous. They are of the same nature, and are, therefore, helpful to each other. In reality, if we cultivate one, we are preparing the way for others. There is no contrariety of influence, no discordant operation, no clashing demands. When we are rooting up one evil by love, we drag up others with it. When we subdue pride, we weaken our susceptibility of offense. When we cherish kindness, we impoverish selfishness. This is an immense advantage in the cultivation of the Christian temper; and it shows us if there be one besetting sinful propensity in the heart, it draws all the energy of the mind to itself, and throws a dark and chilling shadow over the whole soul. The subjugation of this one bad temper will weaken many others that depend for existence upon its support; and make way for an opposite excellence, which is as extensively beneficial as the other was injurious. This is a powerful incentive to the arduous and necessary duty of self-improvement—an evil disposition eradicated, is a good one implanted; and one good one implanted is a way made for others to follow. 4. As these properties, while they are separate as to their nature, all unite in a common and universal disposition—our first and chief attention must be to that which is the common principle. These tempers are so many modes in which love operates—so many streams from a common fountain—so many branches from the same root. While, therefore, we seek to guide the separate streams, and trim the different branches aright, our care must be exercised chiefly in reference to the parent source. We must aim steadily, and labor constantly—at the increase of love itself. We must do everything we can to strengthen the principle of benevolence to man. In every step of our progress through the treatise before us, we must constantly keep in mind its connection with this great master principle. The way to abound in the effects—is to increase the power of the cause. 5. We are to recollect that these properties are to be expected, only in proportion to the degree in which love itself exists in the heart. On reading this chapter, and seeing what is required of the Christian, and comparing it with the usual conduct of religious people, we feel almost involuntarily led to say, "If this be love, where then, except in heaven, is it to be found?" To this I reply, the apostle does not say that every man who pretends to this virtue acts thus—nor does he say that everyone who possesses it, acts thus in all instances—but that love itself does it. This is the way in which love acts—when allowed to exert its own energies. If love were allowed to have its full scope, and to bear sway in us without any check—this would be the invariable effect! Our not seeing, therefore, a perfect exemplification of this principle, is no proof that love does not possess these properties—but only that we are imperfectly under its influence. This branch of piety, like every other, may be 'possessed in various degrees'—and of course it is only in proportion as we possess the disposition of love, that we shall manifest its operations. This should prepare us to distinguish between the utter lack of love—and the weakness of love; a distinction necessary for our proneness to despondency in reference to ourselves, and to censoriousness in reference to our neighbors.
|
THE MEEKNESS OF LOVE "Love suffers long." "Love is not easily provoked." I class these two together, because they bear a near affinity to each other. The word in the original translated "suffers long," signifies "to have a long mind," to the end of whose patience, provocations cannot easily reach. It does not mean patience in reference to the afflictions which come from God, but to the injuries and provocations which come from man. Perhaps the most correct idea which can attach to it is forbearance; a disposition which, under long-continued offenses, holds back anger, and is not hasty to punish or revenge. Its kindred property, here classed with it, is nearly allied to it, is "not easily provoked," or "is not exasperated." The word signifies a violent emotion of the mind, a paroxysm of anger. So that the distinction between the two terms appears to be this—the property intended by the latter seems to be the power of love to curb our wrath—and that intended by the former, its ability to repress revenge. There are three things which Christian love, in reference to the irascible passions, will prevent. 1. An IRRITABLE and PETULANT disposition. There is in some people an excessive liability to be easily offended—a morbid sensibility which is kindled to anger by the least possible injury, whether that injury is intentional or unintentional. They are all combustible—and ignite by a spark. A word, no, a look—is enough to inflame them. They are ever ready to quarrel with any or everybody. The whole soul seems one entire sensitiveness of offense. Instead of "suffering long," they are not patient at all; and instead of not being easily provoked, they are provoked by anything—and sometimes by nothing. Love will prevent all this, and produce a disposition the very reverse. Love is concerned for the happiness of others; and will not wantonly afflict them and render them wretched, by such an exhibition of unlovely and unchristian temper. Love will remove this diseased sensibility, and without blunting the natural feelings, will calm this sinful excitability. There are many things which love will not see or hear—judging them quite beneath its dignity to notice. Other things, love will pass by, as not of sufficient consequence to require explanation. Love will keep a strict guard over its feelings, holding the rein with a tight hand. Love's first business is with its own temper and disposition. This is important for us to notice; for if we indulge the feeling of anger, it will be impossible to smother the flame in our bosom—like the burning materials of a volcano, it will at length burst out in fiery eruptions. Here then is our first object, to gain that forbearance of disposition which does not allow itself to be irritated or soured; to acquire that command, not only over our words and actions—but over our emotions—which shall make us patient and tranquil amid insults and injuries—which shall keep down the irritated temper of the soul, and preserve the greatest coolness. Irritability, I know, is in part a physical quality; but it is in our power, by God's help, to calm it. Love will make us willing to think the best of those with whom we have to do; it will disarm us of that suspicion and mistrust which make us regard everybody as intending to injure us; will cause us to find out pleas for those who have done us harm; and when this is impossible, will lead us to pity their weakness or forgive their wickedness. What an enemy to himself is an irritable man! He is a self-tormentor of the worst kind. He is scarcely ever at peace. His bosom is always in a state of tumult. To him the 'calm sunshine of the bosom' is unknown. A thousand petty vexations disturb his repose—trivial, but withal as tormenting, as the gnats which by myriads inflict their stings upon the poor animal which is exposed to their attack. Unhappy man! even though he so far succeeds as to restrain the agitations of his mind from bursting out into passion—yet he has the burning within. Regard to his own happiness—as well as the happiness of others—calls upon him to cultivate that love which shall allay the inflammatory state of his mind, and restore a soundness which will not be thus wounded by every touch. 2. The next thing which love prevents is immoderate ANGER—that anger which the apostle has described in the expression we are now elucidating, as amounting to a fit of wrath—or which in ordinary language we call, "being in a passion." It would be to oppose both reason and revelation to assert that all anger is sin. "Be angry," says the apostle, "and sin not." An intense suppression of the natural feelings is not perhaps the best expedient for obviating their injurious effects. And though nothing requires a more vigilant restraint than the emotion of anger, the uneasiness of which it is productive is perhaps best allayed by its natural and temperate expression. Not to say that it is a wise provision in the economy of nature, for the repression of injury, and the preservation of the peace and decorum of society. A wise and temperate expression of our displeasure against injuries or offenses, is by no means incompatible with Christian love; this grace intending only to check those furious sallies of our wrath which are tormenting to ourselves, and injurious to those with whom we have to do. Sinful anger is lamentably common, and is not sufficiently subdued among the professors of true religion. In cases of offense they are too often excited to criminal degrees of passion; their countenance is flushed, their brow lowers, their eyes dart indignant flashes, and their tongue pours forth loud and stormy words of reviling accusations. To diminish and prevent this disposition, let us dwell much upon the EVIL CONSEQUENCES of anger. Anger disturbs our peace, and interrupts our happiness—and this is an evil about which we ought not to be indifferent. A passionate man cannot be a happy man; he is the victim of a temper, which, like a serpent, dwells in his bosom to sting and torment him. Anger destroys the comfort of those with whom he has to do—his children often bear the fury of the tempest; his wife has her cup of marital felicity embittered by the gall; his servants tremble at the rage of a tyrant; and those with whom he transacts the business of this life dread the gusts of his passion, by which they have often been rendered uncomfortable. He is a common disturber of the circle in which he moves. Anger interrupts his enjoyment of true religion, brings guilt upon his conscience, and unfits him for communion with God. A beautiful illustration of this part of the subject may be here introduced from one of the most striking of English writers—"Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the evenness of our recollection, the seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, and the calm of our tempest. Prayer is the outcome of a quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts. Prayer is the daughter of love, and the sister of meekness—and he who prays to God with an angry, that is, with a troubled and discomposed spirit, is like him that retires into battle to meditate, and sets up his closet in the out quarters of an army, and chooses a frontier garrison to be wise in. Anger is a total alienation of the mind from prayer—and therefore is contrary to that intention which presents our prayers in a right line to God. For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven and climb above the clouds—but the poor bird was beaten back by the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant—descending more at every breath of the tempest, than it could recover by the frequent flapping of its wings; until the little creature was forced to sit down and pant, and stay until the storm was over; and then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and sing as if it had learned music and motion from an angel, as he passed some times through the air about his ministries here below. So is the prayer of a good man—when his affairs have required business, and his business was matter of discipline, and his discipline was to pass upon a sinning person, or had a design of love; his duty met with the infirmities of a man, and anger was its instrument; and the instrument became stronger than the prime agent, and raised a tempest, and overruled the man; and then his prayer was broken, and his thoughts were troubled, and his words went up towards a cloud, and his thoughts pulled them back again, and made them without intention; and the good man sighs for his infirmity, but must be content to lose the prayer; and he must recover it when his anger is removed, and his spirit is becalmed—made even as the brow of Jesus, and smooth as the heart of God; and then it ascends to heaven upon the wings of the holy dove, and dwells with God until it returns, like the useful bee, laden with a blessing and the dew of heaven." (Jeremy Taylor) Sinful anger dishonors true religion, and causes the ways of godliness to be spoken ill of. The mists of passion envelop religion with a dense medium through which its luster is but dimly seen. A passionate Christian is an object of sport to the profane, a butt of ridicule to fools, whose scorn is reflected from him upon piety itself. But perhaps it will be said—"Tell us how we may CURE this disposition; its existence we admit, and its evil we know by experience, and deplore." I say then— Look at anger as it really is—attentively consider its evil nature, and trace its mischievous consequence. "Anger sets the house on fire, and all the spirits are busy upon trouble, and starts displeasure and revenge. Anger is a 'temporary insanity', and an eternal enemy to discourse, and sober counsels, and fair conversation. Anger is a fever in the heart, and a disorder in the head, and a fire in the face, and a sword in the hand, and a fury all over. It has in it the trouble of sorrow, and the heats of lust, and the disease of revenge. If it proceeds from a great cause, it turns to fury. If it proceeds from a small cause, it is peevishness. And so it is always terrible or ridiculous. It makes a man's body deformed and contemptible—the voice horrid, the eyes cruel, the face pale or fiery, the gait fierce. It is neither manly nor wise, and is a passion fitter for flies and wasps than for people professing nobleness and goodness. It is a gathering of all the vile passions. There is in it envy and scorn, fear and sorrow, pride and prejudice, rashness and inconsideration, rejoicing in evil, and a desire to inflict it." (Jeremy Taylor) Such is the portraiture of this disposition, drawn by the hand of no inconsiderable artist. Let the angry man look at the picture, and learn to hate it; for, like an infuriated serpent, it need only to be seen to be abhorred. Let us reject all excuses for the indulgence of it—for so long as we extenuate it, we shall not attempt to mortify it. It cannot be defended either on the ground of constitutional tendency—or the greatness of the provocation—or the suddenness of the offense, or the transient duration of the fit—or that there is less evil in gusts of anger than in seasons of sullenness. No! Nothing can justify it; and if we are sincere in our desires to control it, we shall admit that it is indefensible and criminal—and condemn it without hesitation or extenuation. We must be persuaded that it is possible to control it—for if we despair of victory, we shall not engage in the conflict. Hope of success is essential to success itself. It is certain that by using right means, a hasty temper may be subdued, for it has been conquered in very many instances. It is said of Socrates, the wisest and most virtuous of the heathen sages, that in the midst of domestic vexations and public disorders, he maintained such an undisturbed serenity, that he was never seen to leave his own house or return to it with a ruffled countenance. If on any occasion he felt a propensity to anger, he checked the rising storm by lowering the tone of his voice, and resolutely assuming a more than usual gentleness of aspect and manner. He not only refrained from acts of revenge, but triumphed over his adversaries by disregarding the insults and injuries they offered him. This was more remarkable, as in acquiring this dominion over his passions, he had to struggle against natural propensities which ran in an opposite direction. Let professing Christians learn from this distinguished heathen, that it is possible to subdue natural temper, however bad and however violent it may is! Make its cure a matter of desire. What we ardently long for—we shall vigorously pursue. Confess your sin—frankly say, "I am indeed too irritable, too passionate, too revengeful. I see the sinfulness of indulging such a temper; I am disturbed and disgraced by it; and by God's help I will subdue it. I will spare no pains, shrink from no sacrifice, be discouraged by no defeat—until I gain the victory over myself!" Meditate upon the patience of God, who bears with your innumerable offenses against Him, and forgives them all. Consider the example of Jesus Christ, who meekly endured the contradiction of sinners against himself; and amid ingratitude, insults, and provocations of the basest kind—was mild as the morning sun in autumn. Seek to acquire a habit of self control—a power over your feelings, which shall enable you to be ever on your guard, and to repress the first emotions of passion. If possible, seal your lips in silence when the storm is rising. Shut up your anger in your own bosom—and like fire that needs air and vent, it will soon expire. Angry words often prove a fan to the spark—many people who in the beginning are but slightly displeased, talk themselves at length into a violent passion. Never speak until you are cool and under control—the man who can command his tongue will find no difficulty in governing his spirit. And when you do speak, let it be in meekness—"a soft answer turns away wrath." When you see others angry and hot, let it be an admonition to you to be cool—thus you will receive the furious indiscretions of others like a stone into a bed of moss, where it will lie quietly without rebounding. Stop your anger in the beginning. It is easier to put out a spark than a conflagration. It would be well always to terminate the conversation, and leave the company of an individual, when anger is creeping in. "Go from the presence of a foolish man, when you perceive not in him the lips of knowledge." Avoid disputations, which often engender strifes—and especially avoid them in reference to people of known irritability. Who would contend with a snake or a hornet? Brood not over injuries. "Or else, you will be devils to yourselves, tempt yourselves when you have no others to tempt you, and make your solitude harmful to yourself." (Baxter's 'Directions'—from which vast fund of practical theology, many of the particulars of this chapter are derived) Beware of tale-bearers, and do not allow their reports to rouse your resentments. Do not be inquisitive into the affairs of other men, nor the faults of your servants, nor the mistakes of your friends—lest you go out to gather sticks to kindle a fire, which shall burn your own house. Look at others who are addicted to passion, and see how repulsive they appear. Commission some faithful and affectionate friend to watch over and admonish you. But especially mortify pride and cultivate HUMILITY. "Pride only breeds quarrels." "He who is of a proud heart, stirs up strife." Angry passion is the daughter of pride—meekness the offspring of humility. Humility is the best cure for anger, sullenness, and revenge. He who thinks much of himself, will think much of every little offense committed against him; while he who thinks little of his own importance will think lightly of what is done to offend him. Every irritable, passionate, or revengeful person, is certainly a proud one, and should begin the cure of his passion by the removal of his pride. But we need go no farther than the chapter before us, for an antidote to anger. LOVE is sufficient of itself; we must seek to have more of this heavenly virtue. Love can neither be angry, passionate or revengeful. Love is full of benevolence and good-will, and therefore cannot allow itself to indulge those tempers which are unfriendly to the happiness of mankind. Let us seek to strengthen LOVE—this parent principle—which will prevent the growth of whatever is evil, and promote the advancement of all that is excellent. One caution may here be suggested for the encouragement of those who are particularly tried with an irritable temper, and that is—not to despond. If in the work of mortification you meet with many defeats, do not be in a passion with yourselves for being in a passion, for this will only increase the evil you are anxious to destroy. Go calmly, yet courageously, to the conflict—if victorious be not elated—if defeated be not disheartened. Often you will have to mourn your failures, and sometimes be ready to imagine that you are doomed to the hopeless task of Sisyphus, whose stone always rolled back again, when, by immense labor, he had urged it nearly to the summit of the hill. Do not expect an easy or a perfect conquest. Mourn your defeats—but do not despair. Many, after a few unsuccessful efforts, give up the cause, and abandon themselves to the tyranny of their angry passions. In this conflict, unsuccessful struggles are more honorable than unresisting submission. 3. Love will of course prevent REVENGE. Revenge is a term that a Christian should blot out from his vocabulary with his own penitential tears—or with the drops of his gratitude for the pardon he has received from God. There is no passion more hostile to the very essence of Christianity, or more frequently forbidden by its authority, than revenge. And there is no sinful passion to which the depravity of human nature more powerfully excites us. The volume of history is stained, from the beginning to the end, with the blood which has been shed by the 'demon of revenge'. Mankind, in every age and country, have groaned under the misery inflicted by this restless and cruel spirit, which no injury can satisfy, no suffering appease. Revenge has converted men into wild beasts—and inspired them with a wish to tear each other to pieces. Such a temper as revenge would never meet with the least toleration or sanction in the religion of the meek and lowly Jesus, whose person was an incarnation of love—and whose Gospel is an emanation of love. Revenge is admitted by some as justifiable to a certain extent. By the reasoning and conduct of the world, the principle of revenge is allowed, yes, honored, and only condemned in its most vicious excess. Wars, duels, fightings, private animosities that do not infringe on the peace of society, are all justified on this ground. Mankind alter the golden rule, and do unto others not as they desire that others should do to them—but as others do unto them, in a way of evil. And this, so far from being blamed, revenge is generally applauded as honorable and dignified. In the estimate of the people of the world, the man who refuses to resent an injury which he has received, is a poor weak-spirited creature, unworthy to associate with men of honor. But whatever may be the maxims of the world—revenge is certainly forbidden by every page of the Word of God. "A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense." Private revenge was certainly forbidden under the Old Testament, and still more explicitly under the New. "Blessed are the poor in spirit," said our Lord, "for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." "Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth." "You have heard that it has been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth—but I say unto you, Do not resist an evil person. You have heard that it has been said, You shall love your neighbor, and hate your enemy—but I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you—that you may be the children of your Father which is in heaven." The same sentiments are enjoined by the apostles. "Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everybody. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath. If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." These passages are decisive upon the point, that revenge in any form, or in any measure—is forbidden by the Christian religion. The misfortune of many is, that they mistake the meaning of the term revenge—or rather they confine its application to the grosser, more mischievous, and more violent expressions of wrath. They think that nothing is revenge but cutting or maiming the person—openly slandering the reputation—or wantonly injuring the property. Such, it must be admitted, are fearful ebullitions of this destructive passion. But they are not the only ways in which revenge expresses itself. There are a thousand petty acts of spite and ill-will, by which a revengeful spirit may operate. If we refuse to speak to another by whom we have been injured, and pass him with silent or manifest scorn—if we take delight in talking of his failings, and in lowering him in the opinion of others—if we show ill-will to his children or relations on his account—if we watch for an opportunity to perform some little act of annoyance towards him, and feel gratified in the thought that we have given him trouble or pain—all this is done in a spirit of retaliation, and is as truly, though not so dreadfully, the actings of revenge, as if we proceeded to inflict bodily injury! The spirit of revenge simply means returning evil for evil, and taking pleasure in doing so. It may go to the extremes of calumny and murder, or may confine itself to the infliction of minor wrongs; but if we in any way resent an injury with ill-will towards the person who committed it, this is revenge. A question will here arise, whether according to this view we are not forbidden to defend our person, our property, and our reputation, from the aggressions of lawless mischief? Certainly not. If an assassin attempts to maim or to murder me, I am allowed to resist the attack—for this is not revenging an evil, but an effort to prevent one. If our character in society be slandered, we must endeavor, by peaceful means, to gain an apology and exoneration; and if this cannot be obtained, we are authorized to appeal to the law; for if calumny were not punished, society could not exist. If, however, instead of appealing to the law, we were to calumniate in return; if we were to inflict bodily injury on the aggressor, or take delight in injuring him in other ways—this would be revenge. But to seek the protection of the law, without at the same time indulging in malice—this is self-defense and the defense of society. If we are injured, or are likely to be injured in our property, we must try, by all private and honorable means, to prevent the aggression; be willing to settle the affair by the mediation of wise and impartial men, and keep our minds free from anger, ill-will and malice, towards the aggressors; and as a last resource, we are justifiable in submitting the cause, if it cannot be settled by any other means, to the decision of a court of justice. No Christian however should resort to the tribunal of public justice until every method of private adjustment has failed. As it respects the propriety of Christians going to law with each other, the testimony of the apostle is decisive. "When you have something against another Christian, why do you file a lawsuit and ask a secular court to decide the matter, instead of taking it to other Christians to decide who is right? Don't you know that someday we Christians are going to judge the world? And since you are going to judge the world, can't you decide these little things among yourselves? Don't you realize that we Christians will judge angels? So you should surely be able to resolve ordinary disagreements here on earth. If you have legal disputes about such matters, why do you go to outside judges who are not respected by the church? I am saying this to shame you. Isn't there anyone in all the church who is wise enough to decide these arguments? But instead, one Christian sues another—right in front of unbelievers! To have such lawsuits at all is a real defeat for you. Why not just accept the injustice and leave it at that? Why not let yourselves be cheated?" 1 Cor. 6:1-7 Men professing godliness, especially members of the same religious community, ought, in cases of difference about property or character, to settle all their disputes by the mediation of their own brethren—and if either party declines such arbitration, he must be accountable for all the scandal thrown on the Christian profession by the legal measures to which the other may find it necessary to resort for the protection of his rights. In this case the guilt of infringing the apostolic regulation lies on him who refuses to accede to this Scriptural method of settling the differences that may arise among those who profess to be the disciples of Christ. Whatever award is made, in the case of private arbitration, both parties should abide by it; nor must the individual against whom the decision is given, feel any ill-will, or cherish any revenge towards his successful competitor. The law of love requires that innumerable minor offenses should be passed over without being noticed—or allowed to disturb our peace of mind. And those which we find it necessary to have explained, require the utmost caution and delicacy. In these cases, love will lead us to the offender, in the spirit of meekness, to ask, not to demand—to solicit in the most gentle manner—an explanation of the injurious treatment. In a great majority of cases, this line of conduct would stifle the animosity while it is yet a spark. If, on the contrary, we permit ourselves to take offense, and have our feelings wounded, or our anger roused; if, instead of mildly and affectionately expostulating, and seeking reconciliation, we brood over the injury, and retire in disgust, to indulge in sullenness, or to watch for an opportunity of revenge—this is being "easily provoked," and the very opposite of "suffering long."
THE KINDNESS OF LOVE
"Love is kind." It is a decisive proof and a striking display of the excellence of the Christian religion, that it enjoins not only the loftier and more rigid excellencies of the human character—but those also which are delicately amiable and tender; not only the masculine virtues—but the feminine graces; in short, that it not only prepares its possessor to be a patriot on the great theater of his country, or a spectacle of heroic martyrdom to God, to angels, and to men—but a sympathizing friend in the social and domestic circles. Love can either expand its benevolence to the claims of the whole human family—or concentrate its emotions, for a time, in one individual object of pity or affection. "Love is kind." KINDNESS means a disposition to please—a concern, manifested by our conduct, to promote the comfort of our race. Pity commiserates their sorrows; mercy relieves their needs and mitigates their woes; but kindness is a general attention to their comfort. It is thus described and distinguished by a celebrated writer on English synonyms—"The terms affectionate and fond, characterize feelings. Kind, is an epithet applied to outward actions, as well as inward feelings; a disposition is affectionate or fond; a behavior is kind. A person is affectionate, who has the object of his regard strongly in his mind, who participates in his pleasures and in his pains, and is pleased with his society. A person is kind, who expresses a tender sentiment, or does any service in a pleasant manner. Relatives should be affectionate to each other; we should be kind to all who stand in need of our kindness." Kindness, then, appears to be an affectionate behavior. This is what the apostle means when he admonishes us to "be kindly affectioned one to another." Let us view the KIND MAN in contrast with some other characters. A kind man is the opposite of the rigid, severe, and censorious person, who will make no allowance for the infirmities or inexperience of others; but judges harshly, reproves sternly, and speaks severely, of all who do not come up to his standard. Kindness, on the contrary—makes all reasonable allowances—frames the best excuses it can, consistently with truth and holiness—speaks of the offender in a way of mitigation, and to him in a way of compassion—does not publish nor exaggerate his faults—and endeavors to find out some redeeming qualities to set off against his failings. A kind man is the opposite of a proud and overbearing one. The latter is ever seeking an opportunity to display his superiority, and make you feel your inferiority; and cares not how much your feelings are hurt by this offensive exhibition of his consequence. Kindness, if conscious, as it sometimes must be, of its superiority, takes care that those who are below it shall not feel a painful sense of their inferiority. Without sacrificing its dignity, it will conceal as much as possible its pre-eminence, or unite it with such affability as shall render it by no means unpleasant. Kindness is opposed to coldness and selfishness of disposition. There are people who, though neither cruel, nor injurious, nor really hard-hearted—are yet so cold, and distant, and retiring, and repulsive—that they can neither be approached nor moved. They look upon the scenes around them with the fixed and beamless eye, the chilliness and quiescence of the statue—for they have no interest in the concerns of the world. But kindness is the visible expression of a feeling and merciful heart; it is the goings-forth of a tender and susceptible mind; it claims kindred with the human race; it is all ear to listen—all heart to feel—all eye to examine and to weep—all hand and foot to relieve; it invites the sufferer with kind words, and does not send him away empty. Kindness is opposed to a vain and ostentatious liberality. "When you give a gift to someone in need, don't shout about it as the hypocrites do—blowing trumpets in the synagogues and streets to call attention to their acts of charity! I assure you, they have received all the reward they will ever get. But when you give to someone, don't tell your left hand what your right hand is doing. Give your gifts in secret, and your Father, who knows all secrets, will reward you." Matthew 6:2-4. Some will be charitable if they may have spectators of their good deeds, who shall go and proclaim their charities. They spoil the action by their mode of performing it—for they will, in the most indelicate manner, make the object of their bounty feel a painful sense of obligation—they will state the exact amount, almost in monetary value, of the favors they have conferred; and then go away and give such publicity to their doings, that the beneficiary is almost everywhere sure to hear of what has been done for him. Kindness will on the other hand conceal as much as possible that it is actually conferring a favor; will do everything to cause it to descend lightly upon the spirit of the recipient; and would, if circumstances allowed, gladly extend relief from behind a veil which hides the giver, and does everything to prevent the sense of obligation from being either painful or oppressive. Kindness is opposed to the benevolence of partiality, prejudice, and caprice. There are not a few who are lavish in their fondness towards people of their own family, friends and party—or upon those who happen to be their favorites for the time. But for any outside their own circle of family and partisans, or of their select friends—they have none of the charities of life. Their benevolent regards are purely sectarian or absolutely capricious. But true kindness is a clear perennial spring, rising up from a heart replete with universal philanthropy, holding on its way, unimpeded by prejudices or partialities, and distributing its benefits alike upon all that it meets with in its course. Having thus contrasted kindness with some characteristics to which it is opposed, let us now consider the manner in which it acts. Kindness expresses itself in WORDS that are calculated to please. As not only our words, but the tones of our voice are indicative of our thoughts and feelings, it is of consequence for us to be careful, both as to what we say, and how we say it. Half of the quarrels which disturb the peace of society arise from unkind words, and not a few from unkind tones. We should sedulously avoid a sour, morose, chiding mode of speech, and adopt a soothing, conciliatory, and affectionate style of address. A surly tone is calculated to wound or offend; and love, which carries the law of kindness upon its lips, will consequently avoid it. A snappish, petulant, scolding address, is in the highest degree repulsive and dissonant in the communion of society. We may not have, it is true, the music of sound in our speech—but it is our own fault if we have not the music of love. We need not employ grimace, fawning flattery, hollow and unmeaning compliment—but we may be courteous and affectionate; and we ought to "let our speech be seasoned with salt, that it may minister grace to the hearers." Every word and every modulation of the voice that is likely to offend, should be studiously avoided, and will be avoided by kindness—which extends also to ACTIONS. It is anxious not to give offense by anything which it does; it is most delicately tender in reference to the feelings of its object, and would not unnecessarily crush the wing of an insect, much less inflict a wound on a rational mind. There are people who, in a spirit of selfish independence, care not whom they please or whom they offend, But love is as anxious not to offend—as it is solicitous about its own gratification. Its neighbor's comfort is as dear to it as its own. It calculates, deliberates, weighs the tendency of actions, and when by incaution, or pure misfortune, it has occasioned distress, it hastens by every practicable means to heal the wound. Kindness not only abstains from actual injury—but it is active in conferring benefits—watches for an opportunity to please—is ever ready to afford its assistance when appealed to—and is not satisfied unless it can do something to increase the general stock of comfort. Kindness accommodates itself to men's habits, partialities, or prejudices. Kindness adapts itself, in things indifferent and lawful, to their modes of acting, and does not wantonly oppose their desires, when such resistance would occasion them distress. A stiff uncomplying behavior, which consults nothing but its own desires, and which will not sacrifice the least punctilio of its own habits to give pleasure, has not a particle of beneficence about it. Such an individual is like a person in a crowd, who will walk with his arms stretched out, or with annoying weapons in his hand. Kindness extends of course to little things, as well as to great ones. The happiness or misery of life does not consist so much in the 'transport of joy', or the 'anguish of affliction', as in feelings of an inferior kind—which, though less violent, are more frequent than those strong emotions. Hence it is in our power to make others miserable in life; not perhaps, by deeds of cruelty or injustice, which we dare not or cannot commit—but by indulging in unaccommodating dispositions towards them—by vexing them with acts of unkindness, which will neither blast our reputation, nor put in peril our property, liberty, or life. And it is also in our power to make them happy, not so much by signal and material services, which are seldom called for at our hands—as by the inferior offices of little benevolences. The daily and almost hourly reciprocity of little acts of good or ill will, which we have an opportunity of performing, go a great way to the making up of good or bad neighborship. There are those who, in the greater expressions of Christian mercy, are really humane; whose benevolence at the same time has not learned to stoop to little things. They are compassionate—but they lack kindness. They would relieve a starving beggar—but they would not put themselves in ever so small a degree out of their way to accommodate in trivial matters a near neighbor. Kindness is universal in its objects. We have known individuals who could never do enough for some objects of their regard—but they are by no means people of diffusive kindness. And perhaps, if we examine, we shall find that their benevolence has a great mixture of selfishness in it—for it is exercised only towards those from whom they expect an ample return. It is the kindness of barter—not of love. It is so much of their giving put out at interest—not given away to the needy. They either have had, or expect to have, value received for all they do. But love is universal in its aspect; it is ever ready to do a kind office for anyone that either solicits or needs its assistance. Its language is, "Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters." It has a kind look, word, and act—for everybody. Nor are its enemies denied the assistance of its efforts. Such is the generous spirit of the Christian religion, as appears from the passages quoted in a preceding chapter. Such is the refined, the sublime morality of the New Testament. Yes, these are the principles on which kindness acts—it extends its beneficence to the very man that has treated it with ridicule and scorn—with cruelty, insult, and oppression. This is its duty and its inclination. In imitation of the dying Savior, who gave his last prayer to his murderers, it says, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!" We have known many, who will endure any hardship, make any exertion, bear any sacrifice for their family and friends, for whom they can never do enough. But toward their enemies, they are unkind, implacable, and resentful. The man who has injured them, they can never forgive; for him they have no kindness—but hold him in contempt, aversion, and neglect. But Christianity requires a higher and more unselfish virtue than this—for it commands us to be kind to our enemies. What a fascinating character is the man of distinguished kindness! He is invested with indescribable loveliness—he may not have the glory in which the patriot, the hero, or the martyr is enshrined; but he is adorned in no common degree with the beauties of holiness. He carries about with him the majesty of goodness, if not the dominion of greatness. The light of his countenance is the warm sunshine, to which the grief-stricken turn from their dark retreats, to bask in its glow. And his gentle words are like soft melody to chase away the evil thoughts from the bosom of melancholy, and to hush to peace the troubled reflections of the distempered mind. As he moves along his career, distributing the inexpensive but efficient expressions of his regards, it is amid the blessing of those that were ready to perish, and the notes of the widow's heart, which he has turned to joy. When he comes unexpectedly into the company of his friends, every countenance puts on the appearance of delight, and it appears as if a beneficent person had come among them to bless the party; as he looks round on the circle, with the smile of kindliness that has found an abiding place upon his brow, he presents the brightest resemblance to be found in our selfish world, of the entrance of the Savior among his disciples when he said, "Peace be unto you!" and breathed upon them the Holy Spirit.
Although he neither seeks nor wishes an equivalent in return for his many acts of benevolence, his gentle spirit receives back, in a full tide, the streams of consolation which had ebbed from his own heart to fill the empty channels of his neighbor's happiness. Who can be unkind to him—who is kind to all? What heart is so hard, what mind is so cruel, what spirit is so diabolical—as to wound him, who never appears among his race, but as a ministering angel? There is a magic in his tears to melt to sympathy the stubborn soul of cruelty itself, which has a tear for no one else. There is no less a magic in his smiles, so far to relax and soften the hard features of envy, as to reflect for a moment the sunshine of his joy. While he lives, every man is his admirer—and when he dies, every man is his mourner. While he is on earth, his name has a home in every heart—and when he is gone, he has a monument in every memory—and this is the description of his character—the record of his praise—love is kind! THE CONTENTMENT OF LOVE "Love does not envy." ENVY is that passion which causes us to feel uneasiness at the sight of another's possessions or happiness—and which makes us dislike him on that account. Of all the base passions, this is the basest. It is unmingled malignity, the very worst and bitterest dregs of human depravity—the most direct contrariety of love. Envy is either general or special in its objects. 'General' envy often exists in the mind to such an extent that its subjects seem almost instinctively opposed to excellence and to happiness, wherever they see them, or wherever they hear them. They may not regard the individuals on whom their envious glance is fixed in the light of competitors or rivals; they may have nothing to hope from their recession—nothing to fear from their elevation; but it is enough to awaken their uneasiness and dislike to know that they are in some respects superior. They cannot bear to see excellence or happiness in anyone, or even to hear the language of commendation or praise. They would beggar the universe to enrich themselves, and monopolize all possessions and all admiration; they would be alone in the world, as the sole occupants of everything valuable, and can endure neither a superior nor an equal. This, it must be allowed, is a height to which envy rarely attains, compared with its more special and limited operations. It will be proper, before we delineate at length the evil features and general deformity of this hideous passion, to state the more prevailing grounds and occasions of its exercise. And it is a striking proof of its evil nature, that it is rarely indulged in reference to holiness or virtue. It scarcely ever happens that any one is envied for superior moral excellence, as such—many are hated for their virtue; but envy, while it includes hatred, combines with it a desire to possess the thing which occasions the uneasiness. It may indeed indirectly covet the virtue of another—but this is only on account of the esteem, the influence, or the delight which it procures, and not on account of the virtue itself; hence Satan, after his fall, is represented by our great poet as envying our first parents, not on the ground of their perfect rectitude—but of their happiness, and of their inheriting his lost honors. This horrid disposition of envy—is too satanic, too infernal, too far removed from all moral rectitude, to perceive the beauties of holiness, or to covet them on their own account. The ultimate object and real ground of envy appears to me to be either happiness or public admiration—and all other things are regarded but as accessory to these. Let any one be more happy or more generally noticed and esteemed by others—and he will be sure to be regarded with envy. And what are those things which in general estimation procure for their possessors either pleasure or applause, and are therefore the occasions of envy? 1. ACCOMPLISHMENTS—such as genius, learning, eloquence, science, courage, skill—or any of those arts that attract the notice of the world. 2. Physical BEAUTY. How frequently has beauty of form or features—a gift which in value should be rated lower than any other which the hand of the Creator has bestowed upon us—been beheld with spiteful eyes, and by some less adorned competitors for admiration—been converted into an occasion of hatred and uneasiness. 3. Superiority in RANK and FORTUNE is a very common occasion for this detestable vice. Hence the ill-will which the poor often bear towards the rich, as engrossing to themselves all the comforts of life. Hence the evil eye with which people of inferior station scrutinize those who are above them in rank. 4. Superior SUCCESS in the pursuit of worldly objects of any kind is sure to excite the uneasiness and dislike of less fortunate rivals. Let a scientist be more successful in the career of scientific discovery—or a scholar in the path of literature—or a warrior in the field of glory—or a tradesman in the accumulation of wealth—or a mechanic in the toils of industry—and there will not be lacking those who will covet their rewards—and dislike them for their happier fortunes. But while these are the general grounds of envy, there are some special objects to which it is commonly directed, such for instance as the following. People who are nearly on our own level. Individuals who are either much above us in station, or much below us—are not so likely to excite uneasiness or dislike as those who are of our own standing in society. The tradesman envies not the nobleman—but some fellow-tradesman; the laurels and fame of the hero are not envied by the common soldier—but by some officer of his own rank. Those who, though much above us, occupy a station from which we have been cast down, are likely to be regarded by us with an evil eye, and to draw forth our dislike. Those who have obtained an honor, place, or esteem for which we once contended, are almost sure to be envied by us; and also any particular single rival, who more than all others eclipses us, or is likely to do so. It may not be amiss to specify here, those who are most in danger of committing the sin of envy– 1. The sorrowful. "Sorrow is selfish—it concentrates the affections upon our own interests. It may teach us to sympathize with griefs of others—but that others do grieve is something like consolation to the sorrowful; and those who would sympathize with others in their sorrows, and weep with those that weep, fall short of the higher attainment, to rejoice with those that rejoice. Sorrow cannot sympathize with happiness—and therefore heaven cannot admit sorrow—for envy would then enter with it. Happiness will not only be the fruit of holiness in another world—but the perfection of it, since it is that native seat in which alone the soul attains the full development of its affections so as to take part, without a jarring fiber, in the universal harmony." Let the sorrowful—be the occasion of their sorrows what it might—be much upon their guard, for they are pre-eminently in danger of envying those to whom Providence has granted a happier lot than to themselves. 2. People descending in life, and suffering under those painful reverses which have reduced them from comparative affluence and publicity, to obscurity and poverty, are exposed to the temptation of looking with ill-will and distress upon the prosperous and happy. Misfortune, where it is not sanctified by the grace of God, is very apt to produce an jealous disposition, and to generate envy in the bosom of its wretched subjects. Hard indeed is it, as WE sink into the shadow, to see the elevation of more favored individuals who rise into sunshine. An envious person will have feelings of jealousy and dislike for those who are succeeding. 3. Candidates for fame and popular applause are oftener than all others—the subjects of this base passion of envy! Could the veil that hides the heart be drawn aside, how much of this operation of human depravity would be detected! How much of hatred, envy, malice, and all uncharitableness, is sometimes to be found in the writer. Envy is also the orator's besetting sin. "Vanity, or a thirst after applause, is the most unsocial and envious of the passions—avarice itself not excepted. The reason is plain. Property is a kind of good, which may be more easily attained, and is capable of more minute subdivision, than fame. The portion of time and attention mankind are willing to spare from their avocations and pleasures, to devote to the 'admiration of each other', is so small, that every successful candidate is felt to have impaired the common stock. The success of one is the disappointment of multitudes. For though there be many rich, many virtuous, many wise men—fame must necessarily be the portion of but few. Hence every vain man, regarding his competitor as his rival, is strongly tempted to rejoice in his misfortune, and to repine at his success." 4. The prosperous, those who have gained much, or nearly all they seek, are apt to feel peculiar ill-will to any who may be just above them—and stand between them and the summit of their desires. That one man who keeps us from the highest rank, the chief place, is more likely to be hated, than all others who have actually injured us! How insatiable is envy—that evil desire—how craving after more, amid all its stores. Human nature is never satisfied with earthly good. I believe that many are inconceivably more miserable, and more full of hatred, who have vast possessions—than others who have scarcely anything. On the other hand, there is not any kind of superiority, however low its nature or obscure its situation, which is not found to be sufficient to call forth the ill-will and hatred of some inferior or disappointed spectator. Children and farmers, as well as philosophers, warriors and princes, are subject to its influence. Like the venomous spider, envy weaves its web, and directs its deadly glance, in the cottages of poverty, the mansions of affluence, and the halls of science. Envy is the epidemic of the human race, the most common operation of human depravity. The apostle seems to give it as a general description of human nature, while unrenewed by divine grace—"Living in malice and envy—hateful, and hating one another." The whole Gentile world, before the coming of Christ, is described as having been "full of envy." "Envyings," bear a high place among the works of the flesh; and on the churches of believers, there was no one evil of which the prohibition was more frequent or more earnestly enjoined than this—and the apostle James tells us, that it is still partially inherent in every man—"the spirit that dwells in us lusts to envy." This execrable disposition very often exists, where, through the deceitfulness of the human heart, it is not at all suspected! Sometimes it is felt in reference to an individual whom we have been accustomed to consider an inferior, and worthy only of our ridicule and contempt. But that very contempt and ridicule is often an operation of envy—our eye has discovered, almost without our being conscious of the fact, some fancied or real superiority, and in order to dispute it, or to conceal it, we have determined to treat him as only worthy of our ridicule and scorn. Our laughter is intended to hide the passion which lurks in our bosom, and to disparage or destroy in our own and others' estimation, the excellence or happiness which produces it. Envy, like the Devil, its parent, has a laugh as well as a frown at its command! Envy is often found in people who are in general accounted very amiable, and really are so, in most things. People the very opposite of such characters as Cain, and Saul, and Ahab—people who have not only much suavity of discourse—but much kindliness of disposition—are not free from the workings of this disposition in secret, and are sometimes guilty of such exhibitions of it, as fall like a dark shadow upon their many and distinguished virtues. Yes, it is, we lament to say, to borrow the true and just sarcasm of a writer already quoted, "a most reputable and orthodox vice, a regular church-going sin, one which often dresses like virtue and talks like her. Envy has a great zeal for religion, a keen sense of public justice, and is much shocked at the inconsistencies of good people. It exults when a hypocrite is unmasked, and says, 'I always suspected him!' It is also most benevolent, and when adversity overtakes a brother, prays that it may be the means of promoting his humility and other Christian graces." Ah! how much envy there indeed is—even in the church of God. How much of that censoriousness and detraction which is indulged under pretense of bewailing the follies of others, is to be traced up to this evil source! How often is a 'little infirmity' pitched upon and deplored, with no other motive than to discredit and disparage that sterling excellence with which it happens to be associated—the 'speck' is pointed at and magnified, perhaps with a look of sorrow, and a tone of lamentation—but only to draw off public attention from the luster which is admired and envied! Envy has a thousand devices to practice against its object—under the veil of deceptive respect! Is there any sin to which even the ministers of the gospel are more exposed than this? Is there any sin which they more frequently commit? How much grace does it require in any man to see the popularity, and hear of the usefulness of others—and to find himself overlooked and forgotten—without being envious! Perhaps the applauded individuals are his juniors in age, and his inferiors in literature, and taste, and science—and yet while he lies unnoticed—they are swept along their course with full gales of popular applause. How few, even of those whose business it is to preach contentment, and humility, and love, can with sincerity say, "I am quite satisfied that the honor should be denied to me—and rest upon the brows of others. I am prepared to say without a murmur, he must increase—but I must decrease." This is indeed the virtue of heaven—to see others occupying a higher sphere than ourselves, more caressed, more admired, and more followed—and feel neither uneasiness in our own bosom nor anything of ill-will toward them. It is virtue rarely found on earth. For on the contrary, what distress and dislike are produced on some minds, by the talents and the success of those of fellow ministers, who are but a little more esteemed than themselves! Are there no arts of detraction employed, to diminish, if not their popularity, yet their claims to the coveted palm? No insinuations against their motives? No searching for vices of style, errors of taste, defects of learning? O when shall envy—that child of hell—be driven from the church of God? When shall it no longer creep in the pew—or soar in the pulpit? Baxter has some very striking remarks on this subject. "O that ever it should be spoken of godly ministers, that they are so set upon popular applause, and of sitting high in men's estimation, that they envy the abilities and notoriety of their brethren who are preferred before them—as if all were taken from their praises that are given to another's; and as if God had given them their gifts to be the mere ornaments and trappings of their people, that they may walk as men of reputation in the world, and all his gifts in others were trodden down and vilified, if they seem to stand in the way of their honor! What, a preacher for Christ—and yet envy that which has the image of Christ—and malign his gifts for which he should have the glory—and all because they seem to hinder our glory? Is not every true Christian a member of the body, and therefore partakes the blessings of the whole, and of each particular member thereof? And does not every man owe thanks to God for his brethren's gifts—not only as having himself a part in them, as the foot has the benefit of the guidance of the eye—but also because his own ends may be obtained by his brethren's gifts as well as by his own? For if the glory of God and the church's felicity be not his end, he is not a Christian. Will any workman malign another because he helps him to do his master's work? Yet, alas, how common is this heinous crime of envy, amid men of ability and eminency in the church! They can secretly blot the reputation of those of greater eminence than themselves. And what they cannot for shame do in plain and open terms, lest they be proved palpable liars and slanderers—they will do in malicious innuendos—raising suspicions where they cannot fasten accusations. And so far are some gone in this satanical vice, that it is their common practice, and a considerable part of their business, to keep down the estimation of those they dislike, and defame others in the slyest and most plausible way! And some go so far that they are unwilling that any that are abler than themselves should come into their pulpits, lest they should be applauded above themselves! A fearful thing, that any man who has the least of the fear of God, should so envy at God's gifts, and had rather that his carnal hearers remain unconverted, and the drowsy not awakened—than that it should be done by another, who may be preferred before them! Yes, so far does this cursed vice prevail, that in great congregations—which have need of the help of many teachers, we can scarcely get two pastors in equality, to live together in love and quietness, and unanimously to carry on the work of God! But unless one of them be quite below the other in abilities, and content to be less esteemed, and ruled by the other—they are contending for superior honor—and envying each other—and walking with unkindness and jealousy towards each other—to the shame of the profession—and the great wrong of the congregation! I am ashamed to think of it, that when I have been endeavoring with ministers to further a good work, to convince them of the necessity of more ministers than one in great congregations, they tell me they will never agree together. I hope the objection is ungrounded as to the most ministers—but it is a sad case that so many ministers envy one another! No, some men are so far gone in pride, that when they might have an assistant of equal abilities, to further the work of God—they had rather take all the burden upon themselves—though more than they can bear—than that any should share with them in the honor—and for fear lest they should diminish their esteem with the people! "I confess I have often wondered that this most heinous sin of envy, should be made so light of, and thought so consistent with a holy frame of heart and life—when far lesser sins are by ourselves proclaimed to be so damnable in our people. "Brethren, I know this is a sad and harsh confession! But that all this should be so among us ministers, is more grievous, and should be so to us, than to be told of it. Could this nakedness be hid, I would not have disclosed it, at least so openly in the view of all. But, alas, this 'ministerial envy' is long ago open to the eye of the world—we have dishonored ourselves by idolizing our own honor—we print our shame, and preach our shame, and tell it unto all." (Richard Baxter, "The Reformed Pastor". This is a treatise, which, if frequently and devoutly read by all ministers of true religion, as it should be, would be a signal blessing to us!) And are not religious bodies sometimes guilty of this sin? Has it no existence in the bosoms of professing Christians of different denominations? Is there no envy in Dissenters towards the Church of England—or of the Church of England towards Dissenters? Of Baptists towards Paedobaptists—or Paedobaptists towards Baptists? Of Methodists towards Congregationalists—and Congregationalists towards Methodists? Why that disposition to suspect and traduce each other—which is but too common among all the divisions of the Christian church? If one denomination prospers, are not all the rest too apt to look on with envious eyes, because theirs is likely to be eclipsed or diminished? Are not all the little arts of detraction most busily employed, and a hundred tongues made voluble to arrest the progress, and limit the prosperity, of the rising sect? And how much of this envious spirit is often seen in the conduct of rising congregations of the same denominations! What ill-will is often cherished by the members of the declining cause, towards those of the prosperous one—and only because they are prosperous! They can never hear of the success of their sister church, without feeling and appearing uneasy and displeased—as if an injury were done to them; they profess to be skeptical of the fact; they suggest that it is more in outward show, than reality; they do not scruple to mention draw-backs in the talents, or perhaps the inconsistencies, of that minister; detraction, yes, even slander is employed against some of the members of this prosperous church, as it is sneeringly called. Such, even in Christian churches, or rather in the minds of some of their members, are the operations of envy. Nor is its influence excluded from Religious Institutions. There is no sanctuary so sacred, which this diabolical passion of envy, will not violate—no asylum consecrated to piety or humanity, into which it will not intrude. Bible Societies, Missionary Societies, with other kindred institutions, are not secure against the entrance, operation and mischief of envy! Yes the more elevated and the more holy the ground—the more ambitious is envy to occupy it! Born in heaven, though soon cast down to hell, to heaven it would ascend again if it could. Envy is a vice, which while it spurns not the lowest place on earth, nor scorns the lowest bosom among men—is ambitious to approach as nearly as possible to the celestial temple—the doors of which it would force open if it could—and agitate and poison the mind of the second seraph in glory with ill-will towards the first, and make him hate the eternal God, because he, his creature, could not be higher than the Highest! Let one man—or let one body of men—be conspicuous for their deeds of love and zeal in the cause of the Lord—let their doings go forth to the ends of the world, and their praises be sounded through the church of the living God—and Satan, alarmed at their past success and at their prospective victories, will soon find some bosoms which he will occupy with his own craft and his own envy—and from which he will go forth with all deceivableness, to maintain a factious and noisy opposition! And oh, how many cases we have been told, was to do the will, and seek the glory, and to accomplish the purposes of the Lord—were in fact nothing but the operation of that envy—which to the malignity, adds the subtlety of the old serpent! Envy, with all its will and its power to do mischief, is not only a deceitful—but a dastardly vice! There is no being in our world so lofty that it will not attack! There is no place so strongly fortified that it will not assail! There is no enterprise so holy that it will not sneak in! There is it is at the same time ashamed and afraid to be seen as it really is. Pride, and revenge, and drunkenness, and gluttony, and many other vices—avow with an audacious boldness their names, and places of abode, and purposes—they borrow no mask—they put on no cloak of disguise—much less do they clothe themselves in the robe of righteousness, and talk the language of a saint. But envy does all this, conscious that it is an unnatural disposition, unsuitable to the human constitution, and partaking more of the rancour of a devil than of the temper of a man; that it is universally odious, branded by the common consent of mankind with a stigma deep and foul—it disclaims its name, conceals its nature, makes its professor deny its abode in his bosom, and compels him to call it "a sense of equity," "a power of discrimination," "a concern for the public welfare," "an enemy to ostentation," and to such length do its falsehood and impiety go, it professes in some cases to be "a zeal for the glory of God!" But let us now contemplate the HATEFUL NATURE of envy. Envy is a vice of the utmost deformity and heinousness. To feel uneasiness at another's happiness or excellence, and to dislike him on that account, is a sin that needs—no analysis to prove its deadly nature—no dissection to expose its corruption; it presents at once, to the most superficial observer, a frightful and disgusting appearance—a kind of leprous surface. It stands directly opposed to the nature of God, whose love delights in excellence and in happiness, and whose grace produces both; and by whom this sin must be regarded with infinite loathing and abhorrence. Envy is a secret murmuring against the appointments of heaven—an incessant quarrel with Providence—an accusation against the wisdom, equity, and goodness of the divine administration. As it is unlike God—so it is the image of Satan—being the disposition, united with the pride, which cast down the apostate angels from their seats in heaven, and which fills and fires their bosoms in the bottomless pit! Envy is a mirror of the state of hell, and unceasingly the passions of devils, who despair for themselves, and envy the happiness of men and angels, yet cannot rejoice either in the good or the evil they witness, although they endeavor to hinder the good, and promote the evil, with all the restlessness of malice, and the devices of their mighty cunning. Envy is a 'parent crime', and its progeny are as mischievous and deformed as itself—for malice, hatred, falsehood, slander, are its base brood; and not infrequently murder—for when carried to excess, there is scarcely an injury within its reach which it would not inflict upon its object! Envy cannot even offer the excuses for itself which many vices sometimes bring forward. Anger pleads the provocation it has received—but envy has received no offense, except the well-being of another be an insult. Lust and intemperance plead the gratification which their objects yield, and robbery holds up its gain—but envy gains nothing but misery, and converts the happiness of which it is the witness into wormwood and gall of its own cup, and transvenoms the honey of another man's comfort into the poison of asps for its own bosom! Envy is—a source of eternal vexation—an instrument of self torment—a rottenness in the bones—a burning ulceration of the soul—a crime, which partaking of the guilt, partakes as largely of the misery of hell. (Jeremy Taylor) Such is envy! But who can describe it accurately, or do it justice? If we look for it as embodied in living characters, we shall find it in Cain, the proto-murderer, who slew his brother at the instigation of this vice of envy. We shall find it in the dark and gloomy and revengeful spirit of Saul, who, under the influence of envy, plotted for years the slaughter of David. We shall find it in the King Ahab, when he pined for the vineyard of Naboth, and shed his blood to gain it. Yes, it was envy that perpetrated that most atrocious crime ever planned in hell, or executed on earth, on which the sun refused to look, and at which nature gave signs of abhorrence by the rending of the rocks; I mean the crucifixion of Christ—for the evangelist tells us, that for envy the Jews delivered our Lord. (Matthew 27:18, Mark 15:10) How hateful, then, is this crime; and although we may not be in danger of carrying it to excess, yet we should ever strive against its least and lowest degrees. The means of opposing and mortifying it are many. Let us very seriously meditate on its evil nature. A steady contemplation of its deformity and demon-like countenance is calculated to excite disgust, and to produce abhorrence. Many evils, and this among the number, are too much indulged, because they are too little contemplated. The more we meditate upon the heinousness of envy, the more we shall be convinced of the utter unsuitableness of such a temper as this is to be the inhabitant of a Christian's bosom—it is like a fiend inhabiting the temple of the Lord. We must next form a deliberate resolution for its mortification—we must stand prepared to take the greatest pains, to maintain the most determined efforts, for the riddance of our hearts from so hateful a disposition. Let us next consider, that the circumstances which excite our envy are among the arrangements of a wise Providence; and that to dislike another on account of his excellence or happiness, is a crime of no less magnitude than a wish to oppose and subvert the dispensations of heaven. Let us remember, that if others have more than ourselves—we have infinitely more than we deserve. A deliberate and frequent consideration of our numerous and aggravated sins, with our deliverance from their consequences, together with a survey of our mercies and hopes as Christians, would very powerfully help us in the great business of mortifying envy. For the chief difference between man and man, as to real happiness, lies in spiritual distinctions; and if we have these, the absence of anything else is matter of little consequence. It may not be amiss also to consider how comparatively small is the amount of happiness derived by the object of our envy, from those possessions on the ground of which we dislike him—and how soon, could we transfer them to ourselves, they would cease to impart any strong gratification to us. We always act under a delusion, when we indulge this hateful passion—its objects are seen through a magnifying medium of very high power. The circumstances which excite our envy have their attendant evils—evils which, though concealed from general observation, are well known to the possessor of them. We should labor to be content with such things as we have—contentment is the secret of happiness, whether we have much or little. The man who makes up his mind to enjoy what he has, is quite as happy as he who is possessed of twice as much. But still the great thing is, to endeavor by God's gracious help, to increase in LOVE. Our envy will then as certainly diminish, as darkness retires before the entrance of light, or cold before the power of heat. Love and envy are the very opposites of each other. Love delights in the happiness of others. Envy is made miserable by the happiness of others. Let us endeavor to cultivate this disposition of love, and to delight in witnessing and diffusing blessedness. This is what the Apostle meant, when he said, "Rejoice with those who rejoice." What a beatifying, and even sublime temper is that which leads its possessor to find consolation—even amid his own straits, privations, and difficulties—in contemplating the possessions and the comforts of those around him! What relief would such elevated virtue bring to the mourner, when he could turn his own darkened orb toward the illumination of his neighbor's prosperity! Happy is the man who can thus borrow the joys of others, when he has none, or few of his own; and, from the wilderness of his own situation, enjoy the beautiful scene of his friend's well decorated yard and home. Difficult and rare as such a temper is, it is that which is the subject of the apostle's description in the chapter we are considering, and which it is the duty of every Christian to cultivate. Hard, indeed, is the saying, and few there are who can bear it—but it is assuredly the lesson which Christ teaches his disciples, and which those disciples must all endeavor to learn. Much may be done by effort. Let us determine, by God's help, to acquire it, let us make the attempt, and let us only persevere, notwithstanding many defeats and many discouragements—and it is astonishing what may be done. But this kind goes not forth but by fasting and prayer. Love cannot be cultivated, nor envy destroyed in our hearts—but by the power of the Holy Spirit. We may as well try to pull up by the roots the oak of a century's growth, or overturn a mountain by our own strength, as to eradicate the vice of envy from our hearts, without the aid of God's own Spirit—that aid is promised to fervent and persevering prayer—and if we have it not, the fault is our own.
|
THE HUMILITY OF LOVE "Love does not boast—it is not proud." 1 Cor. 13:4 The Apostle's meaning, in this part of his description, evidently is, that love has not a high and overweening conceit of its own possessions and acquirements, and does not ostentatiously boast of what it is, has done, can do, or intends to do. Love is opposed to pride and vanity, and is connected with true humility. Pride signifies such an exalted idea of ourselves, as leads to self-esteem, and to contempt of others. It is self-admiration—self-doating. It differs from vanity thus—pride causes us to value ourselves; vanity makes us anxious for applause. Pride renders a man odious; vanity makes him ridiculous. Love is equally opposed to both. Pride is the sin which laid the moral universe in ruins. It was pride which impelled Satan and his confederates to a mad "defiance of the Omnipotent to arms," for which they were driven from heaven, and taught by their bitter experience, that "God resists the proud." Banished from the world of celestials, pride alighted on our globe, in its way to hell, and brought destruction in its train. Propagated from our common and fallen parent with our race, pride is the original sin, the inherent corruption of our nature. It spreads over humanity with the contagious violence—the loathsome appearance of a moral leprosy, raging alike through the palace and the cottage, and infecting equally the prince and the peasant. The GROUNDS of pride are various—whatever constitutes a distinction between man and man, is the occasion of this hateful disposition. It is a vice that does not dwell exclusively in kings' houses, wear only soft clothing, and feed every day upon titles, fame, or affluence—it accommodates itself to our circumstances, and adapts itself to our distinctions, of whatever kind they be. The usual grounds of pride are the following— WEALTH. Some value themselves on account of their fortune, look down with contempt on those below them—and exact fawning attentiveness towards themselves, and deference for their opinions—according to the thousands of money, or of acres, which they possess. Others are proud of their TALENTS, either natural or acquired. The brilliancy of their genius, the extent of their learning, the splendor of their imagination, the acuteness of their understanding, their power to argue or speak publicly—form the object of self-esteem, and the reasons of that disdain which they pour upon all who are inferior to them in mental endowments. But these things are not so common in the church of God as those which we shall now mention. RELIGIOUS CONNECTIONS form, in many cases, the occasion of pride. This was exemplified in the Jews, who boasted that they were the children of Abraham, and worshiped in the temple of the Lord. Their self-admiration, as the members of the only true church, and as the covenant people of God, was insufferably disgusting. In this feature of their character, they are too often imitated in modern times. While some boast of belonging to the church as by law established, and look with contempt on all who range themselves on the side of dissent—too many of the latter throw back the scorn upon their opponents, and pride themselves on the greater purity of their ecclesiastical order. There is the pride both of the dominant party, and also that of the seceding one—the pride of belonging to the church, which includes the court, the senate, the universities—and that which is sometimes felt in opposing this array of royalty, and learning, and law. There is the pride of thinking with the king, and the nobles, and the judges, and the prelates—and also that of thinking against them. Whatever leads us to think highly of ourselves in matters of religion, and to despise others, whether it be the distinctions of earthly greatness, the practice of religious duties, or the independence of our mode of thinking—is opposed to the spirit of Christian love. Superior LIGHT on the subject of revealed truth is no unusual occasion of pride. The Arminian pharisee dwells with fondness on the goodness of his heart; the Antinomian, with equal haughtiness, values himself on the clearness of his head; and the Socinian, as far from humility as either of them, is inflated with a conceit of the strength of his reason, and its elevation above vulgar prejudices—while not a few moderate Calvinists regard with complacency their sagacity in discovering the happy medium. As men are more proud of their understanding than of their disposition, it is very probable that religious opinions are more frequently the cause of conceit and self-importance, than anything else which could be mentioned. "It is knowledge," says the apostle, "that puffs up." "We are the men and wisdom will die with us"—is the temper of multitudes. Religious GIFTEDNESS is sometimes the ground of self-admiration. Fluency and fervor in public prayer, ability to converse on doctrinal subjects, especially if accompanied by a ready utterance in public, have all through the influence of Satan and the depravity of our nature, led to the vile pride which we are now condemning. None are in more danger of this than the ministers of religion—it is the besetting sin of their office. There is no one gift which offers so strong a temptation both to vanity and to pride—as that of public speaking. If the orator really excels, and is successful, he is the immediate spectator of his success, and has not even to wait until he has finished his discourse; for although the decorum of public worship will not allow of audible tokens of applause, it does of visible ones—the look of interest, the tear of penitence or of sympathy, the smile of joy, the deep impression on the mind, the death-like stillness, cannot be concealed—all seem like a tribute of admiration to the presiding spirit of the scene; and then the compliments which are conveyed to his ear, after all the silent plaudits which have reached his eye—are equally calculated to puff him up with pride. No men are more in danger of this sin than the ministers of the Gospel; none should watch more sleeplessly against it. Deep religious EXPERIENCE has often been followed by the same effect, in those cases where it has been remarkably enjoyed. The methods of divine grace, though marked by a uniformity sufficient to preserve that likeness of character which is essential to the unity of the spirit and the sympathies of the church, are still distinguished by a vast variety of minor peculiarities. The convictions of sin in some minds are deeper—the apprehensions of divine wrath are more appalling—the transition from the poignant compunction of repentance, bordering on despair, to joy and peace in believing, more slow and more awful—the subsequent repose more settled—and the joy more unmingled with the gloom of distressing fears, than is experienced by the generality of their brethren. Such people are looked up to as professors of true religion, whose religious history has been remarkable, as vessels of mercy on which the hand of the Lord has bestowed peculiar pains, and which are eminently fitted for the master's use. They are regarded as having a peculiar sanctity about them, and hence they are in danger of falling under the temptation to which they are exposed, and of being proud of their experience. They look down from what they suppose to be their lofty elevation, if not with disdain, yet with suspicion, or with pity—upon those whose way has not been in their track. Their seasons of elevated communion with God, of holy enlargement of soul, are sometimes followed with this tendency. Paul was never more in danger of losing his humility, than when he was just returned from gazing upon the celestial throne. ZEAL, whether it be felt in the cause of humanity or of piety has frequently produced pride. This was strikingly illustrated in the case of the Pharisee—"God, I thank you," said the inflated devotee, "that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this tax-collector—I fast twice in the week—I give tithes of all that I possess!" Where a natural liberality of mind, or religious principle—has led men to lavish their property, or their affluence, or their time—upon benevolent institutions, they have too often returned from the scene of public activity, to indulge in private and personal admiration. They have read with peculiar delight the reports in which their munificence is recorded—and have assigned to themselves a high place in the roll of public benefactors. On all these grounds does pride exalt itself—but love is no less opposed to VANITY than it is to pride—Love does not boast of, or ostentatiously display, its possessions, abilities, or good deeds. A disposition to boast, and to attract attention--is a common foible. We see this among the people of the world, in reference to their property, their learning, their good deeds, their influence. They are afraid the public should under-rate them, or pay a poor compliment to their importance—they thus think it necessary to proclaim it themselves, in order to make it known. If, indeed, they are what they wish to make us believe they are, the fact would be obvious, without this method of publishing it in every company. Boasting is always suspicious, or superfluous; for real greatness no more needs a publisher, than the sun! But it is more particularly in reference to religious matters that this observation of the apostle applies. We should not appear eager to display our gifts—nor should we vaunt of our religious experience. The manner in which some good but weak people talk of their pious conflicts, is indeed intolerably offensive. No matter who is present, pious or profane, scorner or believer—they parade all their seasons of despondency or of rapture; they tell you how they struggled with the great enemy of souls, and overcame him; how they wrestled with God, and had power to prevail—and that you may have as exalted an opinion of their humility, as of their enjoyment, they tell you, in the utter violation of all propriety, and almost of decency, what temptations they have encountered—what hairbreadth escapes they have had from the commission of sin. Their motive is obvious—all this vaunting is to impress you with the idea, that they are exemplary Christians. Who can wonder that all religious conversation should have been branded with the epithets of 'whining cant' and 'disgusting hypocrisy'—when the injudicious and nauseating effusions of such talkers are regarded as a fair sample of it? Too common is it to make the externals of religion the subject of vain-glorious boasting. How long can you be in the company of some Christians without hearing of their splendid place of worship, and its vast superiority over all the rest of the town. They establish the most insulting and degrading comparisons between their minister and his brethren in the neighborhood—none are so eloquent, none are so able, none are so successful—as their minister! Notwithstanding your attachment to the pastor under whose ministry you sit with pleasure and profit—to boast about him is dishonoring and degrading vanity! And what a propensity is there in the present age, to display, and parade, and boasting—in reference to religious zeal! This is one of the temptations of the day in which we live; and a compliance with the temptation, one of its vices. We have at length arrived at an era of the Christian church, when all the denominations into which it is divided, and all the congregations into which it is subdivided, have their public religious institutions for the diffusion of divine truth. These institutions cannot be supported without contributions—and these contributions must be matter of general notoriety. Like the tributary streams flowing into a great river, or like great rivers flowing into the sea, the contributions of associated congregations or communities, make up the general fund; but unlike the tributary streams which flow silently to form the mighty mass of waters, without requiring the ocean to publish to the universe the amount of each separate quota—the offerings of the different religious bodies must be announced to the uttermost farthing before the world. This perhaps is necessary, that the contributors may know that their bounty has not been stopped and swallowed up in its course. But has reached its destined receptacle—and such is the weakness of our principles, and the strength of our imperfections, that this publicity, to a certain extent, seems necessary to stimulate our languid zeal. But it has given opportunity, and that opportunity has been eagerly embraced, to establish a system of unhallowed vanity between the different denominations and the various congregations into which the Christian church is divided. Who can have heard the speeches, read the reports, and witnessed the proceedings of many of our public meetings, convened for the support of missionary societies, without being grieved at the 'strange fire' and 'diseased offerings' which have been brought to the altar of the Lord? The object of the meeting was good, for it was the destruction of an idolatry as insulting to Jehovah, as that which Jehu destroyed—but like the king of Israel, hundreds of voices exclaimed in concert, "Come, see our zeal for the Lord!" 'The image of jealousy' was lifted up in the temple of Jehovah—adulatory speakers chanted its praises in compliments upon the liberality of the worshipers—the multitude responded in shouts of applause to the tribute paid to their zeal—the praise of God was drowned amid the praise of men—and the crowd dispersed, in love with the cause, it is true—but more for their own sakes, than for the sake of God or of the heathen world! Difficult indeed it is, with such hearts as ours, to do anything entirely pure from all admixture of a sinful nature. But when we take pains to make our zeal known—when we employ effort to draw public attention upon us—when we wish and design to make ourselves talked of, as a most extraordinary, liberal, and active people—when we listen for praises, and are disappointed if they do not come in the measure we expected, and feast upon them if they are presented—when we look with envy on those who have outstripped us, and we find no pleasure in any future efforts, because we cannot be first—when we look with jealousy on those who are approaching our level, and feel a new stimulus, not from a fresh perception of the excellence of the object—but from a fear that we shall be eclipsed in public estimation—when we talk of our fellow-workers, or to them, with disdain of their efforts, and with arrogant ostentation of our own—then indeed have we employed 'the cause' only as a pedestal on which to exalt ourselves! In pulling down one kind of idolatry, we have set up another, and rendered our contributions nothing better than a costly sacrifice to our own vanity! All this is a lack of that Christian love which does not boast—and is not proud. True zeal is modest and retiring—it is not like the scentless sunflower, which spreads its gaudy petals to the light of heaven, and turns its face to the orb of day through his course, as if determined to be seen. But like the modest violet, it hides itself in the bank, and sends forth its fragrance from its deep retirement. True zeal employs no trumpeter, it unfurls no banner, as the hypocrite does; but while conferring the most substantial benefits, it would, if it were possible, be like the angels, who while ministering to the heirs of salvation, are unseen and unknown by the objects of their benevolent attention! Observe the manner in which love operates to the destruction of pride and vanity. Love, as we have already had frequent occasion to remark, is a desire to promote the happiness of those around us; but proud and vain people tend materially to impair this happiness. They generally excite disgust, frequently offer insult, and sometimes inflict pain. Their object is to impress you with a sense of their superiority—and thus wound and mortify your feelings. Caring little for your peace, they pursue a career of ridicule and scorn for others. They are dreaded by the weak, and despised by the wise. It is impossible to be happy in their society; for if you oppose them, you are insulted—if you submit to them, you are depreciated and degraded. Love is essentially and unalterably attended with humility. Humility is the garment with which love is clothed—its inseparable and invariable costume. By humility, we do not intend the servility which crouches, or the lowliness that creeps, or the flattery which fawns—but a disposition to think lowly of our attainments, a tendency to dwell upon our defects rather than our excellences, an apprehension of our inferiority compared with those around us—with what we ought to be—and what we might be. It is always attended with that modest deportment, which neither boasts of itself, nor seeks to depreciate anyone. Humility is the inward feeling of meekness. Modesty is the outward expression of humility. Humility leads a man to feel that he deserves little—modesty leads him to demand little. "The ancient sages, amid all their eulogies upon virtue, and enquiries into the elements of moral excellence, not only valued humility at an exceedingly low estimate—but reckoned it a quality so contemptible as to neutralize the other properties which went, in their estimation, to the composition of a truly noble and exalted character. These sentiments have been adopted in modern times. By the touchstone which Christianity applies to the human character, it is found that pride and independence, which the world falsely dignifies with the epithet honorable, are really base alloy; and that of every character, formed upon proper principles, and possessed of genuine worth—humility is at once a distinguishing feature, and the richest ornament. And on this subject, as on every other, Christianity accords with the sentiments of right reason—that it is unquestionably the duty of every intelligent creature, especially every imperfect creature to be humble; for they have nothing which they have not received, and are indebted, in every movement they make, to an agency infinitely superior to their own." Now, as divine revelation is the only system which either in ancient or in modern times assigns to humility the rank of a virtue, or makes provision for its cultivation, this in an eminent degree does both. It assigns to it the highest place, and a sort of pre-eminence among the graces of piety—bestows upon it the greatest commendations—enforces it by the most powerful motives—encourages it by the richest promises—draws it into exercise by the most splendid examples, and represents it as the brightest jewel in the Christian's crown. Everything in the word of God is calculated to humble us—the description which it contains of the divine character, combining an infinitude of greatness, goodness, and glory, compared with which the loftiest being is an insignificant atom, and the purest heart as depravity itself; the view it gives us of innumerable orders of created intelligences—all above man in the date of their existence, the capacity of their minds, and the elevation of their virtue; the account it preserves of the intellectual and moral perfection of man in his pristine innocence, and the discovery which it thus furnishes of the height from which he has fallen, and the contrast it thus draws between his present and his former nature; the declaration it makes of the purity of the eternal law, and the immeasurable depth at which we are thus seen to lie beneath our obligations; the history it exhibits of the circumstances of man's fall, of the progress of his sin, and of the numberless and awful deviations of his corruptions; the characteristics it affixes to his situation as a sinner, a rebel, an enemy of God, a child of wrath, an heir of perdition; the method it presents, by which he is redeemed from sin and hell—a scheme which he neither invented, nor thought of, nor aided—but which is a plan of grace, from first to last, even the grace of God, manifested in and through the atoning sacrifice of Christ—a plan which, in all its parts, and in all its bearings, seems expressly devised to exclude boasting; the means by which it asserts that the renovation and sanctification of the human heart are carried on, and its security to eternal life established even by the effectual operation of a divine agency; the sovereignty which it proclaims, as regulating the dispensations of celestial mercy; the examples which it holds forth of the astonishing self-abasement of others, so far superior to man in their mental and moral natures, such as the profound abasement of the angelic race—but especially the unparalleled humiliation of Him, who, though he was in the form of God, was found in the form of a servant. These considerations, which are all drawn from the Scriptures, supply incentives to humility, which demonstrate upon Christian principles, that pride is the most unreasonable, as well as the most unrighteous thing in the universe. Pride is opposed, and humility is supported, by every possible view that we can take of divine revelation. An acquaintance with these great principles of inspired truth, at least an experimental knowledge of them, will bring down the loftiest of men's looks, and silence the tongue of arrogant boasting. Surely, surely, he who is conversant with these things will see little cause for self-exaltation and pride; or for that self-publication, which is the essence of vanity. While every true-hearted Christian is thankful that the Son of God stooped so low for his salvation, he will rejoice that his state of humiliation is past. "If you love me, you would rejoice, because I said, I go unto the Father." The eclipse is over, the sun has resumed his original brightness, and the heavenly world is illuminated with his rays. That man in whom was no form nor loveliness for which he should be desired, sits upon the throne of the universe, wearing a crown of immortal glory, and is adored by angels and by men. His humility has conducted to honor; his sorrow has terminated in unspeakable joy. "Through the victories you gave, his glory is great; you have bestowed on him splendor and majesty. Surely you have granted him eternal blessings and made him glad with the joy of your presence." Psalm 21:5-6. Similar shall be the result in the case of those who follow his steps, and tread the lowly path in which he has commanded them to walk. The crown of glory is reserved for the humble—but shame shall be the reward of the proud. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." There is no operation of Christian love more beautiful, none more scarce, than humility. Let professing Christians set themselves to work on their own proud hearts, and their own boasting tongues, remembering that they who sink the lowest in humility in this world—shall assuredly rise to the highest honor in the world to come!
|
THE DECORUM OF LOVE "Love does not behave itself unseemly." "A station for every person, and every person in his station—a time for everything, and everything in its time—a manner for everything, and everything in its manner"—is a compendious and admirable rule for human conduct; and seems to approach very nearly to the property of love, which we are now to consider. There is some difficulty in ascertaining the precise idea which the apostle intended by the original term. Perhaps the most correct rendering is "indecorously" that is, unsuitable, improper, inappropriate, unfitting, or unbecoming—to our sex, rank, age, or circumstances. Love leads a man to know his place, and to keep it; and prevents all those deviations which, by disarranging the order, disturb the comfort of society. This is so general and comprehensive a rule, that it would admit of application to all the various distinctions which exist in life. It is absolutely universal, and binds with equal force the monarch and the peasant, and all the numerous intermediate ranks. It imposes a consistency between a man's station and his conduct, viewed in the light of Christianity. It says to every man, "Consider your circumstances, and fulfill every just expectation to which they give rise." By the common consent of mankind, there is a certain line of conduct which belongs to every relation in life, and which cannot, perhaps, be better expressed, than by the word "becomingness," and which may be called the symmetry of society. We may select a few of the more prominent distinctions of society, and see how love preserves them without giving offense. The relation of monarch and subject is one of the social ties; and in reference to this, love would prevent the ruler from employing the kingly power to crush the liberty, subvert the interests, or impoverish the resources of his people—while it would equally prevent the subject from despising the position, exposing the defects, evading the authority, disturbing the peace, or embarrassing the reign of the monarch. Tyranny on the part of the prince—and rebellion on the part of the subject, are equally unbecoming, and both are hostile to that love which seeks the happiness of the whole. The distinction of male and female is to be supported by all propriety of conduct. On the part of the man, if he be single, all trifling with the affections, all brashness, all taking advantage of the weakness of the other sex, is explicitly forbidden. If he is married, all neglect, oppression, and unkindness towards his wife, is explicitly forbidden. What a horrid inappropriateness is it on the part of a husband to become either the slave or the tyrant of his wife—either in pitiful weakness to abdicate the throne of domestic government, or to make her a crouching vassal trembling in its shadow! And how disgusting a spectacle is it to see a husband abandoning the society of his wife for the company of other females, and flirting, though perhaps with no criminal intention, with either single or married women. On the other hand, how unseemly in unmarried women, is a bold obtrusiveness of manner, an impudent forwardness of address, a clamorous and monopolizing strain of conversation, an evident attempt to attract the attention of the other sex. Modesty is the brightest ornament of the female character—its very becomingness. And women, if married, should be keepers at home, and not gossips abroad—should look well to the ways of their household, and preside over its affairs in the meekness of wisdom; for domestic indolence and neglect is in a wife and a mother most improper! Nor is it less offensive to see the female head of a family usurping the seat of government, and reducing her husband to the rank of mere vassal to the 'queen'. Women never act more unsuitable than when they become meddling busybodies—either in politics or church affairs. Nothing can be more offensive than to see a female busybody running from house to house to raise a party, and to influence an ecclesiastical decision; forgetting that her place is home, and her duty to learn in silence from her husband. Whatever admiration has been bestowed on the heroic females of Sparta, who fought by the side of their husbands, no such eulogy can be offered to ecclesiastical heroines, whose martial ardor leads them into the arena of church contentions. Christian love would repress all unfit, indecorous zeal. Parents and children will be guarded by love, if they yield to its influence, from all unbecoming conduct. Fathers will neither be tyrannical nor too indulgent; will neither govern their children as slaves with a rod of iron, nor relaxing all discipline, throw the reins into their children's hands. For how incongruous is tyranny with a relation that implies the tenderest affection—and how unseemly is a cessation of rule in one who is invested by heaven with a sacred authority. Becomingness on the part of children requires the most prompt and willing obedience, the most genuine and manifest affection, the most respectful and humble demeanour towards parents, with the most anxious and ingenuous endeavors to promote their parent's happiness. Everything approaching to improper familiarity, much more to pertness, most of all to unmanageability of manner, in a child towards a parent, is unbecoming in the last degree. In those cases where the high moral and intellectual qualities of parents are such as almost to command the exercise of filial piety from children, there is no difficulty in rendering it. But where these qualities are not possessed by the parents, there is greater danger of young people forgetting what is due to the parental relation, and acting very improperly towards those who, whatever may be their faults, are still their parents. It is excessively unbecoming to hear children of any age, however matured or advanced, exposing, perhaps ridiculing, their parents' infirmities, treating their opinions with scorn, reproving or upbraiding them to their face. Let all young people recollect that whatever may be the character of a parent, "a mother is a mother still—the holiest thing alive." In the realm of employment—the distinctions of superiors and inferiors—it is very easy to see what kind of conduct is seemly, and what is unsuitable. To the superior, becomingness will prohibit all improper familiarity—for this generates contempt; and at the same time all pride and arrogance, together with all insulting condescension. Inferiors are most tenderly alive, most keenly susceptible of all real or supposed slights from those above them and the feelings excited by such treatment are of the most painful kind. Pride is the most cruel of the passions, being utterly reckless of the wounds which it inflicts, the groans which it extorts, or the tears which it causes to flow. Even in its mildest exercise, by a look of scorn, by a word of insult, it often transfixes a barbed arrow in the bosom of an inferior; while by its deliberate and persevering scheme of mortification, it remorselessly crucifies the object of its contempt. O, how unbecoming to employ superiority only as an eminence from whence, as with a sort of vulture ferocity, we might pounce with greater force on a victim below! Dignified affability is the becomingness of superiority, which while it does not remove the line of distinction, does not render it painfully visible. Love will make us cautious not to wound the feelings of others by talking to them of our superiority, or by making them in any way feel it. On the part of inferiors, it will prevent all encroaching familiarity—all presuming upon manifested kindness—all attempt, or even wish, to level the distinctions of society—all crude, uncourteous, uncivil demeanor. Some people seem to act as if religion removed the obligation to civility, declared war with courtesy, and involved a man in hostility with whatever things are lovely. Incivility or rudeness manifested by the poor to the rich, by servants to masters, or by the illiterate to the well-informed—is unfriendly to the peace and good order of society, and therefore contrary to Christian love. Old age and youth are also distinctions requiring a suitable or becoming line of conduct. Levity, silliness, and folly, are among the qualities which would be indecorous in the elder. While obtrusiveness, forwardness, excessive talkativeness, and obstinacy, would be unseemly in the latter. Elders should treat youth with kindness and forbearance; while youth should treat elders with reverence, respect, and deference. These distinctions, when carried into the church, where they exist as well as in the world, should be maintained under the most powerful influence of the holy disposition which we are now illustrating. This will teach us with all toleration and impartiality to judge of our station, and to adorn it with actions that are suitable to it. Anything unbecoming is sure to give offense, and to produce discomfort. Whether our rank be high or low—we cannot violate the rule which prescribes its duties, without occasioning pain. Men are united in society like the organs and limbs in the human body; and no one, in either case, can be put out of its place without producing uneasiness in the rest. The object of love is to keep all in their proper places, and thus to promote the well-being of the whole. There is another sense which this expression will bear, and that is, love does not allow its possessor to act unworthy of his profession as a disciple of Christ. Consistency is beauty, and the lack of it, whatever excellences may exist, is deformity. The brightest displays of moral worth in some things, if associated with obvious and great improprieties in others—lose all their attraction and power to edify or delight—and are the occasion of pain instead of pleasure to the spectator. The rule which the apostle has laid down is particularly worthy of the attention of us all—"Whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think of these things." It is not enough for us to acknowledge practically the claims of truth, purity, and justice—but we must also meet and answer every expectation which our profession and our principles have raised. Whatever is generally esteemed to be lovely—whatever is usually spoken of as excellent—whatever it be to which by general consent we attach the idea of the attractive, and the honorable, and the praiseworthy—that must a follower of Christ consider to be the matter of his duty. There is nothing good in itself, or advantageous to others—nothing that is calculated to edify by the power of example, or to bless in the way of direct energy and influence—nothing that is calculated to give pleasure or to remove distress—but what is implied in the very nature of true piety. True religion is the likeness of God in the soul of man—and a Christian is truly an imitator of God—hence he is called "to walk worthy of God,"—to act as becomes one who professes to bear the divine image. Let anyone contemplate the moral attributes of God—and think what that man ought to be, who professes to give to the world, as a living miniature representation of this infinitely glorious Being! On the ground of consistency he should be blameless and harmless; a follower only of that which is good; holy in all manner of conversation and godliness; a beautiful specimen of whatever is noble, dignified, generous, and useful. The world takes us at our word; they accept our profession as the rule of their expectation; and although they often look for too much, considering the present imperfect state of human nature, yet to a certain extent their demands are authorized by our own declarations. What in reason may not be looked for, from one who professes to have received the temper of heaven, the impress of eternity, the nature of God? Hence, the least 'deviations from rectitude' are apparent in those who profess such things; the least 'specks of imperfection' are conspicuous on so bright a ground; faults stand out in bold and obtrusive prominence, on such a profession. Our profession invites the eye of scrutiny—we are not allowed to pass the ordeal of public opinion without the most rigid scrutiny; we are brought out from obscurity, and held up to be examined in the light of the sun. Failings which would escape detection in others, are quickly discerned and loudly proclaimed in us; and it is therefore of immense consequence that we should take care what manner of people we are. Without consistency, even our good, will be evil spoken of. The least violation of this rule will attach suspicion to the most distinguished virtues, and bring discredit on the best of our actions. A lack of consistency, is a violation of the law of love in various ways. By exciting a prejudice against true religion, it does harm to the souls of men. It makes them satisfied with their state as unconverted people, by leading them to consider all other professors of true religion, as a hypocrite. It is very true that this is unfair; that it is attending more to exceptions than the general rule; that it is giving credence to little things, and allowing them to have an influence which is denied to the greater and more prevailing parts of the character. But as this is their way, it makes every departure from consistency on our part, not only sinful—but injurious—not only guilty in the sight of God—but cruel towards man. The minor faults of Christians do more harm, in the way of hardening the heart of sinners, than the greatest excesses of the openly wicked; for this reason—that nothing else is expected from the latter. Their conduct excites no surprise, and produces no disappointment. We have not been sufficiently aware of this—we have confined our attention too exclusively to the avoiding of open immorality—we have not directed our solicitude enough to "the whatever things are lovely and of good report." To the question, "What do you do, more than others?" we have thought it enough to answer, "We are more pure, more true, more devotional, more zealous," without being careful to be more dignified, more honorable, more generous in all things. Little things have been forgotten in the contemplation of great ones; secret faults have been lost sight of in the abhorrence of presumptuous sins. A lack of becomingness is a violation of the law of love in another way—it excites a prejudice against our brethren, and involves them in our failings. By inconsistent conduct, we bring suspicion upon others, and thus subject them to much undeserved ridicule. The world deals unfairly with us we admit, not only making us answerable for the conduct of each other—but also in imputing only our 'failings' to all other Christians; for however splendid and remarkable may be the Christian excellences that any of our number possess, however brilliant the example of a rare and eminent believer may be, they do not let his brightness fall upon the rest. He is alone in his 'excellences'—but his 'sins' are generally imputed to all Christians—and the shadow of one transgression is made to stretch, perhaps, over a whole community. What an argument is this with us all for consistency—for what cruelty is it to our brethren to involve them in unmerited reproach—by our inconsistencies! Besides, what a grief of mind is the unworthiness of one member—to all who are associated with him in the fellowship of the Gospel. When a member of a church has acted unbecomingly, and caused the ways of godliness to be spoken badly of—what a wound has been inflicted on the body! For if one member suffers in his reputation, all the rest must, so far as their peace is concerned, suffer with him. This is one of the finest displays of Christian sympathy—one of the purest exhibitions of love—of love to God, to Christ, to man, to holiness. The misconduct of their erring brother has occasioned no loss to them of worldly substance, or bodily ease, or social comfort; but it has dishonored Christ, has injured, in public estimation, the cause of true religion, and this has touched the tenderest chord of the renewed heart. What affliction has sometimes been circulated through a whole church by the unbecoming behavior of a single member! The apostle has given a very striking proof of this, in his representation of the feelings of the Corinthian church, after they had taken a right view of the delinquency of the incestuous person. "Just see what this godly sorrow produced in you! Such earnestness, such concern to clear yourselves, such indignation, such alarm, such zeal, and such a readiness to punish the wrongdoer." This is only a counter-part of what often happens now, and shows that everything unseemly is a most flagrant offense against the rule of Christian love. Unbecomingness may be considered also not only in a general point of view—but as having reference to our conduct towards our BRETHREN—and may mean anything unsuitable to, or out of character with, our profession as church members. Improper treatment of the pastor, is obviously a lack of the decorum of love. If his office be disesteemed, and his scriptural authority resisted; if attempts be made to lower him in the opinion of the church, and to deprive him of the rule with which he is invested by the Lord Jesus Christ; if his opinion is treated with disrespect, and his just influence over the feelings of his flock be undermined; if he be rudely and impertinently addressed; if he be unnecessarily opposed in his schemes for public or private usefulness; if his sermons be despised or neglected, and his ecclesiastical administration treated with suspicion or contempt; if his temporal support be scantily or grudgingly afforded; if his comfort be not carefully consulted and assiduously built up—there is a flagrant unbecomingness on the part of church members, who are enjoined to "obey those who have the rule over them," "to esteem them very highly in love for their work's sake," and "to hold such in honor." Lust for power, and an ambitious desire for dominating influence, is manifestly unbecoming in one who acknowledges himself the member of a society where all are equals, and all are the servants of a Master who has thus addressed his disciples—"You know that in this world kings are tyrants, and officials lord it over the people beneath them. But among you it should be quite different. Whoever wants to be a leader among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must become your slave. For even I, the Son of Man, came here not to be served but to serve others, and to give my life as a ransom for many." Matthew 20:25-28. A love of power seems almost inherent in the human bosom, and is an operation of that selfishness which enters so deeply into the essence of original sin. Nothing can be more opposed to love than this. Unbridled ambition, in its progress through its bustling and violent career—is the most unsocial and uncharitable passion that can exist. The furies are its allies, and it tramples down in its course all the charities and courtesies of life. When this disposition has taken full possession of the heart, there is no cruelty which it will hesitate to inflict, no desolation of which it will scruple to be the cause. The lesser exhibitions of this vice, and its more moderated energies, will still be attended with some proofs of its unsocial nature. Let a man once desire to be preeminent and predominant, as it respects influence or power, and he will not be very regardless of the feelings of those whom he desires to subjugate. It is much to be deplored that the Christian church should ever be the field where rival candidates for power struggle for superiority! Yet how often has this been seen to be the case, not merely in the Catholic conclave, where aspiring cardinals have put in motion all their artifice, and finesse, and duplicity, to gain the tiara; not merely among mitred prelates for a higher seat on the episcopal bench—no; but also among the lay-brethren of an independent church. How anxious and restless have they sometimes appeared—to be leading men, influential members, the most admired minister, and the ruling elders of the church. They must not only be consulted in everything—but consulted first. Every plan must emanate from them, or else be approved by them before it is submitted to the rest. The apostle has drawn their picture to the life, where he says—"I wrote to the church, but Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will have nothing to do with us. So if I come, I will call attention to what he is doing, gossiping maliciously about us. Not satisfied with that, he refuses to welcome the brothers. He also stops those who want to do so and puts them out of the church." 3 John 1:9-10 Such an individual must be a source of discomfort to his brethren in communion. There may be no competitor with him for the scepter who regards him with envy—but the whole community are grieved and offended with his unlovely and encroaching disposition. It is pretty evident to me that Diotrephes was a minister; but the features of this picture apply with equal force to an ambitious and aspiring layman, whose lust of power is still more censurable, as it has not even the basis of office to rest upon. There are cases, it is admitted, in which experience, wisdom, benevolence, and activity, are so beautifully combined in an individual—as to place him, more by general consent than by his own efforts—above all his brethren in influence. When he opens his mouth in wisdom, all are silent—and the pastor hearkens with the rest in respectful deference to his opinion. No one would think of proposing any scheme until he had been consulted, and his disapproval mildly expressed would be thought a sufficient reason for laying it aside. He has power—but it has come to him without his seeking it, and it is employed, not to exalt himself—but to benefit the church. His sway is the influence of love—and all that influence is employed by him, not to raise himself into a rival with his pastor for the upper seat in the church—but to support the authority and dignity of the pastoral office. Such men we have sometimes seen in our communities, and they have been a blessing to the people and a comfort to the minister. If any individuals could have been found in the circle where they moved, so flippant and so forward as to treat them with the least degree of disrespect, everyone would have been loud in the expression of their disapprobation of such an act of censurable indecorum. Unseemliness in the conduct of a church member towards his brethren, applies to all that is rude, unmannerly, or uncivil. "No ill-bred man," says Adam Clarke, in his comments on this word, "or what is commonly termed rude or unmannerly, is a consistent Christian. I never wish to meet with those who affect to be called 'blunt, honest men'—who feel themselves above all the forms of civility and respect—and care not how many they put to pain—how many they displease." There is much good sense in these remarks, that deserves the attention of all professing Christians who have the credit of true religion, and the comfort of their brethren at heart. It is inconceivable what a great degree of unnecessary distress is occasioned by a disregard of this rule, and how many hearts are continually bleeding from the wounds inflicted by incivility and rudeness! We should be careful to avoid this; for true piety gives no man a release from the courtesies of life! In our private communion with our brethren, we should be anxious to give no offense. If we feel it our duty at any time, as we sometimes may and ought, to expostulate with a brother on the impropriety of his conduct, we should be most studiously cautious to abstain from all appearance of what is impertinently meddlesome, or offensively blunt. Reproof, or even admonition, is rarely palatable—even when administered with the honied sweetness of Christian kindness. But it is wormwood and gall when mingled up with uncourteousness, and will generally be rejected with disdain and disgust. We must never think of acting the part of a reprover, until we have put on humility as a garment, and taken up the law of kindness in our lips. Nothing is more likely to lead to incivility, than repeated and vexatious interruptions when engaged in some interesting or important business, or when required to comply with unreasonable requests. I have known cases in which, when application has been made for what the applicant thought to be a very reasonable matter, his request has been treated with such scorn, and denied with such abruptness and coarseness of manner, as to send him home with an arrow in his heart; when a few moments spent in explanation, or a denial given in kind and respectful language, would have completely satisfied him. It is admitted that it is somewhat trying, and it is a trial of very common occurrence in the present day, to be called from important occupations to listen to tales of woe, to read the statement of need, or to answer the enquiries of ignorance; but still we must not be, ought not to be, crude. Sudden interruptions are apt to throw a man off his guard—he has scarcely time to call into exercise his principles, before his passions are up and busy. It is said of Mr. Romaine, that he was one day called upon by a poor woman in distress of soul, for the purpose of gaining instruction and consolation. The good man was busy in his study; and on being informed that a poor woman wanted to converse with him below, exclaimed with great incivility of manner, "Tell her I cannot attend to her!" The humble applicant, who was within hearing distance, said, "Ah, Sir! your Master would not have treated thus a burdened penitent who came to him for mercy." "No, no!" replied the good man, softened by an appeal which his heart could not resist, "he would not—come in, come in!" Too, too often has the same petulant indecorum been manifested by others, without being accompanied by the same reparation—they have pierced the heart, and left the wound to fester—the petitioners have carried away from their door their misery not only unrelieved—but greatly aggravated. But there is a peculiar sensitiveness on the subject of monetary contributions in some people—to ask for them is an offense, which they pay back in insult. They are the Nabals of the church—if, indeed, the church could have a Nabal. What can be more unseemly than words which would disgrace a man—dropping from the lips of a professing Christian! Unbecoming rudeness should be most sedulously avoided, in our public communion with the church, and in our social circles, when meeting as brethren. Everything of flat contradiction, of unwarrantable suspicion concerning the truth of a statement; all seeming contempt for the opinions of others; all attempts to interrupt or bear down by clamor and vehemence, those with whom we may be engaged in discussion, should be very anxiously abstained from. It is truly painful to observe, what an utter disregard for the feelings of their brethren is often manifested by some ardent sticklers for their own opinions and plans. But is not courteousness a Christian grace? Did not the apostle say, 'Be courteous'? Why should that which is considered by the world, as a rich decoration of character, as softening and embellishing the communion of society, and as so important and necessary as to be placed under the guardianship of what is called the law of honor—why should courteousness ever be considered as of little importance in the business of true religion, and the fellowship of the faithful? If rudeness be considered as a blemish upon talents, rank, and fame—must it not be viewed also as a blot and deformity upon piety? Most certainly it is regarded as such those whose concern to do whatever would give pleasure, and to avoid whatever would occasion distress.
We see in this subject the wonderful excellence of Christianity as a code of morals, a rule of conduct, and a body of principles. For in addition to specific laws, intended to operate in the production of certain virtues and the prevention of certain vices—it has general and comprehensive precepts, capable of universal application—of so plain a nature as to be understood by the dullest intellect—and possessing at the same time a kind of beauty which gives them an interest in every heart. So that if in the specialities of Christian morals, properly so called, any case should be overlooked, or any situation should not be reached—any distinction between virtue and vice should be so minute as to be imperceptible—any delicacy of character so refined as not to be taken into the account—here is something to supply the defect, and render the law of God perfect for converting the soul. Love does nor act unbecomingly! And who is so ignorant, if he would but consult his conscience, as not to know what would be thought by others unbecoming in himself? THE UNSELFISHNESS OF LOVE
"Love seeks not her own." "Love is not self-seeking." If it were required to give a brief and summary description of man's original apostasy, we might say that it was his departure from God, the fountain of his happiness and the end of his existence, and retiring into himself, as the ultimate end of all his actions. And if it were also asked what is the essence of his sin, the sum of his moral depravity, we might say, to love himself supremely, to seek himself finally and exclusively, to make self, in one shape or another, the center to which all his busy thoughts, anxious cares and diligent pursuits, constantly tend. Self-love is the most active and reigning principle in fallen nature; self is the great idol which mankind are naturally disposed to worship; and selfishness the grand interest to which they are devotedly attached. But the grace of God, when it renews the heart, so corrects and subdues this disposition, that it is no longer the tyrant of the mind. The grace of God plants in the human bosom, the principle of benevolence—a principle which as it leads us to love God supremely, and our neighbor as ourselves—and is the direct opposite of selfishness. Believing that the perfection of all virtue lies in unselfish love, it follows, that the nearer we approach to this state of mind, the nearer we come to sinless moral excellence. This is the temper of the innumerable company of angels, and of the spirits of just men made perfect. It has been argued that we take delight in the happiness of others, because their happiness increases our own—but the circumstance of our happiness being increased by promoting theirs, is itself a convincing proof of the existence and exercise of an antecedent good-will towards them. Our felicity is raised by theirs. Why?—because we love them. Why am I made unhappy by the sight of another's woe?—because I have good-will to the subject of distress. It is true I am gratified by relieving him, and my comfort would be disturbed if I did not—but what is the origin of these feelings?—certainly a previous good-will towards them. It is not affirmed that all pity proceeds from holy love—but that where love does exist, and in the proportion in which it exists, it is unselfish, and is distinguished from selfishness. It may be proper here to distinguish between self-love and selfishness; not that they are etymologically different—but only in the use of the terms as they are employed in common discourse. By SELFISHNESS, we mean such a regard to our own things, as is inconsistent with, and destructive of—a right regard to the things of others. Whereas by SELF-LOVE we mean nothing more than that attention to our own affairs which we owe to ourselves as part of universal being. Selfishness means the neglect or injury of others, in order to concentrate our views, and desires, and pursuits in ourselves. While self-love means only that proper and due regard to our own interests which we may pay, without the neglect or injury of our neighbor. Self-love, when exercised in connection with, and subordinate to, good-will to mankind—is not only consistent with virtue—but is a part of it; but when not thus connected, it degenerates into selfishness. Selfishness leads men to seek their own interests—in opposition to the interest of others. Multitudes care not whom they oppress, so as they can establish their own power; whom they vilify and degrade, so as they can increase their own fame; whom they impoverish, so as they can accumulate their own wealth; whom they distress, so as they can augment their own comforts. This is the worst and most cruel operation of selfishness. It is the same propensity, only sharpened, and guided, and rendered the more mischievous by the aid of reason—as that which exists in the vulture and the tiger, and which gorges itself to excess—deaf to the piercing cries of the hapless victim which struggles in its talons! Intent only on gratification, it riots amid misery, if by this means it can aggrandize itself. Looking on the possessions of those around only with an envious eye, it is solicitous that they may be appropriated in some way, to itself. This is a horrible and truly infernal disposition; for it would reign with a kind of universal despotism, would subdue all into vassalage, and allow nothing to exist—but what was tributary to its own comfort. Selfishness sometimes leads its subjects only to neglect the things of others. They do not oppress, or injure, or steal; they are neither robbers nor calumniators; but they are so engrossed by self-interest, and so absorbed in self-gratification, as to be utterly regardless of the miseries of the world around them. They have no sympathies, no benevolent sensibilities—they have cut themselves off from their race, and care nothing for the happiness of any of their neighbors. Their highest boast and attainment in virtue is "to wrong no one." Their idea of excellence is purely of a negative kind. To dispel sorrow, to relieve poverty, to diffuse gladness—especially to make sacrifices to do this—is an effort which they have never tried, and which they have no inclination to try. The world might perish—so long as the desolation did not reach themselves! Miserable and guilty creatures, they forget that they will be punished for not doing good—as well as for doing evil. The unprofitable servant was condemned, and the wicked are represented, at the last day, as doomed to hell—not for inflicting sorrow—but for not relieving it. A man is guilty of selfishness, if he seeks his own things out of all proportion to the regard he pays to the things of others. From a regard to our reputation, we may not live in the total neglect of those around us; and in deference either to public opinion, or to the remonstrances of our consciences, we may be compelled to yield something to the claims of the public. Yet, at the same time, our concessions may be so measured in quantity, and made with such reluctance and ill-will—that our predominant selfishness may be as clearly manifested by what we give—as by what we withhold. That which we call our liberality, manifests, in this case, our avarice; that which we denominate generosity, demonstrates our sinful self-love. Selfishness sometimes seeks its own under the pretense and profession of promoting the happiness of others. Where the ruling passion of the heart is the love of applause—large sacrifices of wealth, and time, and ease, and feeling, will be readily made for fame! And where men have objects to gain, which require kindness, conciliation, and attention—nothing in this way is too much to be done to accomplish their purpose. This is a disgusting operation of this very disgusting temper, when all its seeming good-will is but an efflux of kindness—which is to flow back again in full tide into the receptacle of self! Many are the detestable traders, whose generosity is only a barter for something in return. How much of the seeming goodness of human nature, of the sympathy with human woe, of the pity for poverty, of the concern for the comfort of wretchedness—which passes current for virtue among mankind—is nothing better than a counterfeit imitation of benevolence—is known only to that God whose omniscient eye traces the secret workings of our depravity through all the labyrinths of a deceitful heart! But notice now the SUBJECTS in reference to which selfishness is indulged. Property is the first. It shows itself in an concern to obtain wealth, and an unwillingness to part with it—a disposition as greedy as the sea, and as barren as the shore. You will see some men so excessively eager to get profit, that they are ever watching to take undue advantage; and so keen-eyed in looking after their own, that they need be closely inspected, to prevent them from taking more than their own—for a man who is prevailingly selfish can hardly be honest. And what they gain, they keep—neither the cause of humanity, nor of true religion, can extort a farthing from them—except now and then, to get rid of an importunate suitor, or to prevent their reputation from being utterly ruined. Selfishness is sometimes exercised in reference to opinion. Some will not bear contradiction; they must be listened to as sages; to question what they say, is to insult them—and is sure to bring down on the 'presumptuous skeptic' their contempt or their frown. They will scarcely allow any one to speak but themselves; they must be the oracle of every company, and the director of every affair—or they retire in disgust, and refuse to act at all. In the concerns of our churches this is often seen and felt. What is it but pure selfishness that leads any one to wish that he should dictate to the rest; that his opinion should be law; and his wishes be consulted and obeyed? This is not love—no! love does not seek her own, where conscience does not interfere to forbid it—but meekly and quietly resigns its wishes to increase peace and promote harmony. Love's object is the public good, and its law is the best means of promoting the general welfare. If in the communion of life, or the affairs of a church, every individual determined to consult only his own views and wishes, society would be dissolved, and its separate parts embroiled in a state of mutual conflict. In the various discussions which come before a public body, Selfishness says, "I am sure my opinion is correct; and I will if possible have my way!" But the language of LOVE is, "I have stated my opinion and my wishes; if this does not carry conviction, I by no means wish my opinion to be adopted, nor my desires to be gratified—I am anxious for the comfort of my brethren, and I yield my wishes to theirs." Some people have acquired selfish habits in their general conduct, which are exceedingly annoying to others! They have areas of personal gratification, peculiarities of humour, in which it is impossible to indulge without greatly incommoding those around them; but so detestably selfish is their disposition, at least with regard to these practices, that let others be disturbed, offended, or put to serious inconvenience—they themselves will not forego in the least degree their accustomed indulgence. When the unfortunate sufferers were expiring in the Black Hole at Calcutta, and entreated the sentinels to represent their agonizing and fatal condition to the tyrant who had imprisoned them, the guards answered, "No; he is enjoying his repose, and it will be certain death to us if we disturb him, even for your relief." And what better in principle, though certainly a less degree of its operation, is that regard to their appetite, ease, or humour—which many indulge to the annoyance of their neighbors, and which they indulge against the remonstrances of those who suffer? In short, that regard to our comfort, which leads us to neglect or sacrifice the felicity of another—is the selfishness which kindness opposes and destroys. This hateful disposition has contrived to conceal itself under many false names and DISGUISES, and thus to find protection from much of the ridicule which it deserves, and which would otherwise be more unsparingly heaped upon it. The plea of frugality—or a just regard to the claims of a family—has often been urged as an excuse for the selfishness of avarice. A man certainly must take care of his own—but not to the injury, or even to the neglect of all besides. "I have no more," it is often said, "than I need for my style of living; and that style I think necessary for my rank in life. I spend all I get upon my family, and hoard nothing—how, then, can I be selfish?" Mistaken mortal! do you forget that a man's family is himself multiplied—himself reflected? Selfish! yes, you are detestably so—if you spend all upon yourself and family—however lavish and unsparing you may be to them. No expression, no sentiment, has ever been more abused than that of the apostle—"Do all to the glory of God." It has been employed to disguise the most improper motives, and never more frequently, nor more profanely employed, than when it has been used to give a character of religious zeal to actions—which every other eye could discern, originated in unmixed selfishness. It is to be feared that when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, it will be found that while much has been professedly done for the glory of God in the affairs of true religion—pure zeal for God's glory is a very rare thing. Certain it is, that much of what has been carried on under the authority of this truly sublime phrase, has emanated from a far less hallowed principle. The Gospel has been preached by ministers; places of worship have been built by hearers; distant lands have been visited by missionaries; yes, imprisonment and death may have been sought by martyrs, in some cases, not from pure zeal for God's glory—but under the influence of selfishness! All sorts of artful practices have been supported—all kinds of stormy passions have been indulged—all kinds of injuries have been inflicted—under the pretense of glorifying God—but which, in fact, are to be ascribed to selfishness! When a man is identified with a party—what he does for that party—he does for himself. The same remarks will apply to many of those actions which are performed on the professed ground of regard for the public good. Pure patriotism is a scarce virtue, and is found but rarely in the bosoms of those who are loudest in their praises and professions of it. Many a noisy and self-eulogized patriot—many a zealous supporter of public institutions—many an active reformer of popular errors—many a liberal contributor to humane or religious societies—could their motives be exposed, would be found to act from no higher aims than to get a name for themselves—and to be praised by their fellow-creatures! Some indulge this disposition under the pretext of regard for the truth. Attaching an overweening importance to their own opinions, as if they possessed the attribute of infallibility, overbearing in debate, impatient when contradicted, determined to crush the opinions and resist the influence of those who are opposed to theirs—they quiet their conscience, and silence the voice of remonstrance, with the plea that their vehemence is pure zeal for the interests of truth. They would be less anxious, they say, if it were their personal interests at stake; but they have a right to be earnest, yes, even to be contentious—in the defense of the faith! But they don't know themselves—or they would discern that their conduct springs from a proud, imperious, and selfish spirit! It is time to contemplate the EVIL of selfishness. Selfishness is the direct opposite to divine benevolence, and is contrary to the habitual temper of our Lord Jesus Christ, "who pleased not himself." Selfishness is the cause of all sin, the opposite of all holiness and virtue. Selfishness is the source of innumerable other sins, and is placed by the apostle as the head and leader of the eighteen vices which he enumerates as the marks of perilous times—"Men shall be lovers of themselves." Selfishness was the sin which introduced all guilt and misery into the world—for the first transgression, by which Adam fell from innocence, and by which his posterity fell with him, was an effort to raise himself into a state of independence; by selfishness he laid the world under the burden of the divine condemnation! Selfishness is a rejection of all the claims, and an opposition to all the ends and interests of society; for if all people were under the influence of predominant selfishness, society could scarcely exist! Let each one seek and grasp his own, to the injury or neglect of the rest, and the world becomes a den of wild beasts, where each plunders for his prey, and all distress one another. Selfishness defeats its own end. God has endowed us with social affections, in the indulgence of which there is real pleasure—the exercise of kindness and the enjoyment of delight are inseparable. "If there be any comfort of love," says the apostle; by which he implied, in the strongest manner, that there is great comfort in it; and, of course, in proportion as we extend the range and multiply the objects of our love, we extend the range and multiply the sources of our happiness. He who loves only himself, has only one joy; he who loves his neighbors, has many. To rejoice in the happiness of others, is to make it our own; to produce it, is to make it more than our own. Lord Bacon has justly remarked, that our sorrows are lessened, and our felicities multiplied, by sharing them. Mankind had been laboring for ages under the grossest mistake as to happiness, imagining that happiness arose from receiving—an error which our Lord corrects, by saying, "That it is more blessed to give than to receive." A selfish man, who accumulates property—but diffuses not, resembles the stagnant pools, into which whatever flows remains there, and whatever remains corrupts! He is not like the perennial fountain sending forth fertilizing streams! Miser is his name, and miserable he is in heart. Selfishness often brings a terrible retribution in this world—the tears of its wretched subject fall unpitied—and he finds, in the gloomy hour of his want or his woe, that he who determines to be alone in his fullness, will generally be left to himself in his sorrows; and that he who in the days of his prosperity drives every one from him by the unkindness of his disposition, will find in the season of his adversity, that they are too far off to hear his cries for assistance. Selfishness is not an incurable temper—but it is a disease that requires an immediate and diligent attention! Where selfishness not only exists but predominates, the spring of human action must be renewed by regeneration, and we must have that new heart, which is brought to love God supremely, and our neighbor as ourselves. We must meditate often upon the deep criminality of selfishness, and look upon it in all its deformity, until we hate it! We must be careful to strip it of all the disguises which the deceitfulness of the heart has thrown over it! We must abound in contemplation of the character of God, as infinite in love; and of Jesus Christ, as an incarnation of pure, unselfish affection. We must exercise great mortification, laboring to the uttermost to subdue, and if possible to eradicate, this vile disposition! And repeating this again and again until we begin to taste the pleasure and to feel the habit of kindness. Above all, we must pray earnestly for the help of the Holy Spirit—to assist us in the mighty work of vanquishing a selfish temper!
|
THE TRUSTFULNESS OF LOVE "Love thinks no evil." There are two senses which may be attached to this beautiful description of love. I. Love does not DEVISE evil. What a horrible, demon-like disposition has the Psalmist ascribed to the individual who has no fear of God before his eyes!—"He has left off to be wise and to do good; he devises mischief upon his bed." Such is the delineation given by the inspired writer of the character of some wretched men; and the original is often to be found. They are perpetually scheming to do injury; even their hours of rest are devoted to the impulses of a wicked heart, and they sleep not except they have done mischief. Instead of communing with God upon their bed, this is to commune with the devil, and to hold nightly conference with him who goes about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. But without going to the extent of those who live by plunder, extortion, or oppression, and who, as the wolves and tigers of society, are ever prowling about for their prey—there are many who maintain a tolerably respectable character—but are still far too busy in devising evil—this may arise from various motives, to all of which Christian love stands firmly opposed. Desire of gain may lead them to devise means by which they may injure a more prosperous neighbor, a more thriving tradesman than themselves. They cannot endure to witness his success, and they leave no effort untried to hinder it. They are inventive in the way of insinuation, innuendo, or explicit declaration—to check the tide of his good fortune, and are ever scheming to circumvent and injure him. Or they may be moved by envy to devise means for blasting the reputation of a popular rival, or at least to render him less a favorite with the public. Revenge is ever busy in laying plans to injure its object; it broods in wrathful silence over the real or supposed injury, and looks round on every side for the opportunity and the means of full retaliation. A love of sporting with the fears of the timid and the weak has led some to delight in finding means for exciting their alarms—they do not desire to inflict pain so much from a malignity of disposition as from a wanton pleasure in raising a joke. Such jests as occasion distress are, whatever may be pretended by their authors, a kind of devil's play, who can never relax from the work of tormenting, except it be to occasion lighter pains, and whose very sport is the infliction of misery. It is dreadful that the human intellect should ever be employed in devising evil; and yet passing by the cabinets of statesmen, where hostile and unprincipled aggressions are so often planned against a weaker state; and the closets of monarchs, where schemes which are to entail the horrors of war upon millions, are contrived without compunction; and the slave-merchant's cabin, where the details are arranged for burning peaceful villages, and dragging into captivity their unoffending inhabitants; and the robber's cave, the murderer's chamber, and the swindler's retreat—passing by these haunts of demons, where the master-spirits of mischief hold their conclave, and digest their dark and horrid purposes—what a prodigious movement of mind is perpetually going on among ordinary people! What a frightful portion of every day's employment of the mental and bodily energies, all over the globe, is seen by the eye of Omniscience to be directed by the parent of evil, who is ever going about to do evil—so that a great part of mankind seem to have no other prototype but the scorpions which John saw rising out of the bottomless pit, armed both with teeth and stings! To all these people, and to all this their conduct—love is diametrically opposed. It thinks not evil—but good; it devises to communicate pleasure—not pain. It shrinks back with instinctive abhorrence from inflicting a moment's suffering, in body or in mind. "Love works no ill to its neighbor," but employs all its counsels and its cares for its benefit. Like a good spirit, it is ever opposing the advice, and counteracting the influence—of envy, revenge, or avarice. It would make the miserable happy, and the happy still happier. It retires into the closet to project schemes for blessing mankind, and then goes out into the crowded regions of want and wretchedness to execute them; it devises good on its bed, and rises in the morning to fulfill the plans of mercy with which it had sunk to rest. "Love thinks no evil." 2. But most probably the apostle meant, that love does not IMPUTE evil. Lovely love! the farther we go, the more we discover your charms—your beauty is such, that it is seen the more, the more closely it is inspected—and your excellence such, that it never ceases to grow upon acquaintance. You are not in haste to incriminate, as if it were your delight to prove men wicked—but are willing to impute a good motive to men's actions, until a bad one is clearly demonstrated. It is proper however to remark here, that love is not quite blind—it is not, as we have already said, virtue in senile decay—having lost its power of discrimination between good and evil—nor is it holiness in its childhood, which with childish simplicity believes everything that is told it, and that is imposed upon by every pretender. No! it is moral excellence in the maturity of all its faculties—in the possession of all its manly strength. Like the judge upon the bench, it is penetrating, yet not censorious, holding the balance with an even hand, acting as counsel for the prisoner, rather leaning to the side of the accused than to that of the accuser, and holding him innocent until he is proved to be guilty. There are some people of a peculiarly suspicious temper, who look with a distrustful eye upon everybody, and upon every action. It would seem as if the world were in a conspiracy against them, and that every one who approached them came with a purpose of mischief. They invert the proper order of things, and instead of imputing a good motive until a bad one is proved, impute a bad one until a good one is made apparent; and so extremely skeptical are they on the subject of moral evidence, that what comes with the force of demonstration to the rest of mankind, in the way of establishing the propriety of an action, scarcely amounts in their view to probability. Those who suspect everybody, are generally to be suspected themselves. Their knowledge of human nature has been obtained at home, and their fears in reference to their neighbors are the reflected images of their own disposition. But without going to this length, we are all too apt to impute evil to others. 1. We are too forward to suspect the piety of our neighbors, and to consider, if not direct hypocrisy, yet ignorance or presumption, as the ground of their profession. Upon some very questionable or imperfect evidence—upon some casual expression, or some doubtful action—we pronounce an individual to be a self-deceiver, or a hypocrite. There is far too much proneness to this in the religious world—too much haste in excising each other from the body of Christ—too much precipitancy in cutting each other off from the shelter of the Christian church. To decide infallibly upon character is not only the prerogative of God—but requires his attributes. There may be some grains of wheat hid among the chaff, which we may be at a loss to discover. We must be careful how we set up 'our views', or 'our experience'—as the test of character, so as to condemn all who do not come up to our standard. It is a fearful thing to unchristianise any one, and it should be done only upon the clearest evidence of his being in an unconverted state. Without being accused of lax or latitudinarian views, I may observe that we should make great allowance for the force of education—for peculiar habits acquired in circumstances different from our own—and for a phraseology learned among those whose views are but imperfect. To impute to a professor of religion the sin of hypocrisy, and mere formality, and to deny the reality of his religion altogether, is too serious a thing for such short-sighted creatures as we are, except in cases which are absolutely indisputable. 2. We are too prone to impute bad motives in reference to particular actions. Sometimes where the action is good, we ascribe it to some sinister or selfish inducement operating in the mind of him by whom it is performed. This is not infrequently done where we have no contention with the individual, and the imputation is merely the effect of envy; but it is more frequently done in cases where we have personal dislike. When the action is of a doubtful nature, how apt we are to lose sight of all the evidence which may be advanced in favor of its being done from a good motive, and with far less probability decide that the motive is bad. If we ourselves are the object of the action, we too commonly conclude instantly, and almost against evidence, that a bad motive dictated it. Although the circumstance is at worst equivocal, and admits of a two-fold interpretation, we promptly determine that an insult or an injury was intended, when every one but ourselves clearly discerns that no such design can be fairly imputed. A person passes us in the street without speaking, and we immediately believe that it was an act of intentional insult—forgetting that it is probable he did not see us, or was so immersed in thought as not to recognize us. A general remark is made in conversation, which we suppose, with no other evidence than its applicability to us, was intended to expose us before the company; when, perhaps, the individual who made it had no more reference to us than to a man on the other side of the globe. A thousand cases might be mentioned, and in which, of two motives that may be imputed, we choose the evil one. If a person has previously injured us, we are peculiarly propensity to this unchristian practice of thinking evil of him. We can scarcely allow ourselves to believe that he can do anything relating to us—but from an improper inducement; we suspect all his words and all his actions—nor is the propensity less strong in those cases in which we have been the aggressors; we then set down everything done by the injured person to the influence of revenge. The evil of such a disposition is manifest. It is explicitly and frequently prohibited in God's Word. This is the censoriousness forbidden by our Lord, where he says, "Judge not, that you be not judged," and which is condemned by Paul, where he says, "Judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts." James commands us "not to speak evil one of another; for he who speaks evil of his brother, judges his brother." "Evil surmisings" are placed by the apostle among the sins which oppose the words of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is an invasion of the prerogative of Deity, who alone can search the heart, and read the motives of the bosom. It is injurious to the character of our brethren, and disturbs the peace of society. Half of the broils which arise in the world, and of the schisms which spring up in the church, may be traced to this wicked propensity of "thinking evil," for if men think evil, it is an easy matter to speak evil, and then to do evil—so that the origin of many quarrels will be found in the false impression of a suspicious mind—the misapprehension of a censorious judgment. It is a disposition which our own observation and experience are quite sufficient, if we would be guided by them, to correct. How often, how very often, have we found ourselves mistaken in this matter! How frequently has subsequent evidence shown us our error in imputing a bad motive to an action, which at the time, to say the worst of it, was only of a doubtful nature! We have discovered that to have originated in accident, which we once thought to have been the result of malevolent design; and we have found other things to have proceeded from ignorance, which we had hastily set down to malice. How many times have we blushed and grieved over our unfounded hasty conclusions—and yet in opposition to our experience and to our resolutions, we still go on to think evil. But "love thinks no evil," this divine virtue delights to speak well, and think well of others—she talks of their good actions, and says little or nothing, except when necessity compels her, of their bad ones. She holds her judgment in abeyance as to motives, until they are perfectly apparent. She does not look around for evidence to prove an evil design—but hopes that what is doubtful will, by farther light, appear to be correct; she imputes not evil, so long as good is probable; she leans to the side of toleration rather than to that of severity; she makes every allowance that truth will permit; looks at all the circumstances which can be pleaded in mitigation; does not allow her opinions to be formed until she has had opportunity to escape from the mist of passion, and to cool from the wrath of contention. Love desires the happiness of others—and how can she be in haste to think evil of them? If it be asked, Do all good men act thus? I again reply, They act thus just in proportion as they are under the influence of Christian love. The apostle does not say that every man who is possessed of love does so—but that love itself thinks no evil; and therefore implies that every good man will act thus in the same degree in which he submits to the influence of this virtue. Divine grace! hasten the universal reign on earth, and put an end to those evil surmisings by which the comfort of mankind and the fellowship of the saints are so much disturbed!
|
THE JOY OF LOVE "Love does not rejoice in iniquity—but rejoices in the truth." Keeping up the personification of love as presented by the apostle, we may observe that it has its joys and its sorrows; and that its smiles and its tears are the expressions of good will—the tokens of benevolence. We are first told in what love does NOT take delight in—"Love does not rejoice in INIQUITY." Sin is, in itself, an evil of enormous magnitude. As committed against a Being whom we are under infinite obligation to love, and serve, and glorify, it must partake of infinite degrees of demerit. It is a violation of that law, which as an emanation from the perfection of God, is itself perfect, and well deserves the eulogy pronounced upon it by the apostle, when he declares it to be "holy, and just, and good." As this is the rule of government to the moral universe, and intended to preserve its order, dependence, and harmony—sin, by opposing its authority, disturbs this order, breaks this dependence, and seeks to introduce the reign of confusion and misery. None but the infinite mind of God is competent to calculate the mischief which is likely to be produced by a single act of sin—if left to itself without a remedy, or without a punishment. We have only to see what sin has done, to judge of its most evil and hateful nature. All the misery which either is or ever will be on earth, or in hell, is the result of sin. It is the greatest evil—the only evil in the universe. It is the opposite, and the enemy to God; the contrast of all that is pure and glorious in his divine attributes and ineffably beautiful perfections; and as such it is that which he cannot but hate with a perfect hatred. It is not merely the opposite of his nature—but the opponent of his government—the rebel principle that disputes with him for his seat of majesty and the dominion of the universe, saying to him, "Thus far shall you go, and no farther," seeking to cast him down from the throne which he has prepared in the heavens, and to rise with impious usurpation into the holy place of the high and lofty One. Sin would thus stop the fountain of life and blessedness, by ending the reign of infinite beneficence; and is therefore the enemy of everything that constitutes the felicity of the various orders of rational existence. The happiness of angels and archangels, of cherubim and seraphim, and of the spirits made perfect above, as well as of those who are renewed by the grace of God on earth—arises from holiness—separate from holiness, there can be no happiness for an intellectual being. Now sin is the contrary of holiness, and thus the enemy of happiness. How, then, can love delight in iniquity? If love wills the felicity of rational beings, it must hate that which directly resists and extinguishes it. And as love cannot delight in SIN in the abstract, so neither can it take pleasure in committing it; for whoever commits it, in so far approves of it—upholds its dominion—extends its reign—diffuses its mischief, and does all he can to recommend it. If his transgression be a common one, he gives the patronage of his example to all of the same kind; and if it be a new one, he becomes an inventor and propagator upon earth of a fresh curse and tormentor. That many do delight in committing iniquity cannot be doubted; they follow it with greediness, and drink it in as the thirsty ox drinks in water. The Scripture speaks of the joys of fools, and of the pleasures of sin. Horrid as is the association between sin and gratification, it certainly exists. Some men have gone so far as to be self-murderers—but who ever took pleasure in the act of destroying themselves? Who ever drank the poison as he would wine, with a merry heart? Who ever dallied in sportive pleasure with the pistol or the dagger, or wound the rope in jocularity round his throat, before he strangled himself with it? Who ever went skipping with a light elastic step to the edge of the precipice, or the brink of a river, from which he was about to plunge into eternity? And yet sinners do all this in reference to their souls. They commit self-murder, the murder of their immortal spirits—to the song of the drunkard, the noise of music, the smile of a harlot, and the laugh of a fool. They sin, and not only so—but delight in iniquity. But "love does not rejoice in iniquity." Nor can it delight in the sins of OTHERS. It cannot do as fools do, "make a mock of sin." It is most horrid to find pastime and sport in those acts of transgression by which men ruin their souls. Some laugh at the reeling gait, and idiot looks, and maniac gestures—of the drunkard, whom perhaps they have first led on to intoxication, to afford them merriment. Or they are amused by the oaths of the swearer, whose malice and revenge are at work to invent new forms of profanity. Or they are made merry by the mischief with which the persecutors of the righteous often oppose and interrupt the solemnity of worship. Or they attack with raillery and scorn the tender consciences of the saints, and loudly applaud the wit which aims its sharpened arrows against true religion. But love weeps over sin, as that which brings the greatest misery. "SIN is the greatest and highest infelicity of the creature. Sin depraves the soul within itself, vitiates its powers, deforms its beauties, extinguishes its light, corrupts its purity, darkens its glory, disturbs its tranquility and peace, violates its harmonious joyful state and order, and destroys its very life. Sin alienates the soul from God, severs it from him, engages his justice, and influences his wrath against it. What! to rejoice in sin, that despites the Creator, and has wrought such tragedies in creation! Sin turned angels out of heaven, man out of paradise! Sin has made the blessed God so much a stranger to our world—broken off the communion in so great a part between heaven and earth—obstructed the pleasant commerce which had otherwise probably been between angels and men—so vilely debased the nature of man, and provoked the displeasure of his Maker towards him! Sin once overwhelmed the world with a deluge of water, and will again ruin it by a destructive fire! To rejoice in so hateful a thing as sin, is to do that mad part, to cast about firebrands, arrows, and death, and say, 'Am I not in sport?'—it is to be glad that such a one is turning a man into a devil! a reasonable, immortal soul, capable of heaven, into a fiend of hell!—to be glad that such a soul is tearing itself off from God, is blasting its own eternal hopes, and destroying all its possibilities of a future well-being. Blessed God! how opposite a thing is this to love—the offspring of God! Love is the birth of heaven, as it is here below, among mortals; the beauty and glory of it, as it is there above, in its natural seat. Love is the eternal bond of living union among the blessed spirits who inhabit there, and which would make our world, did it universally obtain here, another heaven." (Howe "On Love in reference to other Men's Sins.") No! Sin is the sport of devils! It is not for men who feel the influence of love, to delight in sin. We justly condemn the cruelty of the Romans, in glutting their eyes with the scenes of the amphitheater, where the gladiators were torn in pieces by the fangs of lions and tigers; but theirs was innocent recreation compared with that of the perverted and wicked mind, which can be gratified by seeing an immortal creature ruining and damning his most precious soul! Go, laugh at the agonies of the wretched man tortured upon the rack, and make merry with his distorted features, and strange and hideous cries—go, laugh at the convulsive throes of the epileptic—go to the field of battle, and mock the groans of the wounded and dying—all this is more humane and merciful than delighting in sin! Could we look down upon the burning lake, and see there how the miserable spectres are tossed upon the billows of the burning deep, and hear their dreadful exclamations, "Who can dwell with devouring fire? Who can dwell with everlasting burnings?"—would we then amuse ourselves with sin? Love does thus look upon their misery, so far as her imagination goes, and feels a cold horror and a shivering dread. She mourns over sin wheresoever she sees it, and weeps for those who never weep for themselves. This is her declaration, as she looks around upon the sins of mankind—"Rivers of water run down my eyes, because they keep not your law." Love cannot delight in the misconduct of an enemy or a rival. This perhaps is the precise meaning of the apostle, in the expression we are now illustrating. Few of us are without some one or more who are considered by us, or who consider themselves, in the character of an opponent or a competitor; and in such cases there is great danger of our being pleased with their moral failures. It is not often that any, except those who are more than ordinarily depraved, will allow themselves to go so far as to tempt an enemy to sin, in order to gain the advantage over him. Yet there are some who will lay snares for his feet, and watch with eager hope for his halting—and when unable to accomplish this by their own personal exertions, will not scruple to engage accomplices in the work. Weaker and junior agents, who probably may know nothing, or know but little of the purpose for which they are employed, may be drawn by the 'master spirit of mischief' into the confederacy, and be made the instrument of tempting an immortal creature to sin against God, and ruin his own soul. This is the climax of revenge, the highest pitch of wickedness, and the greatest intensity of human malice. It is to extend the mischief of revenge to another world; to call in the aid of devils and the quenchless fire to supply the defects of our ability to inflict misery in proportion to our wishes, and to perpetuate our ill will through eternity. To tempt men to sin against God, with a view to serve ourselves by degrading them before the world—unites much of the malevolence of a devil, with as much of his ingenuity. But if we cannot go to such a length as to tempt an opponent or a rival to sin, yet if we feel a delight in seeing him fall by other means; if we indulge a secret delight in beholding him rendering himself vile, blasting his reputation, destroying his popularity, and ruining his cause; if we inwardly exclaim, "Ah! so would I have it—now it is all over with him—this is just what I wished and wanted"—then we delight in iniquity. And, oh, how inexpressibly dreadful to be seen with a smiling countenance—or a countenance which, if it relaxes not into a smile, is sufficiently indicative of the joyful state of the heart, to run with eagerness to proclaim the news of that act of another which endangers his salvation—how contrary is all this to the love which delights in happiness! Perhaps we only go so far as to be pleased that the object of our dislike has been himself injured in a way similar to that in which he has injured us. Although we may not allow ourselves to inflict any direct injury in the way of revenge, nor engage others to do it for us—yet if we see him ill treated by another person, and rejoice; if we exclaim, "I do not pity him, he has deserved it all for his behavior to me; I am glad he has received what he has deserved; "this is contrary to the law of love—it is a delight in sin. Nor is the case altered, if our joy be professedly felt on account of the consequences which the sin has brought upon him. We may sometimes attempt to deceive ourselves by the supposition that we do not rejoice in the iniquity that is committed—but only because it has been succeeded by those bitter fruits which the misconduct has merited. We interpret it into a proof that God has taken up the cause of injured innocence, and avenged us of our adversary. There are many circumstances and situations which more particularly expose us to the violation of this law of love. In the case of two different denominations in religion, or two congregations of the same party in a town, between whom a misunderstanding and schism have been permitted to grow up and to operate, there is imminent danger of this unchristian spirit. Alas! alas! that the bosom of men should be liable to such sentiments! Oh! shame, deep and lasting shame, upon some professing Christians, that such unhallowed emotions should ever be excited in their bosoms! "Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon, lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice; lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph." Let it not be known that the bad passions of the human heart build their nests, like obscene birds, around the altar of the Lord; or, like poisonous weeds, entwine their baneful tendrils around the pillars of his house. We do not mean to say that any good man can rejoice in the open immorality and vice of an opponent; but are there not many, in all large communities, who, though of Israel in one sense, belong not to it in reality? And where the failure does not proceed to the length of a more awful delinquency—but consists merely of some minor breaches of the law of propriety, are not even the best of men sometimes exposed to the temptation of rejoicing over them, if their cause is promoted by them? The weaker party, especially if they have been ill-used, treated with pride and scorn, oppression and cruelty, are very apt to take delight in those instances of misconduct by which their opponents have brought upon themselves, the prejudices of the public. Rival candidates for fame, or power, or influence—whether in ecclesiastical or secular affairs—are liable to the sin of rejoicing in iniquity. Hard, indeed, is it for such hearts as ours to repress all feelings of secret delight in those acts of a competitor by which he sinks—and we are raised in public esteem. That man gives himself credit for more virtue than he really possesses—who finds it easy to rejoice over the follies and miscarriages of the rival who contends with him—or the sins of an enemy who has deeply injured him. Job mentions it as a convincing proof of his integrity, and a striking display of good conduct—that he did not rejoice at his enemy's misfortune, or gloat over the trouble which came to him. (Job 31:29). And it was a fine manifestation of the generosity of David, that instead of rejoicing over those sins which brought on the catastrophe of Saul—which elevated him to the throne of Israel—he bewailed them with as sincere and pungent grief as he could have done had Saul been the kindest of fathers. That we are in danger of the sin we are now considering, is also evident from the exhortation of Solomon—"Rejoice not when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles." Love, if it had full possession of our hearts, and entire sway, would not only repress all outward exhibitions of this delight—but all inward emotions; would make us dread lest an opponent should fall into sin; would not allow us to see him go unwarned to transgression—but compel us to admonish him of his danger; and would make us cheerfully forego the greatest advantage to our cause or reputation, which we might gain by his misconduct. This is the holiness of love, and the proof of a general hatred for sin; for if we mourn only for our own sins, or the sins of our friends, or of our party—there may be something selfish in our grief after all. But to mourn over iniquity, when though it does harm to another, it may, in some sense, promote our cause—is indeed to hate sin for its own sake, and for the sake of Him by whom it is condemned. We go on now to show, what love DOES rejoice in—"Love rejoices in the TRUTH." By the truth we are not to understand veracity as opposed to falsehood. The apostle is not speaking of this subject. The truth means the doctrine of the Word of God. This is a very common way of describing the revealed will of God in the Scriptures. "Sanctify them by your truth," said our Lord—"your word is truth." The truth itself is the object of delight to love. Truth is the most glorious thing in the universe, next to God and holiness. It has been the great object of mental pursuits since the creation of the world; millions of minds have traveled in quest of it; philosophers profess to be so enamored even with the very term, that they have worshiped it as a mere abstraction, which, after all, they could not understand. What contentions has it originated—to what systems has it given rise—what dogmatism has it been the occasion of! And yet, after all, apart from Scriptural revelation, what is it but a mere name! This gives it reality and form—this tells us where it is, what it is, and how it is to be obtained. Here we learn that the glorious Gospel of the blessed God, and all the doctrines it includes or implies, IS THE TRUTH. The question is answered, proposed by Pilate to the illustrious prisoner at his bar, and the oracle of heaven has declared that the Scriptures are the truth. And the truth is the object of delight to love; the bright star, yes, the full-orbed sun, that enlightens love's eye, and points out the resting place of its heart. And it can rejoice in nothing else. Falsehood, and error, and the devices of the human mind, are the objects of its disgust and abhorrence. It is evident, then, as we have already shown, that love differs essentially from that vague kind of sentimentalism which is so much cried up at present, both without and within the pale of the church; which scorns to proceed upon the Scripture ground of the truth and its genuine influence; reviling, as narrow-mindedness, and an uncharitable intolerant spirit, all regard to particular doctrines—but which extends its indiscriminate embrace, and pays its idle and unmeaning compliments to all people, of whatever religious persuasion, presuming that they are all serious and mean well, however much they differ from each other, or from the Scripture, in sentiment or in practice. One of the maxims of this spurious toleration, as we have already considered, is, that there is no moral turpitude in mental error; and that everything is non-essential which does not relate to the interests of morality. How widely this 'counterfeit liberality' differs from the apostolic love, is evident from the fact which we are now considering, and by which we are told that love delights in the truth. For the truth, love will be zealous, as for an object dearer than life itself. For the truth, love will be ready to set the seal of blood, and not resign or betray it through fear of the gloom of the captive's dungeon, or dread of the martyr's stake. Truth is its joy in love's life—its support in death. Truth is the dear companion of love's pilgrimage on earth, and its eternal associate in the felicities of heaven. But as the truth is here opposed to iniquity—the apostle especially intended to state that HOLINESS is the object of delight to love. Holiness is the natural and appropriate effect of the truth believed. No man can receive the truth—in the love of it—without bringing forth the fruits of righteousness, which are by Jesus Christ unto the glory of God. It is the delight of this pure and heavenly grace of love, to contemplate holiness wherever it is to be found. Ascending to the celestial world, it joins the choirs of the cherubim, to look upon the spotless One, and with them to give utterance to its ecstasies, in the short but sublime anthem, "Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty!" Undismayed by the roar of thunder, and the sound of the trumpet, and the voice of words; by the thick darkness, and the vivid lightnings, and the agitation of the quaking earth—love ventures near the base of Sinai, and, for the delight that it has in holiness, rejoices in the LAW which is the rule of righteousness. The ANGELS are pleasant to behold, because they are clad in garments of unsullied purity. The crown of glory which Adam wore before his fall was his innocence; and the deep degradation into which he fell by his apostasy, was loss of holiness, in which consisted the image of God. The ceremonial LAW has an excellence in the eye of love, because it teaches the value of holiness in the view of God, and the necessity of it for man. The PROPHETIC VISIONS are all delighted in, because they are distinguished by the beauties of holiness; and the whole GOSPEL of Jesus is dear to the heart of love, because it is intended to purify unto Christ a church—which he will present to the Father, without spot, wrinkle, or blemish. MEN are esteemed and loved on earth, as they have this moral excellence of holiness, enstamped upon their souls; and in looking for a HEAVEN which shall satisfy all its desires, it can think of nothing higher and better, than a state of sinless purity! So ardent and so uniform is love's regard to holiness, that it rejoices in it when it is found—even in an enemy or a rival. Yes; if we are under the influence of this divine virtue of love—as we ought to be, we shall desire, and desire very fervently too, that those who have displeased or injured us—may be better than they are. We shall wish to see every 'speck of imperfection' gone from their conduct, and their whole character standing out to the admiration of the world, and receiving the approbation of those by whom they are now condemned. We shall be willing to do anything by which they may conciliate to themselves the favor of the alienated multitude; and also raise themselves to the vantage ground on which their misconduct has placed us above them. This is love—to rejoice in those moral excellences, and gaze upon them with gratitude and delight, which invest the character of one that opposes us with loveliness and beauty—and by which his cause is promoted, in some degree to the detriment of ours. Men of little virtue may sometimes join from social policy—in those commendations of another's goodness, the justice of which they cannot dispute, and the harmony of which they cannot disturb. But it is only the Christian, who is far advanced in the practice of all that is difficult in religion—who can secretly rejoice, without envy or jealousy, in those very virtues which draw away the public attention from himself—and cause him to pass into eclipse and to sink into shadow. "O LOVE! this is your work, and this your glory—a work too rarely performed—a glory too rarely seen—in this region of selfishness, in this world of imperfection; where, of the multitudes who profess to submit to your sway—there are still so few who are really governed by your laws, and inspired by your influence!"
https://www.gracegems.org/ |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Walang komento:
Mag-post ng isang Komento