Chapter II: A Considerable Degree of Positive Ill-Desert

When the Jews, in a fit of ignorant zeal, were taking up stones to cast at our blessed Lord, he said to them: _Many_ GOOD WORKS _have I shewed you from my Father; for which of_ THESE _works do ye stone me_[144]? Intimating, that the resentment of a misjudging multitude is generally occasioned by praise-worthy actions. On the same principle, when shouts of popular applause are sounding in a man’s ears, he may reasonably ask, _For which of my_ EVIL DEEDS _is this praise wasted upon me_? For it is just as much to be expected that a clamorous praise should attend a bad action, as that a clamorous rage should be excited by a good one.

And if we look abroad into the world, we shall find, that it is not virtue, in whatever degree, but some popular vice, that too oft engages its warmest approbation. In fact, even a moderate share of virtue, joined to an inoffensive character, shall more frequently secure a man from the censure, than procure him the applause of mankind. To be generally _well spoken of_, he must do more than not offend: he must merit his reward, before it is conferred upon him. And, though illustrious services may sometimes extort this reward, yet the surer and easier way to obtain it, is to please. And when I am to please _all men_, in order to obtain the suffrage of all, tell me what way there is of executing this project, without dishonouring myself. Men are not pleased, unless I humour their foibles, sooth their vices, serve their ill ends, or unjustifiable passions; and _woe_ unto me, if I acquire their good opinion by these means.

But suppose I am restrained by some sense of decency and of duty, and not disposed to run all lengths in my endeavours to please. Still it is not nothing, to be silent where virtue bids me speak; it is something, to give a man leave to think he is honoured by me for that which deserves blame; it is base, to flatter and extoll immoderately even his good qualities; and it is flagitious to countenance and inflame his bad ones.

Yet one or other of these ways must he take, who is ambitious of every man’s good word. And is there no _woe_, think ye, in such a conduct as this? Suppose I but sacrifice one virtue to my reputation, but one generous quality to my passion for fame; still am I innocent in making this sacrifice? Can I applaud myself for making thus free with my moral character? Or, rather, have I not cause to humble myself under a sense of my ill-desert?

Yes, _woe_ to that man, who, to be well with the world, or with any part of it, deserts any one virtuous principle, transgresses any one known duty, corrupts his conscience with any one deliberate vice. Let the world’s applause be what it will; he is a loser who gains it on such terms.

But I am still putting matters at the best; For,

III. Lastly, this general acceptation, this mighty privilege of being _well spoken of by all men_, sometimes, and not unfrequently, demands a sacrifice, not of one, but all the virtues: it implies A THOROUGH DEPRAVITY AND PROSTITUTION OF THE MORAL CHARACTER.

Our delicacy will not bear to have this matter pushed home, and brought directly to ourselves. Our self-love revolts against the imputation; and no man applies so severe a censure to his own case, or that of his acquaintance. Let us look abroad, then, for what we are willing to shift off so far from us.

Let us look for this opprobrious character in ancient times, and distant regions, with which we may take greater liberties, and concerning which we may discourse without offence. And when we have found it, let us only remember that the character is no ideal one; that it is fairly taken from the annals of human nature, and may therefore, in part at least, concern ourselves.

A noble Roman is described by ONE who knew him well, in the following manner[145]: “He possessed, in a wonderful degree, the faculty of engaging all men to himself, by every art of address, and the most obsequious application to their humours, purposes, and designs. His fortune, his interest, nay his person, was wholly their’s; and he was ready to shew his attachment to them by every service, and, if occasion required it, by every crime. He had the most perfect dexterity in moulding his own nature, and shaping it into all forms. The men of austere morals he could gain to himself, by a well-dissembled severity; the more free and libertine sort, by an unrestrained gaiety. He could equally adapt himself to the vivacity of youth, and to the gravity of old age: with men of bold spirits and factious designs, he was prompt, enterprizing, audacious; with the men of pleasure, he could be licentious, luxurious, dissolute.”

What think ye, now, of this character? With so various and pliable a disposition, could he fail of being popular? And with so total a want of principle, can we doubt of his being abandoned? He was, in truth, both the one and the other. He was the favourite[146], and the pest of his country: in a word, this man was, CATILINE.

But let us turn our thoughts from such a prodigy, and conclude only from the instance here given, that a character may be much applauded and very worthless; and that, to be _well spoken of by all_, in a certain extent of those words, one must be, if not a Catiline, yet an unquestionably vicious and corrupt man.

I have now gone through the several topics, I proposed to illustrate in this discourse.

My more _immediate_ design was, to explain and justify the text; to shew that it spake not without reason when it spake, perhaps, somewhat differently from our expectations; and that our divine master had abundant cause to pronounce a _woe_ on those, of whom the world is so ready to speak well.

But in doing this, I persuade myself, I have done more; and, in shewing the reasons of this _woe_, have said enough to repress and mortify that lust of general praise, which is so fatal to our virtue, as well as happiness. For what can be more likely to restrain men from this folly, than to let them see, that the prize, they so ambitiously contend for, would be a misfortune to them, if it could be obtained; since a very general praise is rarely conferred, at best, but upon a feeble imperfect state of virtue; is, frequently, the reward of positive ill-desert; and is, sometimes, the pay, that men receive for the greatest _crimes_.

These considerations shew the only true praise to be that which a well informed mind gives to itself. This praise is pure and unmixed; is only bestowed on real merit; and is nicely proportioned to the several degrees of it. It is the earnest too of every other praise, which ought to be precious to us. For, when conscience approves, good men and angels are ready to applaud: nay, when _a man’s heart condemns him not, then has he confidence towards God_[147].

To conclude: it is in this contention of human life, as in those games of which the ancient world was so fond: the success consists not in the acclamations of the attending multitude, but in the crown which the victor receives at the hands of the appointed judge. If he obtains that great prize, it is of little moment whether the rest follow or not. The applause of the by-standers may add to the noise and pageantry of the day; but the triumph is sincere and complete without it.

As then it would be arrogance and inhumanity to reject universally the good opinion of the world, so it would be folly, or something worse, to dote upon it. If it may be honestly obtained, it is well: if not, let the friend of virtue; above all, let the follower of Jesus, console himself, under the loss of it, with this reflection, “That it is no certain argument of true honour and true happiness, nay, that it is a presumption to the contrary, to be found in the class of those, _of whom all men speak well_.”

SERMON XXII.

PREACHED FEBRUARY 6, 1774.

St. JOHN viii. 9.

_Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn thee; Go, and sin no more._

Every one understands the occasion of these words: _The absolution of the woman taken in adultery_, says an ancient writer, _has been always famous in the church_[148]: Indeed _so_ famous, that some, who know but little of the other parts of the Gospel history, pretend to be well acquainted with this; from which they draw conclusions so favourable to their own loose practices, that others of stricter morals have been disposed to question its authenticity, and to expunge this obnoxious passage from the sacred books.

The attempt, indeed, has not succeeded. The obnoxious passage is unquestionably authentic. But what then shall we say to the narrative itself? How are we to expound it consistently with the known character of Jesus? and how are we to obviate the ill consequences which seem so naturally to flow from it?

These questions will be answered by considering attentively the nature and circumstances of the case: from which it will appear, that this decision of our Lord is founded on the highest wisdom; and, when seen in its true light, affords no countenance to the licentious glosses of one party, and needs give no alarm to the scrupulous fears and apprehensions of another.

The fact is related by the sacred historian in these words: “The Scribes and Pharisees brought to him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, they say to him, Master, this woman was taken in adultery in the very act. Now, Moses in the law commanded, that such should be stoned; but what sayest thou?”

Thus far we see there was no difficulty. A crime had been committed, and might be proved; and their law had appointed the punishment. Why then do the Scribes and Pharisees apply to Jesus, for his judgment in the case? The text tells us; for it follows immediately—“This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him.” They came to him then, not for any information about the nature of the crime, or of the punishment due to it; the crime had been distinctly specified in their law (the authority of which Jesus admitted, as well as they) and the sort of punishment had been distinctly specified, too: But they came with the insidious design of _tempting him_; that is, of drawing some answer from him, which might give them an occasion to accuse him, either to the people, or to the rulers of the Jewish state.

In what then did their temptation consist? Or, what crime was it, of which, by thus tempting him, they supposed they _might have to accuse him_ to the Jews? The answer to this question will lead us into a proper view of our Lord’s conduct on this occasion, and will enable us to form a right judgment of the manner in which he disappointed the malice of his insidious tempters.

We find in the preceding chapter of St. John’s Gospel, that _the Jews sought to kill him_, ver. 1.; and that, being alarmed at the progress of his doctrine among the people, _the Pharisees and chief priests had even sent their officers to take him by force_, ver. 32. But this project failing in the execution, by the growing favour of the people towards him, and by the strange impression which the doctrine of Jesus had made on those officers themselves, they found it expedient to try other and more indirect methods.

For this purpose, having taken a woman in adultery, they supposed they had now obtained a certain method of accomplishing their designs against him. They therefore bring her to him, and say, _Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now, Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?_

They concluded, that his answer to this question must be such as would give them a sure hold of him. For either it would be, that the law of Moses was too severe; and then, they doubted not but he would fall a sacrifice to the zeal of the people themselves, from whose favour to him they had now the most dreadful apprehensions: or, if he justified this law of Moses, and encouraged the execution of it (and this conduct they had most reason to expect, from the known strictness of his life and doctrine, and from his professed reverence for the law), in that case, they would _have to accuse him_ to the Jewish rulers, as taking to himself a civil and judicial character; or, rather to their Roman masters, as presuming to condemn to death an offender by his own proper authority; whereas _it was not lawful_ for the Sanhedrim itself, but by express leave of the Roman governour, _to put any man to death_[149].

In short, either the people themselves would kill him on the spot, as a disparager and blasphemer of the law; or, he would be convicted of that capital crime, which their rulers wanted to fasten upon him, of making himself _a king_, and so incur the punishment of rebellion to the state.

Such being the profound artifice, as well as malice, of this _plot_, the situation of our Lord was very critical; and nothing but that divine wisdom, by which he spake, and which attended him in all conjunctures, could deliver him from it.

Let us see, then, what that wisdom suggested to him in his present perilous condition.

Instead of replying directly to their ensnaring question, “He stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heared them not.” His enemies, no doubt, considered this affected inattention as a poor subterfuge; or, rather, as an evident proof of his confusion, and inability to avoid the snare they had laid for him; and were ready to exult over him, as their certain prey, now fallen into their hands. They therefore repeat and press upon him their insulting question, urging him with much clamour to give them an immediate reply. “So when they continued asking him, as the historian proceeds, he lift up himself, and said to them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. And, again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.”

The divinity of this answer can never be enough admired. He eluded by it, at once, the two opposite snares they had laid for him: he disconcerted all their hopes and triumphant expectations; and carried, at the same time, by the weight of this remonstrance, and the power which he gave to it, trouble, confusion and dismay into their affrighted consciences. Without speaking a word against the law, or taking to himself an authority which he had never claimed, and which did not belong to him, he turned their _temptation_ on themselves; and instead of falling a victim to it, astonished them with the moral use he had made of it, and sent them away overwhelmed with shame, conviction, and self-contempt. For it follows, “They which heared [this reply] being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even to the last; and Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst.”

This was no time, we see, for declaring his sense of the law of Moses, or giving his assent to the execution of it; which, upon the least signification of his mind, had certainly followed from the people (such was their united zeal for the law, and reverence for his opinion). His present purpose and duty was to preserve himself from a captious and malicious question; but in such a manner as might consist with truth and innocence, and even with a tender concern for the moral state and condition of those questioners themselves.

No man will then expect, that, in such circumstances, he should expatiate, to the by-standers, on the heinous crime of adultery, objected to this unhappy woman: a point, concerning which they deserved not, from any virtuous indignation they had conceived against it, which they wanted not, from any ignorance they were under of its general nature, to be further satisfied or informed. They deserved, and they wanted to be made sensible of their own guilt and wickedness; and of this they derived from Jesus the fullest conviction. This was the sole purport of our Lord’s reply to them: any other had been unseasonable and improper; and therefore no man will now be surprized to find the issue of this remarkable conference in the mild dismission which he gives to the unhappy person, who had furnished the occasion of it.

“When Jesus had lift up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said to her, Woman, where are those thine accusers? Hath no man condemned thee? She said, No man, Lord: Jesus said to her, Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more.”

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

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

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

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

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

SERMON XXIII.

PREACHED MARCH 1, 1772.

St. MATTHEW, xi. 29.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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