{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_9057/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_9057","id":"gutenberg_9057","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9057","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Sermons, English -- 19th century"],"text":"Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Charlie Kirschner and\nDistributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                          [Greek: Epea Aptera]\n\n                            UNSPOKEN SERMONS\n\n\n                                   BY\n                            GEORGE MACDONALD\n\n\n                           SERIES I, II, III\n                             IN ONE VOLUME\n\n\n                    Comfort ye, comfort ye my people\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\nUNSPOKEN SERMONS SERIES ONE\n\nTHE CHILD IN THE MIDST\nTHE CONSUMING FIRE\nTHE HIGHER FAITH\nIT SHALL NOT BE FORGIVEN\nTHE NEW NAME\nTHE HEART WITH THE TREASURE\nTHE TEMPTATION IN THE WILDERNESS\nTHE ELOI\nTHE HANDS OF THE FATHER\nLOVE THY NEIGHBOUR\nLOVE THINE ENEMY\nTHE GOD OF THE LIVING\n\n\nUNSPOKEN SERMONS SERIES TWO\n\nTHE WAY\nTHE HARDNESS OF THE WAY\nTHE CAUSE OF SPIRITUAL STUPIDITY\nTHE WORD OF JESUS ON PRAYER\nMAN'S DIFFICULTY CONCERNING PRAYER\nTHE LAST FARTHING\nABBA, FATHER!\nLIFE\nTHE FEAR OF GOD\nTHE VOICE OF JOB\nSELF-DENIAL\nTHE TRUTH IN JESUS\n\n\nUNSPOKEN SERMONS SERIES THREE\n\nTHE CREATION IN CHRIST\nTHE KNOWING OF THE SON\nTHE MIRRORS OF THE LORD\nTHE TRUTH\nFREEDOM\nKINGSHIP\nJUSTICE\nLIGHT\nTHE DISPLEASURE OF JESUS\nRIGHTEOUSNESS\nTHE FINAL UNMASKING\nTHE INHERITANCE\n\n\n\n\nUNSPOKEN SERMONS FIRST SERIES\n\n\n_These Ears of Corn.\n gathered and rubbed in my hands\n upon broken Sabbaths,\n I offer first to my Wife,\n and then to my other Friends._\n\n\n\n\n                         THE CHILD IN THE MIDST.\n\n\n_And he came to Capernaum: and, being in the house, he asked them, What\nwas it that ye disputed among yourselves by the way? But they held\ntheir peace: for by the way they had disputed among themselves who\nshould be the greatest. And he sat down, and called the twelve, and\nsaith unto them, If any man desire to be first, the same shall be last\nof all, and servant of all. And he took a child, and set him in the\nmidst of them: and when he had taken him in his arms, he said unto\nthem, Whosoever shall receive one of such children in my name,\nreceiveth me; and whosoever shall receive me, receiveth not me, but him\nthat sent me._----MARK ix. 33-37.\n\nOf this passage in the life of our Lord, the account given by St Mark\nis the more complete. But it may be enriched and its lesson rendered\nyet more evident from the record of St Matthew.\n\n\"Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little\nchildren, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever\nshall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the\nkingdom of heaven. And whoso shall receive one such little child in my\nname receiveth me. But whoso shall offend one of these little ones that\nbelieve in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged\nabout his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.\"\n\nThese passages record a lesson our Lord gave his disciples against\nambition, against emulation. It is not for the sake of setting forth\nthis lesson that I write about these words of our Lord, but for the\nsake of a truth, a revelation about God, in which his great argument\nreaches its height.\n\nHe took a little child--possibly a child of Peter; for St Mark says\nthat the incident fell at Capernaum, and \"in the house,\"--a child\ntherefore with some of the characteristics of Peter, whose very faults\nwere those of a childish nature. We might expect the child of such a\nfather to possess the childlike countenance and bearing essential to\nthe conveyance of the lesson which I now desire to set forth as\ncontained in the passage.\n\nFor it must be confessed that there are children who are not childlike.\nOne of the saddest and not least common sights in the world is the face\nof a child whose mind is so brimful of worldly wisdom that the human\nchildishness has vanished from it, as well as the divine childlikeness.\nFor the _childlike_ is the divine, and the very word \"marshals me the\nway that I was going.\" But I must delay my ascent to the final argument\nin order to remove a possible difficulty, which, in turning us towards\none of the grandest truths, turns us away from the truth which the Lord\nhad in view here.\n\nThe difficulty is this: Is it like the _Son of man_ to pick out the\nbeautiful child, and leave the common child unnoticed? What thank would\nhe have in that? Do not even the publicans as much as that? And do not\nour hearts revolt against the thought of it? Shall the mother's heart\ncleave closest to the deformed of her little ones? and shall \"Christ as\nwe believe him\" choose according to the sight of the eye? Would he turn\naway from the child born in sin and taught iniquity, on whose pinched\nface hunger and courage and love of praise have combined to stamp the\ncunning of avaricious age, and take to his arms the child of honest\nparents, such as Peter and his wife, who could not help looking more\ngood than the other? That were not he who came to seek and to save that\nwhich was lost. Let the man who loves his brother say which, in his\nhighest moments of love to God, which, when he is nearest to that ideal\nhumanity whereby _a man_ shall be a hiding-place from the wind, he\nwould clasp to his bosom of refuge. Would it not be the evil-faced\nchild, because he needed it most? Yes; in God's name, yes. For is not\nthat the divine way? Who that has read of the lost sheep, or the found\nprodigal, even if he had no spirit bearing witness with his spirit,\nwill dare to say that it is not the divine way? Often, no doubt, it\nwill _appear_ otherwise, for the childlike child is easier to save than\nthe other, and may _come_ first. But the rejoicing in heaven is\ngreatest over the sheep that has wandered the farthest--perhaps was\nborn on the wild hill-side, and not in the fold at all. For such a\nprodigal, the elder brother in heaven prays thus--\"Lord, think about my\npoor brother more than about me, for I know thee, and am at rest in\nthee. I am with thee always.\"\n\nWhy, then, do I think it necessary to say that this child was probably\nPeter's child, and certainly a child that looked childlike because it\nwas childlike? No amount of evil can _be_ the child. No amount of evil,\nnot to say in the face, but in the habits, or even in the heart of the\nchild, can make it cease to be a child, can annihilate the divine idea\nof childhood which moved in the heart of God when he made that child\nafter his own image. It is the essential of which God speaks, the real\nby which he judges, the undying of which he is the God.\n\nHeartily I grant this. And if the object of our Lord in taking the\nchild in his arms had been to teach love to our neighbour, love to\nhumanity, the ugliest child he could have found, would, perhaps, have\nserved his purpose best. The man who receives any, and more plainly he\nwho receives the repulsive child, because he is the offspring of God,\nbecause he is his own brother born, must receive the Father in thus\nreceiving the child. Whosoever gives a cup of cold water to a little\none, refreshes the heart of the Father. To do as God does, is to\nreceive God; to do a service to one of his children is to receive the\nFather. Hence, any human being, especially if wretched and woe-begone\nand outcast, would do as well as a child for the purpose of setting\nforth this love of God to the human being. Therefore something more is\nprobably intended here. The lesson will be found to lie not in the\n_humanity_, but in the _childhood_ of the child.\n\nAgain, if the disciples could have seen that the essential childhood\nwas meant, and not a blurred and half-obliterated childhood, the most\nselfish child might have done as well, but could have done no better\nthan the one we have supposed in whom the true childhood is more\nevident. But when the child was employed as a manifestation, utterance,\nand sign of the truth that lay in his childhood, in order that the eyes\nas well as the ears should be channels to the heart, it was essential--\nnot that the child should be beautiful but--that the child should be\nchildlike; that those qualities which wake in our hearts, at sight, the\nlove peculiarly belonging to childhood, which is, indeed, but the\nperception of the childhood, should at least glimmer out upon the face\nof the _chosen type_. Would such an unchildlike child as we see\nsometimes, now in a great house, clothed in purple and lace, now in a\nsqualid close, clothed in dirt and rags, have been fit for our Lord's\npurpose, when he had to say that his listeners must become like this\nchild? when the lesson he had to present to them was that of the divine\nnature of the child, that of childlikeness? Would there not have been a\ncontrast between the child and our Lord's words, ludicrous except for\nits horror, especially seeing he set forth the individuality of the\nchild by saying, \"this little child,\" \"one of such children,\" and\n\"these little ones that believe in me?\" Even the feelings of pity and\nof love that would arise in a good heart upon further contemplation of\nsuch a child, would have turned it quite away from the lesson our Lord\nintended to give.\n\nThat this lesson did lie, not in the humanity, but in the childhood of\nthe child, let me now show more fully. The disciples had been disputing\nwho should be the greatest, and the Lord wanted to show them that such\na dispute had nothing whatever to do with the way things went in his\nkingdom. Therefore, as a specimen of his subjects, he took a child and\nset him before them. It was not, it could not be, in virtue of his\nhumanity, it was in virtue of his childhood that this child was thus\npresented as representing a subject of the kingdom. It was not to show\nthe scope but the nature of the kingdom. He told them they could not\nenter into the kingdom save by becoming little children--by humbling\nthemselves. For the idea of ruling was excluded where childlikeness was\nthe one essential quality. It was to be no more who should rule, but\nwho should serve; no more who should look down upon his fellows from\nthe conquered heights of authority--even of sacred authority, but who\nshould look up honouring humanity, and ministering unto it, so that\nhumanity itself might at length be persuaded of its own honour as a\ntemple of the living God. It was to impress this lesson upon them that\nhe showed them the child. Therefore, I repeat, the lesson lay in the\n_childhood_ of the child.\n\nBut I now approach my especial object; for this lesson led to the\nenunciation of a yet higher truth, upon which it was founded, and from\nwhich indeed it sprung. Nothing is required of man that is not first in\nGod. It is because God is perfect that we are required to be perfect.\nAnd it is for the revelation of God to all the human souls, that they\nmay be saved by knowing him, and so becoming like him, that this child\nis thus chosen and set before them in the gospel. He who, in giving the\ncup of water or the embrace, comes into contact with the essential\nchildhood of the child--that is, embraces the _childish_ humanity of\nit, (not he who embraces it out of love to humanity, or even love to\nGod as the Father of it)--is partaker of the meaning, that is, the\nblessing, of this passage. It is the recognition of the childhood as\ndivine that will show the disciple how vain the strife after relative\nplace or honour in the great kingdom.\n\nFor it is _In my name_. This means _as representing me_; and,\ntherefore, _as being like me_. Our Lord could not commission any one to\nbe received in his name who could not more or less represent him; for\nthere would be untruth and unreason. Moreover, he had just been telling\nthe disciples that they must become like this child; and now, when he\ntells them to receive _such_ a little child in his name, it must surely\nimply something in common between them all--something in which the\nchild and Jesus meet--something in which the child and the disciples\nmeet. What else can that be than the spiritual childhood? _In my name_\ndoes not mean _because I will it_. An arbitrary utterance of the will\nof our Lord would certainly find ten thousand to obey it, even to\nsuffering, for one that will be able to receive such a vital truth of\nhis character as is contained in the words; but it is not obedience\nalone that our Lord will have, but obedience to the _truth_, that is,\nto the Light of the World, truth beheld and known. _In my name_, if we\ntake all we can find in it, the full meaning which alone will harmonize\nand make the passage a whole, involves a revelation from resemblance,\nfrom fitness to represent and so reveal. He who receives a child, then,\nin the name of Jesus, does so, perceiving wherein Jesus and the child\nare one, what is common to them. He must not only see the _ideal_ child\nin the child he receives--that reality of loveliness which constitutes\ntrue childhood, but must perceive that the child is like Jesus, or\nrather, that the Lord is like the child, and may be embraced, yea, is\nembraced, by every heart childlike enough to embrace a child for the\nsake of his childness. I do not therefore say that none but those who\nare thus conscious in the act partake of the blessing. But a special\nsense, a lofty knowledge of blessedness, belongs to the act of\nembracing a child as the visible likeness of the Lord himself. For the\nblessedness is the perceiving of the truth--the blessing is the truth\nitself--the God-known truth, that the Lord has the heart of a child.\nThe man who perceives this knows in himself that he is blessed--blessed\nbecause that is true.\n\nBut the argument as to the meaning of our Lord's words, _in my name_,\nis incomplete, until we follow our Lord's enunciation to its second and\nhigher stage: \"He that receiveth me, receiveth him that sent me.\" It\nwill be allowed that the connection between the first and second link\nof the chain will probably be the same as the connection between the\nsecond and third. I do not say it is necessarily so; for I aim at no\nlogical certainty. I aim at showing, rather than at proving, to my\nreader, by means of my sequences, the idea to which I am approaching.\nFor if, once he beholds it, he cannot receive it, if it does not shew\nitself to him to be true, there would not only be little use in\nconvincing him by logic, but I allow that he can easily suggest other\npossible connections in the chain, though, I assert, none so\nsymmetrical. What, then, is the connection between the second and\nthird? How is it that he who receives the Son receives the Father?\nBecause the Son is as the Father; and he whose heart can perceive the\nessential in Christ, has the essence of the Father--that is, sees and\nholds to it by that recognition, and is one therewith by recognition\nand worship. What, then, next, is the connection between the first and\nsecond? I think the same. \"He that sees the essential in this child,\nthe pure childhood, sees that which is the essence of me,\" grace and\ntruth--in a word, childlikeness. It follows not that the former is\nperfect as the latter, but it is the same in kind, and therefore,\nmanifest in the child, reveals that which is in Jesus.\n\nThen to receive a child in the name of Jesus is to receive Jesus; to\nreceive Jesus is to receive God; therefore to receive the child is to\nreceive God himself.\n\nThat such is the feeling of the words, and that such was the feeling in\nthe heart of our Lord when he spoke them, I may show from another\ngolden thread that may be traced through the shining web of his golden\nwords.\n\nWhat is the kingdom of Christ? A rule of love, of truth--a rule of\nservice. The king is the chief servant in it. \"The kings of the earth\nhave dominion: it shall not be so among you.\" \"The Son of Man came to\nminister.\" \"My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.\" The great Workman\nis the great King, labouring for his own. So he that would be greatest\namong them, and come nearest to the King himself, must be the servant\nof all. It is _like king like subject_ in the kingdom of heaven. No\nrule of force, as of one kind over another kind. It is the rule of\n_kind_, of _nature_, of deepest nature--of _God_. If, then, to enter\ninto this kingdom, we must become children, the spirit of children must\nbe its pervading spirit throughout, from lowly subject to lowliest\nking. The lesson added by St Luke to the presentation of the child is:\n\"For he that is least among you all, the same shall be great.\" And St\nMatthew says: \"Whosoever shall humble himself as this little child, the\nsame is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.\" Hence the sign that passes\nbetween king and subject. The subject kneels in homage to the kings of\nthe earth: the heavenly king takes his subject in his arms. This is the\nsign of the kingdom between them. This is the all-pervading relation of\nthe kingdom.\n\nTo give one glance backward, then:\n\nTo receive the child because God receives it, or for its humanity, is\none thing; to receive it because it is like God, or for its childhood,\nis another. The former will do little to destroy ambition. Alone it\nmight argue only a wider scope to it, because it admits all men to the\narena of the strife. But the latter strikes at the very root of\nemulation. As soon as even service is done for the honour and not for\nthe service-sake, the doer is that moment outside the kingdom. But when\nwe receive the child in the name of Christ, the very childhood that we\nreceive to our arms is humanity. We love its humanity in its childhood,\nfor childhood is the deepest heart of humanity--its divine heart; and\nso in the name of the child we receive all humanity. Therefore,\nalthough the lesson is not about humanity, but about childhood, it\nreturns upon our race, and we receive our race with wider arms and\ndeeper heart. There is, then, no other lesson lost by receiving this;\nno heartlessness shown in insisting that the child was a lovable--a\nchildlike child.\n\nIf there is in heaven a picture of that wonderful teaching, doubtless\nwe shall see represented in it a dim childhood shining from the faces\nof all that group of disciples of which the centre is the Son of God\nwith a child in his arms. The childhood, dim in the faces of the men,\nmust be shining trustfully clear in the face of the child. But in the\nface of the Lord himself, the childhood will be triumphant--all his\nwisdom, all his truth upholding that radiant serenity of faith in his\nfather. Verily, O Lord, this childhood is life. Verily, O Lord, when\nthy tenderness shall have made the world great, then, children like\nthee, will all men smile in the face of the great God.\n\nBut to advance now to the highest point of this teaching of our Lord:\n\"He that receiveth me receiveth him that sent me.\" To receive a child\nin the name of God is to receive God himself. How to receive him? As\nalone he can be received,--by knowing him as he is. To know him is to\nhave him in us. And that we may know him, let us now receive this\nrevelation of him, in the words of our Lord himself. Here is the\nargument of highest import founded upon the teaching of our master in\nthe utterance before us.\n\nGod is represented in Jesus, for that God is like Jesus: Jesus is\nrepresented in the child, for that Jesus is like the child. Therefore\nGod is represented in the child, for that he is like the child. God is\nchild-like. In the true vision of this fact lies the receiving of God\nin the child.\n\nHaving reached this point, I have nothing more to do with the argument;\nfor if the Lord meant this--that is, if this be a truth, he that is\nable to receive it will receive it: he that hath ears to hear it will\nhear it. For our Lord's arguments are for the presentation of the\ntruth, and the truth carries its own conviction to him who is able to\nreceive it.\n\nBut the word of one who has seen this truth may help the dawn of a like\nperception in those who keep their faces turned towards the east and\nits aurora; for men may have eyes, and, seeing dimly, want to see more.\nTherefore let us brood a little over the idea itself, and see whether\nit will not come forth so as to commend itself to that spirit, which,\none with the human spirit where it dwells, searches the deep things of\nGod. For, although the true heart may at first be shocked at the truth,\nas Peter was shocked when he said, \"That be far from thee, Lord,\" yet\nwill it, after a season, receive it and rejoice in it.\n\nLet me then ask, do you believe in the Incarnation? And if you do, let\nme ask further, Was Jesus ever less divine than God? I answer for you,\nNever. He was lower, but never less divine. Was he not a child then?\nYou answer, \"Yes, but not like other children.\" I ask, \"Did he not look\nlike other children?\" If he looked like them and was not like them, the\nwhole was a deception, a masquerade at best. I say he was a child,\nwhatever more he might be. God is man, and infinitely more. Our Lord\nbecame flesh, but did not _become_ man. He took on him the form of man:\nhe was man already. And he was, is, and ever shall be divinely\nchildlike. He could never have been a child if he would ever have\nceased to be a child, for in him the transient found nothing. Childhood\nbelongs to the divine nature. Obedience, then, is as divine as Will,\nService as divine as Rule. How? Because they are one in their nature;\nthey are both a doing of the truth. The love in them is the same. The\nFatherhood and the Sonship are one, save that the Fatherhood looks down\nlovingly, and the Sonship looks up lovingly. Love is all. And God is\nall in all. He is ever seeking to get down to us--to be the divine man\nto us. And we are ever saying, \"That be far from thee, Lord!\" We are\ncareful, in our unbelief, over the divine dignity, of which he is too\ngrand to think. Better pleasing to God, it needs little daring to say,\nis the audacity of Job, who, rushing into his presence, and flinging\nthe door of his presence-chamber to the wall, like a troubled, it may\nbe angry, but yet faithful child, calls aloud in the ear of him whose\nperfect Fatherhood he has yet to learn: \"Am I a sea or a whale, that\nthou settest a watch over me?\"\n\nLet us dare, then, to climb the height of divine truth to which this\nutterance of our Lord would lead us.\n\nDoes it not lead us up hither: that the devotion of God to his\ncreatures is perfect? that he does not think about himself but about\nthem? that he wants nothing for himself, but finds his blessedness in\nthe outgoing of blessedness.\n\nAh! it is a terrible--shall it be a lonely glory this? We will draw\nnear with our human response, our abandonment of self in the faith of\nJesus. He gives himself to us--shall not we give ourselves to him?\nShall we not give ourselves to each other whom he loves?\n\nFor when is the child the ideal child in our eyes and to our hearts? Is\nit not when with gentle hand he takes his father by the beard, and\nturns that father's face up to his brothers and sisters to kiss? when\neven the lovely selfishness of love-seeking has vanished, and the heart\nis absorbed in loving?\n\nIn this, then, is God like the child: that he is simply and altogether\nour friend, our father--our more than friend, father, and mother--our\ninfinite love-perfect God. Grand and strong beyond all that human\nimagination can conceive of poet-thinking and kingly action, he is\ndelicate beyond all that human tenderness can conceive of husband or\nwife, homely beyond all that human heart can conceive of father or\nmother. He has not two thoughts about us. With him all is simplicity of\npurpose and meaning and effort and end--namely, that we should be as he\nis, think the same thoughts, mean the same things, possess the same\nblessedness. It is so plain that any one may see it, every one ought to\nsee it, every one shall see it. It must be so. He is utterly true and\ngood to us, nor shall anything withstand his will.\n\nHow terribly, then, have the theologians misrepresented God in the\nmeasures of the low and showy, not the lofty and simple humanities!\nNearly all of them represent him as a great King on a grand throne,\nthinking how grand he is, and making it the business of his being and\nthe end of his universe to keep up his glory, wielding the bolts of a\nJupiter against them that take his name in vain. They would not allow\nthis, but follow out what they say, and it comes much to this.\nBrothers, have you found our king? There he is, kissing little children\nand saying they are like God. There he is at table with the head of a\nfisherman lying on his bosom, and somewhat heavy at heart that even he,\nthe beloved disciple, cannot yet understand him well. The simplest\npeasant who loves his children and his sheep were--no, not a truer, for\nthe other is false, but--a true type of our God beside that monstrosity\nof a monarch.\n\nThe God who is ever uttering himself in the changeful profusions of\nnature; who takes millions of years to form a soul that shall\nunderstand him and be blessed; who never needs to be, and never is, in\nhaste; who welcomes the simplest thought of truth or beauty as the\nreturn for seed he has sown upon the old fallows of eternity, who\nrejoices in the response of a faltering moment to the age-long cry of\nhis wisdom in the streets; the God of music, of painting, of building,\nthe Lord of Hosts, the God of mountains and oceans; whose laws go forth\nfrom one unseen point of wisdom, and thither return without an atom of\nloss; the God of history working in time unto christianity; this God is\nthe God of little children, and he alone can be perfectly, abandonedly\nsimple and devoted. The deepest, purest love of a woman has its\nwell-spring in him. Our longing desires can no more exhaust the fulness\nof the treasures of the Godhead, than our imagination can touch their\nmeasure. Of him not a thought, not a joy, not a hope of one of his\ncreatures can pass unseen; and while one of them remains unsatisfied,\nhe is not Lord over all.\n\nTherefore, with angels and with archangels, with the spirits of the\njust made perfect, with the little children of the kingdom, yea, with\nthe Lord himself, and for all them that know him not, we praise and\nmagnify and laud his name in itself, saying _Our Father_. We do not\ndraw back for that we are unworthy, nor even for that we are\nhard-hearted and care not for the good. For it is his childlikeness\nthat makes him our God and Father. The perfection of his relation to us\nswallows up all our imperfections, all our defects, all our evils; for\nour childhood is born of his fatherhood. That man is perfect in faith\nwho can come to God in the utter dearth of his feelings and his\ndesires, without a glow or an aspiration, with the weight of low\nthoughts, failures, neglects, and wandering forgetfulness, and say to\nhim, \"Thou art my refuge, because thou art my home.\"\n\nSuch a faith will not lead to presumption. The man who can pray such a\nprayer will know better than another, that God is not mocked; that he\nis not a man that he should repent; that tears and entreaties will not\nwork on him to the breach of one of his laws; that for God to give a\nman because he asked for it that which was not in harmony with his laws\nof truth and right, would be to damn him--to cast him into the outer\ndarkness. And he knows that out of that prison the childlike,\nimperturbable God will let no man come till he has paid the uttermost\nfarthing.\n\nAnd if he should forget this, the God to whom he belongs does not\nforget it, does not forget him. Life is no series of chances with a few\nprovidences sprinkled between to keep up a justly failing belief, but\none providence of God; and the man shall not live long before life\nitself shall remind him, it may be in agony of soul, of that which he\nhas forgotten. When he prays for comfort, the answer may come in dismay\nand terror and the turning aside of the Father's countenance; for love\nitself will, for love's sake, turn the countenance away from that which\nis not lovely; and he will have to read, written upon the dark wall of\nhis imprisoned conscience, the words, awful and glorious, _Our God is a\nconsuming fire_.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE CONSUMING FIRE.\n\n\n _Our God is a consuming fire_.--HEBREWS xii. 29\n\nNothing is inexorable but love. Love which will yield to prayer is\nimperfect and poor. Nor is it then the love that yields, but its alloy.\nFor if at the voice of entreaty love conquers displeasure, it is love\nasserting itself, not love yielding its claims. It is not love that\ngrants a boon unwillingly; still less is it love that answers a prayer\nto the wrong and hurt of him who prays. Love is one, and love is\nchangeless.\n\nFor love loves unto purity. Love has ever in view the absolute\nloveliness of that which it beholds. Where loveliness is incomplete,\nand love cannot love its fill of loving, it spends itself to make more\nlovely, that it may love more; it strives for perfection, even that\nitself may be perfected--not in itself, but in the object. As it was\nlove that first created humanity, so even human love, in proportion to\nits divinity, will go on creating the beautiful for its own outpouring.\nThere is nothing eternal but that which loves and can be loved, and\nlove is ever climbing towards the consummation when such shall be the\nuniverse, imperishable, divine.\n\nTherefore all that is not beautiful in the beloved, all that comes\nbetween and is not of love's kind, must be destroyed.\n\nAnd our God is a consuming fire.\n\nIf this be hard to understand, it is as the simple, absolute truth is\nhard to understand. It may be centuries of ages before a man comes to\nsee a truth--ages of strife, of effort, of aspiration. But when once he\ndoes see it, it is so plain that he wonders he could have lived without\nseeing it. That he did not understand it sooner was simply and only\nthat he did not see it. To see a truth, to know what it is, to\nunderstand it, and to love it, are all one. There is many a motion\ntowards it, many a misery for want of it, many a cry of the conscience\nagainst the neglect of it, many a dim longing for it as an unknown need\nbefore at length the eyes come awake, and the darkness of the dreamful\nnight yields to the light of the sun of truth. But once beheld it is\nfor ever. To see one divine fact is to stand face to face with\nessential eternal life.\n\nFor this vision of truth God has been working for ages of ages. For\nthis simple condition, this apex of life, upon which a man wonders like\na child that he cannot make other men see as he sees, the whole labour\nof God's science, history, poetry--from the time when the earth\ngathered itself into a lonely drop of fire from the red rim of the\ndriving sun-wheel to the time when Alexander John Scott worshipped him\nfrom its face--was evolving truth upon truth in lovely vision, in\ntorturing law, never lying, never repenting; and for this will the\npatience of God labour while there is yet a human soul whose eyes have\nnot been opened, whose child-heart has not yet been born in him. For\nthis one condition of humanity, this simple beholding, has all the\noutthinking of God flowed in forms innumerable and changeful from the\nfoundation of the world; and for this, too, has the divine destruction\nbeen going forth; that his life might be our life, that in us, too,\nmight dwell that same consuming fire which is essential love.\n\nLet us look at the utterance of the apostle which is crowned with this\nlovely terror: \"Our God is a consuming fire.\"\n\n\"Wherefore, we receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved, let us have\ngrace, whereby we may serve God acceptably with reverence and godly\nfear, for our God is a consuming fire.\"--We have received a kingdom\nthat cannot be moved--whose nature is immovable: let us have grace to\nserve the Consuming Fire, our God, with divine fear; not with the fear\nthat cringes and craves, but with the bowing down of all thoughts, all\ndelights, all loves before him who is the life of them all, and will\nhave them all pure. The kingdom he has given us cannot be moved,\nbecause it has nothing weak in it: it is of the eternal world, the\nworld of being, of truth. We, therefore, must worship him with a fear\npure as the kingdom is unshakeable. He will shake heaven and earth,\nthat only the unshakeable may remain, (_verse_ 27): he is a consuming\nfire, that only that which cannot be consumed may stand forth eternal.\nIt is the nature of God, so terribly pure that it destroys all that is\nnot pure as fire, which demands like purity in our worship. He will\nhave purity. It is not that the fire will burn us if we do not worship\nthus; but that the fire will burn us until we worship thus; yea, will\ngo on burning within us after all that is foreign to it has yielded to\nits force, no longer with pain and consuming, but as the highest\nconsciousness of life, the presence of God. When evil, which alone is\nconsumable, shall have passed away in his fire from the dwellers in the\nimmovable kingdom, the nature of man shall look the nature of God in\nthe face, and his fear shall then be pure; for an eternal, that is a\nholy fear, must spring from a knowledge of the nature, not from a sense\nof the power. But that which cannot be consumed must be one within\nitself, a simple existence; therefore in such a soul the fear towards\nGod will be one with the homeliest love. Yea, the fear of God will\ncause a man to flee, not from him, but from himself; not from him, but\nto him, the Father of himself, in terror lest he should do Him wrong or\nhis neighbour wrong. And the first words which follow for the setting\nforth of that grace whereby we may serve God acceptably are these--\"Let\nbrotherly love continue.\" To love our brother is to worship the\nConsuming Fire.\n\nThe symbol of _the consuming fire_ would seem to have been suggested to\nthe writer by the fire that burned on the mountain of the old law. That\nfire was part of the revelation of God there made to the Israelites.\nNor was it the first instance of such a revelation. The symbol of God's\npresence, before which Moses had to put off his shoes, and to which it\nwas not safe for him to draw near, was a fire that _did not consume the\nbush in which it burned_. Both revelations were of terror. But the same\nsymbol employed by a writer of the New Testament should mean more, not\nthan it meant before, but than it was before employed to express; for\nit could not have been employed to express more than it was possible\nfor them to perceive. What else than terror could a nation of slaves,\ninto whose very souls the rust of their chains had eaten, in whose\nmemory lingered the smoke of the flesh-pots of Egypt, who, rather than\nnot eat of the food they liked best, would have gone back to the house\nof their bondage--what else could such a nation see in that fire than\nterror and destruction? How should they think of purification by fire?\nThey had yet no such condition of mind as could generate such a\nthought. And if they had had the thought, the notion of the suffering\ninvolved would soon have overwhelmed the notion of purification. Nor\nwould such a nation have listened to any teaching that was not\nsupported by terror. Fear was that for which they were fit. They had no\nworship for any being of whom they had not to be afraid.\n\nWas then this show upon Mount Sinai a device to move obedience, such as\nbad nurses employ with children? a hint of vague and false horror? Was\nit not a true revelation of God?\n\nIf it was not a true revelation, it was none at all, and the story is\neither false, or the whole display was a political trick of Moses.\nThose who can read the mind of Moses will not easily believe the\nlatter, and those who understand the scope of the pretended revelation,\nwill see no reason for supposing the former. That which would be\npolitic, were it a deception, is not therefore excluded from the\npossibility of another source. Some people believe so little in a\ncosmos or ordered world, that the very argument of fitness is a reason\nfor unbelief.\n\nAt all events, if God showed them these things, God showed them what\nwas true. It was a revelation of himself. He will not put on a mask. He\nputs on a face. He will not speak out of flaming fire if that flaming\nfire is alien to him, if there is nothing in him for that flaming fire\nto reveal. Be his children ever so brutish, he will not terrify them\nwith a lie.\n\nIt was a revelation, but a partial one; a true symbol, not a final\nvision.\n\nNo revelation can be other than partial. If for true revelation a man\nmust be told all the truth, then farewell to revelation; yea, farewell\nto the sonship. For what revelation, other than a partial, can the\nhighest spiritual condition receive of the infinite God? But it is not\ntherefore untrue because it is partial. Relatively to a lower condition\nof the receiver, a more partial revelation might be truer than that\nwould be which constituted a fuller revelation to one in a higher\ncondition; for the former might reveal much to him, the latter might\nreveal nothing. Only, whatever it might reveal, if its nature were such\nas to preclude development and growth, thus chaining the man to its\nincompleteness, it would be but a false revelation fighting against all\nthe divine laws of human existence. The true revelation rouses the\ndesire to know more by the truth of its incompleteness.\n\nHere was a nation at its lowest: could it receive anything but a\npartial revelation, a revelation of fear? How should the Hebrews be\nother than terrified at that which was opposed to all they knew of\nthemselves, beings judging it good to honour a golden calf? Such as\nthey were, they did well to be afraid. They were in a better condition,\nacknowledging if only a terror _above_ them, flaming on that unknown\nmountain height, than stooping to worship the idol below them. Fear is\nnobler than sensuality. Fear is better than no God, better than a god\nmade with hands. In that fear lay deep hidden the sense of the\ninfinite. The worship of fear is true, although very low; and though\nnot acceptable to God in itself, for only the worship of spirit and of\ntruth is acceptable to him, yet even in his sight it is precious. For\nhe regards men not as they are merely, but as they shall be; not as\nthey shall be merely, but as they are now growing, or capable of\ngrowing, towards that image after which he made them that they might\ngrow to it. Therefore a thousand stages, each in itself all but\nvalueless, are of inestimable worth as the necessary and connected\ngradations of an infinite progress. A condition which of declension\nwould indicate a devil, may of growth indicate a saint. So far then the\nrevelation, not being final any more than complete, and calling forth\nthe best of which they were now capable, so making future and higher\nrevelation possible, may have been a true one.\n\nBut we shall find that this very revelation of fire is itself, in a\nhigher sense, true to the mind of the rejoicing saint as to the mind of\nthe trembling sinner. For the former sees farther into the meaning of\nthe fire, and knows better what it will do to him. It is a symbol which\nneeded not to be superseded, only unfolded. While men take part _with_\ntheir sins, while they feel as if, separated from their sins, they\nwould be no longer themselves, how can they understand that the\nlightning word is a Saviour--that word which pierces to the dividing\nbetween the man and the evil, which will slay the sin and give life to\nthe sinner? Can it be any comfort to them to be told that God loves\nthem so that he will burn them clean. Can the cleansing of the fire\nappear to them anything beyond what it must always, more or less, be--a\nprocess of torture? They do not want to be clean, and they cannot bear\nto be tortured. Can they then do other, or can we desire that they\nshould do other, than fear God, even with the fear of the wicked, until\nthey learn to love him with the love of the holy. To them Mount Sinai\nis crowned with the signs of vengeance. And is not God ready to do unto\nthem even as they fear, though with another feeling and a different end\nfrom any which they are capable of supposing? He is against sin: in so\nfar as, and while, they and sin are one, he is against them--against\ntheir desires, their aims, their fears, and their hopes; and thus he is\naltogether and always _for them_. That thunder and lightning and\ntempest, that blackness torn with the sound of a trumpet, that visible\nhorror billowed with the voice of words, was all but a faint image to\nthe senses of the slaves of what God thinks and feels against vileness\nand selfishness, of the unrest of unassuageable repulsion with which he\nregards such conditions; that so the stupid people, fearing somewhat to\ndo as they would, might leave a little room for that grace to grow in\nthem, which would at length make them see that evil, and not fire, is\nthe fearful thing; yea, so transform them that they would gladly rush\nup into the trumpet-blast of Sinai to escape the flutes around the\ngolden calf. Could they have understood this, they would have needed no\nMount Sinai. It was a true, and of necessity a partial revelation--\npartial in order to be true.\n\nEven Moses, the man of God, was not ready to receive the revelation in\nstore; not ready, although from love to his people he prayed that God\nwould even blot him out of his book of life. If this means that he\noffered to give himself as a sacrifice _instead_ of them, it would show\nreason enough why he could not be glorified with the vision of the\nRedeemer. For so he would think to appease God, not seeing that God was\nas tender as himself, not seeing that God is the Reconciler, the\nRedeemer, not seeing that the sacrifice of the heart is the atonement\nfor which alone he cares. He would be blotted out, that their names\nmight be kept in. Certainly when God told him that he that had sinned\nshould suffer for it, Moses could not see that this was the kindest\nthing that God could do. But I doubt if that was what Moses meant. It\nseems rather the utterance of a divine despair:--he would not survive\nthe children of his people. He did not care for a love that would save\nhim alone, and send to the dust those thousands of calf-worshipping\nbrothers and sisters. But in either case, how much could Moses have\nunderstood, if he had seen the face instead of the back of that form\nthat passed the clift of the rock amidst the thunderous vapours of\nSinai? Had that form turned and that face looked upon him, the face of\nhim who was more man than any man; the face through which the divine\nemotion would, in the ages to come, manifest itself to the eyes of men,\nbowed, it might well be, at such a moment, in anticipation of the crown\nwith which the children of the people for whom Moses pleaded with his\nlife, would one day crown him; the face of him who was bearing and was\nyet to bear their griefs and carry their sorrows, who is now bearing\nour griefs and carrying our sorrows; the face of the Son of God, who,\ninstead of accepting the sacrifice of one of his creatures to satisfy\nhis justice or support his dignity, gave himself utterly unto them, and\ntherein to the Father by doing his lovely will; who suffered unto the\ndeath, not that men might not suffer, but that their suffering might be\nlike his, and lead them up to his perfection; if that face, I say, had\nturned and looked upon Moses, would Moses have lived? Would he not have\ndied, not of splendour, not of sorrow, (terror was not there,) but of\nthe actual sight of the incomprehensible? If infinite mystery had not\nslain him, would he not have gone about dazed, doing nothing, having no\nmore any business that he could do in the world, seeing God was to him\naltogether unknown? For thus a full revelation would not only be no\nrevelation, but the destruction of all revelation.\n\n\"May it not then hurt to say that God is Love, all love, and nothing\nother than love? It is not enough to answer that such is the truth,\neven granted that it is. Upon your own showing, too much revelation may\nhurt by dazzling and blinding.\"\n\nThere is a great difference between a mystery of God that no man\nunderstands, and a mystery of God laid hold of, let it be but by one\nsingle man. The latter is already a revelation; and, passing through\nthat man's mind, will be so presented, it may be so _feebly_ presented,\nthat it will not hurt his fellows. Let God conceal as he will:\n(although I believe he is ever destroying concealment, ever giving all\nthat he can, all that men can receive at his hands, that he does not\nwant to conceal anything, but to reveal everything,) the light which\nany man has received is not to be put under a bushel; it is for him and\nhis fellows. In sowing the seed he will not withhold his hand because\nthere are thorns and stony places and waysides. He will think that in\nsome cases even a bird of the air may carry the matter, that the good\nseed may be too much for the thorns, that that which withers away upon\nthe stony place may yet leave there, by its own decay, a deeper soil\nfor the next seed to root itself in. Besides, they only can receive the\ndoctrine who have ears to hear. If the selfish man could believe it, he\nwould misinterpret it; but he cannot believe it. It is not possible\nthat he should. But the loving soul, oppressed by wrong teaching, or\npartial truth claiming to be the whole, will hear, understand, rejoice.\n\nFor, when we say that God is Love, do we teach men that their fear of\nhim is groundless? No. As much as they fear will come upon them,\npossibly far more. But there is something beyond their fear,--a divine\nfate which they cannot withstand, because it works along with the human\nindividuality which the divine individuality has created in them. The\nwrath will consume what they _call_ themselves; so that the selves God\nmade shall appear, coming out with tenfold consciousness of being, and\nbringing with them all that made the blessedness of the life the men\ntried to lead without God. They will know that now first are they fully\nthemselves. The avaricious, weary, selfish, suspicious old man shall\nhave passed away. The young, ever young self, will remain. That which\nthey _thought_ themselves shall have vanished: that which they _felt_\nthemselves, though they misjudged their own feelings, shall remain--\nremain glorified in repentant hope. For that which cannot be shaken\nshall remain. That which is immortal in God shall remain in man. The\ndeath that is in them shall be consumed.\n\nIt is the law of Nature--that is, the law of God--that all that is\ndestructible shall be destroyed. When that which is immortal buries\nitself in the destructible--when it receives all the messages from\nwithout, through the surrounding region of decadence, and none from\nwithin, from the eternal doors--it cannot, though immortal still, know\nits own immortality. The destructible must be burned out of it, or\nbegin to be burned out of it, before it can _partake_ of eternal life.\nWhen that is all burnt away and gone, then it has eternal life. Or\nrather, when the fire of eternal life has possessed a man, then the\ndestructible is gone utterly, and he is pure. Many a man's work must be\nburned, that by that very burning he may be saved--\"so as by fire.\"\nAway in smoke go the lordships, the Rabbi-hoods of the world, and the\nman who acquiesces in the burning is saved by the fire; for it has\ndestroyed the destructible, which is the vantage point of the deathly,\nwhich would destroy both body and soul in hell. If still he cling to\nthat which can be burned, the burning goes on deeper and deeper into\nhis bosom, till it reaches the roots of the falsehood that enslaves\nhim--possibly by looking like the truth.\n\nThe man who loves God, and is not yet pure, courts the burning of God.\nNor is it always torture. The fire shows itself sometimes only as\nlight--still it will be fire of purifying. The consuming fire is just\nthe original, the active form of Purity,--that which makes pure, that\nwhich is indeed Love, the creative energy of God. Without purity there\ncan be as no creation so no persistence. That which is not pure is\ncorruptible, and corruption cannot inherit incorruption.\n\nThe man whose deeds are evil, fears the burning. But the burning will\nnot come the less that he fears it or denies it. Escape is hopeless.\nFor Love is inexorable. Our God is a consuming fire. He shall not come\nout till he has paid the uttermost farthing.\n\nIf the man resists the burning of God, the consuming fire of Love, a\nterrible doom awaits him, and its day will come. He shall be cast into\nthe outer darkness who hates the fire of God. What sick dismay shall\nthen seize upon him! For let a man think and care ever so little about\nGod, he does not therefore exist without God. God is here with him,\nupholding, warming, delighting, teaching him--making life a good thing\nto him. God gives him himself, though he knows it not. But when God\nwithdraws from a man as far as that can be without the man's ceasing to\nbe; when the man feels himself abandoned, hanging in a ceaseless\nvertigo of existence upon the verge of the gulf of his being, without\nsupport, without refuge, without aim, without end--for the soul has no\nweapons wherewith to destroy herself--with no inbreathing of joy, with\nnothing to make life good;--then will he listen in agony for the\nfaintest sound of life from the closed door; then, if the moan of\nsuffering humanity ever reaches the ear of the outcast of darkness, he\nwill be ready to rush into the very heart of the Consuming Fire to know\nlife once more, to change this terror of sick negation, of unspeakable\ndeath, for that region of painful hope. Imagination cannot mislead us\ninto too much horror of being without God--that one living death. Is\nnot this\n\n                 to be worse than worst\n           Of those that lawless and incertain thoughts\n           Imagine howling?\n\n\nBut with this divine difference: that the outer darkness is but the\nmost dreadful form of the consuming fire--the fire without light--the\ndarkness visible, the black flame. God hath withdrawn himself, but not\nlost his hold. His face is turned away, but his hand is laid upon him\nstill. His heart has ceased to beat into the man's heart, but he keeps\nhim alive by his fire. And that fire will go searching and burning on\nin him, as in the highest saint who is not yet pure as he is pure.\n\nBut at length, O God, wilt thou not cast Death and Hell into the lake\nof Fire--even into thine own consuming self? Death shall then die\neverlastingly,\n\n          And Hell itself will pass away,\n           And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.\n\n\nThen indeed wilt thou be all in all. For then our poor brothers and\nsisters, every one--O God, we trust in thee, the Consuming Fire--shall\nhave been burnt clean and brought home. For if their moans, myriads of\nages away, would turn heaven for us into hell--shall a man be more\nmerciful than God? Shall, of all his glories, his mercy alone not be\ninfinite? Shall a brother love a brother more than The Father loves a\nson?--more than The Brother Christ loves his brother? Would he not die\nyet again to save one brother more?\n\nAs for us, now will we come to thee, our Consuming Fire. And thou wilt\nnot burn us more than we can bear. But thou wilt burn us. And although\nthou seem to slay us, yet will we trust in thee even for that which\nthou hast not spoken, if by any means at length we may attain unto the\nblessedness of those _who have not seen and yet have believed_.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE HIGHER FAITH.\n\n\n_Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou\nhast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have\nbelieved._--JOHN xx. 29.\n\nThe aspiring child is often checked by the dull disciple who has\nlearned his lessons so imperfectly that he has never got beyond his\nschool-books. Full of fragmentary rules, he has perceived the principle\nof none of them. The child draws near to him with some outburst of\nunusual feeling, some scintillation of a lively hope, some\nwide-reaching imagination that draws into the circle of religious\ntheory the world of nature, and the yet wider world of humanity, for to\nthe child the doings of the Father fill the spaces; he has not yet\nlearned to divide between God and nature, between Providence and grace,\nbetween love and benevolence;--the child comes, I say, with his heart\nfull, and the answer he receives from the dull disciple is--\"God has\nsaid nothing about that in his word, therefore we have no right to\nbelieve anything about it. It is better not to speculate on such\nmatters. However desirable it may seem to us, we have nothing to do\nwith it. It is not revealed.\" For such a man is incapable of\nsuspecting, that what has remained hidden from him may have been\nrevealed to the babe. With the authority, therefore, of years and\nignorance, he forbids the child, for he believes in no revelation but\nthe Bible, and in the word of that alone. For him all revelation has\nceased with and been buried in the Bible, to be with difficulty\nexhumed, and, with much questioning of the decayed form, re-united into\na rigid skeleton of metaphysical and legal contrivance for letting the\nlove of God have its way unchecked by the other perfections of his\nbeing.\n\nBut to the man who would live throughout the whole divine form of his\nbeing, not confining himself to one broken corner of his kingdom, and\nleaving the rest to the demons that haunt such deserts, a thousand\nquestions will arise to which the Bible does not even allude. Has he\nindeed nothing to do with such? Do they lie beyond the sphere of his\nresponsibility? \"Leave them,\" says the dull disciple. \"I cannot,\"\nreturns the man. \"Not only does that degree of peace of mind without\nwhich action is impossible, depend upon the answers to these questions,\nbut my conduct itself must correspond to these answers.\" \"Leave them at\nleast till God chooses to explain, if he ever will.\" \"No. Questions\nimply answers. He has put the questions in my heart; he holds the\nanswers in his. I will seek them from him. I will wait, but not till I\nhave knocked. I will be patient, but not till I have asked. I will seek\nuntil I find. He has something for me. My prayer shall go up unto the\nGod of my life.\"\n\nSad, indeed, would the whole matter be, if the Bible had told us\n_everything_ God meant us to believe. But herein is the Bible itself\ngreatly wronged. It nowhere lays claim to be regarded as _the_ Word,\n_the_ Way, _the_ Truth. The Bible leads us to Jesus, the inexhaustible,\nthe ever unfolding Revelation of God. It is Christ \"in whom are hid all\nthe treasures of wisdom and knowledge,\" not the Bible, save as leading\nto him. And why are we told that these treasures are _hid_ in him who\nis the _Revelation_ of God? Is it that we should despair of finding\nthem and cease to seek them? Are they not hid in him that they may be\nrevealed to us in due time--that  is, when we are in need of them? Is\nnot their hiding in him the mediatorial step towards their unfolding in\nus? Is he not the Truth?--the Truth to men? Is he not the High Priest\nof his brethren, to answer all the troubled questionings that arise in\ntheir dim humanity? For it is his heart which\n\n          Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.\n\n\nDidymus answers, \"No doubt, what we know not now, we shall know\nhereafter.\" Certainly there may be things which the mere passing into\nanother stage of existence will illuminate; but the questions that come\nhere, must be inquired into here, and if not answered here, then there\ntoo until they be answered. There is more hid in Christ than we shall\never learn, here or there either; but they that begin first to inquire\nwill soonest be gladdened with revelation; and with them he will be\nbest pleased, for the slowness of his disciples troubled him of old. To\nsay that we must wait for the other world, to know the mind of him who\ncame to this world to give himself to us, seems to me the foolishness\nof a worldly and lazy spirit. The Son of God _is_ the Teacher of men,\ngiving to them of his Spirit--that Spirit which manifests the deep\nthings of God, being to a man the mind of Christ. The great heresy of\nthe Church of the present day is unbelief in this Spirit. The mass of\nthe Church does not believe that the Spirit has a revelation for every\nman individually--a revelation as different from the revelation of the\nBible, as the food in the moment of passing into living brain and nerve\ndiffers from the bread and meat. If we were once filled with the mind\nof Christ, we should know that the Bible had done its work, was\nfulfilled, and had for us passed away, that thereby the Word of our God\nmight abide for ever. The one use of the Bible is to make us look at\nJesus, that through him we might know his Father and our Father, his\nGod and our God. Till we thus know Him, let us hold the Bible dear as\nthe moon of our darkness, by which we travel towards the east; not dear\nas the sun whence her light cometh, and towards which we haste, that,\nwalking in the sun himself, we may no more need the mirror that\nreflected his absent brightness.\n\nBut this doctrine of the Spirit is not my end now, although, were it\nnot true, all our religion would be vain, that of St Paul and that of\nSocrates. What I want to say and show, if I may, is, that a man will\nplease God better by believing some things that are not told him, than\nby confining his faith to those things that are expressly said--said to\narouse in us the truth-seeing faculty, the spiritual desire, the prayer\nfor the good things which God will give to them that ask him.\n\n\"But is not this dangerous doctrine? Will not a man be taught thus to\nbelieve the things he likes best, even to pray for that which he likes\nbest? And will he not grow arrogant in his confidence?\"\n\nIf it be true that the Spirit strives with our spirit; if it be true\nthat God teaches men, we may safely leave those dreaded results to him.\nIf the man is of the Lord's company, he is safer with him than with\nthose who would secure their safety by hanging on the outskirts and\ndaring nothing. If he is not taught of God in that which he hopes for,\nGod will let him know it. He will receive, something else than he prays\nfor. If he can pray to God for anything not good, the answer will come\nin the flames of that consuming fire. These will soon bring him to some\nof his spiritual senses. But it will be far better for him to be thus\nsharply tutored, than to go on a snail's pace in the journey of the\nspiritual life. And for arrogance, I have seen nothing breed it faster\nor in more offensive forms than the worship of the letter.\n\nAnd to whom shall a man, whom the blessed God has made, look for what\nhe likes best, but to that blessed God? If we have been indeed enabled\nto see that God is our Father, as the Lord taught us, let us advance\nfrom that truth to understand that he is far more than father--that\nhis nearness to us is beyond the embodiment of the highest idea of\nfather; that the fatherhood of God is but a step towards the Godhood\nfor them that can receive it. What a man likes best _may_ be God's\nwill, may be the voice of the Spirit striving _with_ his spirit, not\nagainst it; and if, as I have said, it be not so--if the thing he asks\nis not according to his will--there is that consuming fire. The danger\nlies, not in asking from God what is not good, nor even in hoping to\nreceive it from him, but in not asking him, in not having him of our\ncouncil. Nor will the fact that we dare not inquire his will, preserve\nus from the necessity of acting in some such matter as we call\nunrevealed, and where shall we find ourselves then? Nor, once more, for\nsuch a disposition of mind is it likely that the book itself will\ncontain much of a revelation.\n\nThe whole matter may safely be left to God.\n\nBut I doubt if a man _can_ ask anything from God that is bad. Surely\none who has begun to pray to him is child enough to know the bad from\nthe good when it has come so near him, and dares not pray for _that_.\nIf you refer me to David praying such fearful prayers against his\nenemies, I answer, you must read them by your knowledge of the man\nhimself and his history. Remember that this is he who, with the burning\nheart of an eastern, yet, when his greatest enemy was given into his\nhands, instead of taking the vengeance of an eastern, contented himself\nwith cutting off the skirt of his garment. It was justice and right\nthat he craved in his soul, although his prayers took a wild form of\nwords. God heard him, and gave him what contented him. In a good man at\nleast, \"revenge is,\" as Lord Bacon says, \"a kind of wild justice,\" and\nis easily satisfied. The hearts desire upon such a one's enemies is\nbest met and granted when the hate is changed into love and compassion.\n\nBut it is about hopes rather than prayers that I wish to write.\n\nWhat should I think of my child, if I found that he limited his faith\nin me and hope from me to the few promises he had heard me utter! The\nfaith that limits itself to the promises of God, seems to me to partake\nof the paltry character of such a faith in my child--good enough for a\nPagan, but for a Christian a miserable and wretched faith. Those who\nrest in such a faith would feel yet more comfortable if they had God's\nbond instead of his word, which they regard not as the outcome of his\ncharacter, but as a pledge of his honour. They try to believe in the\ntruth of his word, but the truth of his Being, they understand not. In\nhis oath they persuade themselves that they put confidence: in\n_himself_ they do not believe, for they know him not. Therefore it is\nlittle wonder that they distrust those swellings of the heart which are\nhis drawings of the man towards him, as sun and moon heave the ocean\nmass heavenward. Brother, sister, if such is your faith, you will not,\nmust not stop there. You must come out of this bondage of the law to\nwhich you give the name of grace, for there is little that is gracious\nin it. You will yet know the dignity of your high calling, and the love\nof God that passeth knowledge. He is not afraid of your presumptuous\napproach to him. It is you who are afraid to come near him. He is not\nwatching over his dignity. It is you who fear to be sent away as the\ndisciples would have sent away the little children. It is you who think\nso much about your souls and are so afraid of losing your life, that\nyou dare not draw near to the Life of life, lest it should consume you.\n\nOur God, we will trust thee. Shall we not find thee equal to our faith?\nOne day, we shall laugh ourselves to scorn that we looked for so little\nfrom thee; for thy giving will not be limited by our hoping.\n\nO thou of little faith! \"in everything,\"--I am quoting your own Bible;\nnay, more, I am quoting a divine soul that knew his master Christ, and\nin his strength opposed apostles, not to say christians, to their\nfaces, because they could not believe more than a little in God; could\nbelieve only for themselves and not for their fellows; could believe\nfor the few of the chosen nation, for whom they had God's ancient\n_word_, but could not believe for the multitude of the nations, for the\nmillions of hearts that God had made to search after him and find\nhim;--\"In everything,\" says St Paul, \"In everything, by prayer and\nsupplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto\nGod.\" For this _everything_, nothing is too small. That it should\ntrouble us is enough. There is some principle involved in it worth the\nnotice even of God himself, for did he not make us so that the thing\ndoes trouble us? And surely for this _everything_, nothing can be too\ngreat. When the Son of man cometh and findeth too much faith on the\nearth--may God in his mercy slay us. Meantime, we will hope and trust.\n\nDo you count it a great faith to believe what God has said? It seems to\nme, I repeat, a little faith, and, if alone, worthy of reproach. To\nbelieve what he has not said is faith indeed, and blessed. For that\ncomes of believing in HIM. Can you not believe in God himself? Or,\nconfess,--do you not find it so hard to believe what he has said, that\neven that is almost more than you can do? If I ask you why, will not\nthe true answer be--\"Because  we are not quite sure that he did say\nit\"? If you believed in God you would find it easy to believe the word.\nYou would not even need to inquire whether he had _said_ it: you would\nknow that he meant it.\n\nLet us then dare something. Let us not always be unbelieving children.\nLet us keep in mind that the Lord, not forbidding those who insist on\nseeing before they will believe, blesses those who have not seen and\nyet have believed--those who trust in him more than that--who believe\nwithout the sight of the eyes, without the hearing of the ears. They\nare blessed to whom a wonder is not a fable, to whom a mystery is not a\nmockery, to whom a glory is not an unreality--who are content to ask,\n\"Is it like Him?\" It is a dull-hearted, unchildlike people that will be\nalways putting God in mind of his promises. Those promises are good to\nreveal what God is; if they think them good as binding God, let them\nhave it so for the hardness of their hearts. They prefer the Word to\nthe Spirit: it is theirs.\n\nEven such will leave us--some of them will, if not all--to the\n\"uncovenanted mercies of God.\" We desire no less; we hope for no\nbetter. Those are the mercies beyond our height, beyond our depth,\nbeyond our reach. We know in whom we have believed, and we look for\nthat which it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive. Shall\nGod's thoughts be surpassed by man's thoughts? God's giving by man's\nasking? God's creation by man's imagination? No. Let us climb to the\nheight of our Alpine desires; let us leave them behind us and ascend\nthe spear-pointed Himmalays of our aspirations; still shall we find the\ndepth of God's sapphire above us; still shall we find the heavens\nhigher than the earth, and his thoughts and his ways higher than our\nthoughts and our ways.\n\nAh Lord! be thou in all our being; as not in the Sundays of our time\nalone, so not in the chambers of our hearts alone. We dare not think\nthat thou canst not, carest not; that some things are not for thy\nbeholding, some questions not to be asked of thee. For are we not all\nthine--utterly thine? That which a man speaks not to his fellow, we\nspeak to thee. Our very passions we hold up to thee, and say, \"Behold,\nLord! Think about us; for thus thou hast made us.\" We would not escape\nfrom our history by fleeing into the wilderness, by hiding our heads in\nthe sands of forgetfulness, or the repentance that comes of pain, or\nthe lethargy of hopelessness. We take it, as our very life, in our\nhand, and flee with it unto thee. Triumphant is the answer which thou\nboldest for every doubt. It may be we could not understand it yet, even\nif thou didst speak it \"with most miraculous organ.\" But thou shalt at\nleast find faith in the earth, O Lord, if thou comest to look for it\nnow--the faith of ignorant but hoping children, who know that they do\nnot know, and believe that thou knowest.\n\nAnd for our brothers and sisters, who cleave to what they call thy\nword, thinking to please thee so, they are in thy holy safe hands, who\nhast taught us that _whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of\nman, it shall be forgiven him_; though unto him that blasphemes against\nthe Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven_.\n\n\n\n\n                        IT SHALL NOT BE FORGIVEN.\n\n\n_And whosoever shall speak a word against the Son of man, it shall be\nforgiven him: but unto him that blasphemeth against the Holy Ghost, it\nshall not be forgiven.--LUKE xi. 18.\n\nWhatever belonging to the region of thought and feeling is uttered in\nwords, is of necessity uttered imperfectly. For thought and feeling are\ninfinite, and human speech, although far-reaching in scope, and\nmarvellous in delicacy, can embody them after all but approximately and\nsuggestively. Spirit and Truth are like the Lady Una and the Red Cross\nKnight; Speech like the dwarf that lags behind with the lady's \"bag of\nneedments.\"\n\nOur Lord had no design of constructing a system of truth in\nintellectual forms. The truth of the moment in its relation to him, The\nTruth, was what he spoke. He spoke out of a region of realities which\nhe knew could only be suggested--not represented--in the forms of\nintellect and speech. With vivid flashes of life and truth his words\ninvade our darkness, rousing us with sharp stings of light to will our\nawaking, to arise from the dead and cry for the light which he can\ngive, not in the lightning of words only, but in indwelling presence\nand power.\n\nHow, then, must the truth fare with those who, having neither glow nor\ninsight, will build intellectual systems upon the words of our Lord, or\nof his disciples? A little child would better understand Plato than\nthey St Paul. The meaning in those great hearts who knew our Lord is\ntoo great to enter theirs. The sense they find in the words must be a\nsense small enough to pass through their narrow doors. And if mere\nwords, without the interpreting sympathy, may mean, as they may, almost\nanything the receiver will or can attribute to them, how shall the man,\nbent at best on the salvation of his own soul, understand, for\ninstance, the meaning of that apostle who was ready to encounter\nbanishment itself from the presence of Christ, that the beloved\nbrethren of his nation might enter in? To men who are not simple,\nsimple words are the most inexplicable of riddles.\n\nIf we are bound to search after what our Lord means--and he speaks that\nwe may understand--we are at least equally bound to refuse any\ninterpretation which seems to us unlike him, unworthy of him. He\nhimself says, \"Why do ye not of your own selves judge what is right?\"\nIn thus refusing, it may happen that, from ignorance or\nmisunderstanding, we refuse the verbal form of its true interpretation,\nbut we cannot thus refuse the spirit and the truth of it, for those we\ncould not have seen without being in the condition to recognize them as\nthe mind of Christ. Some misapprehension, I say, some obliquity, or\nsome slavish adherence to old prejudices, may thus cause us to refuse\nthe true interpretation, but we are none the less bound to refuse and\nwait for more light. To accept that as the will of our Lord which to us\nis inconsistent with what we have learned to worship in him already, is\nto introduce discord into that harmony whose end is to unite our\nhearts, and make them whole.\n\n\"Is it for us,\" says the objector who, by some sleight of will,\nbelieves in the word apart from the meaning for which it stands, \"to\njudge of the character of our Lord?\" I answer, \"This very thing he\nrequires of us.\" He requires of us that we should do him no injustice.\nHe would come and dwell with us, if we would but open our chambers to\nreceive him. How shall we receive him if, avoiding judgment, we hold\nthis or that daub of authority or tradition hanging upon our walls to\nbe the real likeness of our Lord? Is it not possible at least that,\njudging unrighteous judgment by such while we flatter ourselves that we\nare refusing to judge, we may close our doors against the Master\nhimself as an impostor, not finding him like the picture that hangs in\nour oratory. And if we do not judge--humbly and lovingly--who is to\njudge for us? Better to refuse even the truth for a time, than, by\naccepting into our intellectual creed that which our heart cannot\nreceive, not seeing its real form, to introduce hesitation into our\nprayers, a jar into our praises, and a misery into our love. If it be\nthe truth, we shall one day see it another thing than it appears now,\nand love it because we see it lovely; for all truth is lovely. \"Not to\nthe unregenerate mind.\" But at least, I answer, to the mind which can\nlove that Man, Christ Jesus; and that part of us which loves him let us\nfollow, and in its judgements let us trust; hoping, beyond all things\nelse, for its growth and enlightenment by the Lord, who is that Spirit.\nBetter, I say again, to refuse the right _form_, than, by accepting it\nin misapprehension of what it really is, to refuse the spirit, the\ntruth that dwells therein. Which of these, I pray, is liker to the sin\nagainst the Holy Ghost? To mistake the meaning of the Son of man may\nwell fill a man with sadness. But to care so little for him as to\nreceive as his what the noblest part of our nature rejects as low and\npoor, or selfish and wrong, that surely is more like the sin against\nthe Holy Ghost that can never be forgiven; for it is a sin against the\ntruth itself, not the embodiment of it in him.\n\nWords for their full meaning depend upon their source, the person who\nspeaks them. An utterance may even seem commonplace, till you are told\nthat thus spoke one whom you know to be always thinking, always\nfeeling, always acting. Recognizing the mind whence the words proceed,\nyou know the scale by which they are to be understood. So the words of\nGod cannot mean just the same as the words of man. \"Can we not, then,\nunderstand them?\" Yes, we can understand them--we can understand them\n_more_ than the words of men. Whatever a good word means, as used by a\ngood man, it means just infinitely more as used by God. And the feeling\nor thought expressed by that word takes higher and higher forms in us\nas we become capable of understanding him,--that is, as we become like\nhim.\n\nI am far less anxious to show what the sin against the Holy Ghost\nmeans, than to show what the nonforgiveness means; though I think we\nmay arrive at some understanding of both. I cannot admit for a moment\nthat there is anything in the Bible too mysterious to be looked into;\nfor the Bible is a _revelation_, an unveiling. True, into many things\nuttered there I can see only a little way. But that little way is the\nway of life; for the depth of their mystery is God. And even setting\naside the duty of the matter, and seeking for justification as if the\nduty were doubtful, it is reason enough for inquiring into such\npassages as this before me, that they are often torture to human minds,\nchiefly those of holy women and children. I knew a child who believed\nshe had committed the sin against the Holy Ghost, because she had, in\nher toilette, made an improper use of a pin. Dare not to rebuke me for\nadducing the diseased fancy of a child in a weighty matter of theology.\n\"Despise not one of these little ones.\" Would the theologians were as\nnear the truth in such matters as the children. _Diseased fancy!_ The\nchild knew, _and was conscious that she knew,_ that she was doing wrong\nbecause she had been forbidden. _There was rational ground for her\nfear_. How would Jesus have received the confession of the darling?\n_He_ would not have told her she was silly, and \"never to mind.\" Child\nas she was, might he not have said to her, \"I do not condemn thee: go\nand sin no more\"?\n\nTo reach the first position necessary for the final attainment of our\nend, I will inquire what the divine forgiveness means. And in order to\narrive at this naturally, I will begin by asking what the human\nforgiveness means; for, if there be any meaning in the Incarnation, it\nis through the Human that we must climb up to the Divine.\n\nI do not know that it is of much use to go back to the Greek or the\nEnglish word for any primary idea of the act--the one meaning _a\nsending away_, the other, _a giving away_. It will be enough if we look\nat the feelings associated with the exercise of what is called\n_forgiveness_.\n\nA man will say: \"_I_ forgive, but I cannot forget. Let the fellow never\ncome in my sight again.\" To what does such a forgiveness reach? To the\nremission or sending away of the penalties which the wronged believes\nhe can claim from the wrong-doer.\n\n_But there is no sending away of the wrong itself from between them_.\n\nAgain, a man will say: \"He has done a very mean action, but he has the\nworst of it himself in that he is capable of doing so. I despise him\ntoo much to desire revenge. I will take no notice of it. I forgive him.\nI don't care.\"\n\nHere, again, there is no sending away of the wrong from between them--\nno _remission_ of the sin.\n\nA third will say: \"I suppose I must forgive him; for if I do not\nforgive him, God will not forgive me.\"\n\nThis man is a _little_ nearer the truth, inasmuch as a ground of\nsympathy, though only that of common sin, is recognized as between the\noffender and himself.\n\nOne more will say: \"He has wronged me grievously. It is a dreadful\nthing to me, and more dreadful still to him, that he should have done\nit. He has hurt me, but he has nearly killed himself. He shall have no\nmore injury from it that I can save him. I cannot feel the same towards\nhim yet; but I will try to make him acknowledge the wrong he has done\nme, and so put it away from him. Then, perhaps, I shall be able to feel\ntowards him as I used to feel. For this end I will show him all the\nkindness I can, not forcing it upon him, but seizing every fit\nopportunity; not, I hope, from a wish to make myself great through\nbounty to him, but because I love him so much that I want to love him\nmore in reconciling him to his true self. I would destroy this evil\ndeed that has come between us. I send it away. And I would have him\ndestroy it from between us too, by abjuring it utterly.\"\n\nWhich comes nearest to the divine idea of forgiveness? nearest, though\nwith the gulf between, wherewith the heavens are higher than the earth?\n\nFor the Divine creates the Human, has the creative power in excess of\nthe Human. It is the Divine forgiveness that, originating itself,\ncreates our forgiveness, and therefore can do so much more. It can take\nup all our wrongs, small and great, with their righteous attendance of\ngriefs and sorrows, and carry them away from between our God and us.\n\nChrist is God's Forgiveness.\n\nBefore we approach a little nearer to this great sight, let us consider\nthe human forgiveness in a more definite embodiment--as between a\nfather and a son. For although God is so much more to us, and comes so\nmuch nearer to us than a father can be or come, yet the fatherhood is\nthe last height of the human stair whence our understandings can see\nhim afar off, and where our hearts can first know that he is nigh, even\nin them.\n\nThere are various kinds and degrees of wrongdoing, which need varying\nkinds and degrees of forgiveness. An outburst of anger in a child, for\ninstance, scarcely wants forgiveness. The wrong in it may be so small,\nthat the parent has only to influence the child for self-restraint, and\nthe rousing of the will against the wrong. The father will not feel\nthat such a fault has built up any wall between him and his child. But\nsuppose that he discovered in him a habit of sly cruelty towards his\nyounger brothers, or the animals of the house, how differently would he\nfeel! Could his forgiveness be the same as in the former case? Would\nnot the different evil require a different _form_ of forgiveness? I\nmean, would not the forgiveness have to take the form of that kind of\npunishment fittest for restraining, in the hope of finally rooting out,\nthe wickedness? Could there be true love in any other kind of\nforgiveness than this? A passing-by of the offence might spring from a\npoor human kindness, but never from divine love. It would not be\n_remission_. Forgiveness can never be indifference. Forgiveness is love\ntowards the unlovely.\n\nLet us look a little closer at the way a father might feel, and express\nhis feelings. One child, the moment the fault was committed, the father\nwould clasp to his bosom, knowing that very love in its own natural\nmanifestation would destroy the fault in him, and that, the next\nmoment, he would be weeping. The father's hatred of the sin would burst\nforth in his pitiful tenderness towards the child who was so wretched\nas to have done the sin, and so destroy it. The fault of such a child\nwould then cause no interruption of the interchange of sweet\naffections. The child is forgiven at once. But the treatment of another\nupon the same principle would be altogether different. If he had been\nguilty of baseness, meanness, selfishness, deceit, self-gratulation in\nthe evil brought upon others, the father might _say_ to himself: \"I\ncannot forgive him. This is beyond forgiveness.\" He might _say_ so, and\nkeep saying so, while all the time he was striving to let forgiveness\nfind its way that it might lift him from the gulf into which he had\nfallen. His love might grow yet greater because of the wandering and\nloss of his son. For love is divine, and then most divine when it loves\naccording to _needs_ and not according to _merits_. But the forgiveness\nwould be but in the process of making, as it were, or of drawing nigh\nto the sinner. Not till his opening heart received the divine flood of\ndestroying affection, and his own affection burst forth to meet it and\nsweep the evil away, could it be said to be finished, to have arrived,\ncould the son be said to _be_ forgiven.\n\nGod is forgiving us every day--sending from between him and us our sins\nand their fogs and darkness. Witness the shining of his sun and the\nfalling of his rain, the filling of their hearts with food and\ngladness, that he loves them that love him not. When some sin that we\nhave committed has clouded all our horizon, and hidden him from our\neyes, he, forgiving us, ere we are, and that we may be, forgiven,\nsweeps away a path for this his forgiveness to reach our hearts, that\nit may by causing our repentance destroy the wrong, and make us able\neven to forgive ourselves. For some are too proud to forgive\nthemselves, till the forgiveness of God has had its way with them, has\ndrowned their pride in the tears of repentance, and made their heart\ncome again like the heart of a little child.\n\nBut, looking upon forgiveness, then, as the perfecting of a work ever\ngoing on, as the contact of God's heart and ours, in spite and in\ndestruction of the intervening wrong, we may say that God's love is\never in front of his forgiveness. God's love is the prime mover, ever\nseeking to perfect his forgiveness, which latter needs the human\ncondition for its consummation. The love is perfect, working out the\nforgiveness. God loves where he cannot yet forgive--where forgiveness\nin the full sense is as yet simply impossible, because no contact of\nhearts is possible, because that which lies between has not even begun\nto yield to the besom of his holy destruction.\n\nSome things, then, between the Father and his children, as between a\nfather and his child, may comparatively, and in a sense, be made light\nof--I do not mean made light of in themselves: away they must go--\ninasmuch as, evils or sins though they be, they yet leave room for the\ndwelling of God's Spirit in the heart, forgiving and cleansing away the\nevil. When a man's evil is thus fading out of him, and he is growing\nbetter and better, that is the forgiveness coming into him more and\nmore. Perfect in God's will, it is having its perfect work in the mind\nof the man. When the man hath, with his whole nature, cast away his\nsin, there is no room for forgiveness any more, for God dwells in him,\nand he in God. With the voice of Nathan, \"Thou art the man,\" the\nforgiveness of God laid hold of David, the heart of the king was\nhumbled to the dust; and when he thus awoke from the moral lethargy\nthat had fallen upon him, he found that he was still with God. \"When I\nawake,\" he said, \"I am still with thee.\"\n\nBut there are two sins, not of individual deed, but of spiritual\ncondition, which _cannot be forgiven_; that is, as it seems to me,\nwhich cannot be excused, passed by, made little of by the tenderness\neven of God, inasmuch as they will allow no forgiveness to come into\nthe soul, they will permit no good influence to go on working alongside\nof them; they shut God out altogether. Therefore the man guilty of\nthese can never receive into himself the holy renewing saving\ninfluences of God's forgiveness. God is outside of him in every sense,\nsave that which springs from his creating relation to him, by which,\nthanks be to God, he yet keeps a hold of him, although against the will\nof the man who will not be forgiven. The one of these sins is against\nman; the other against God.\n\nThe former is unforgivingness to our neighbour; the shutting of him out\nfrom our mercies, from our love--so from the universe, as far as we are\na portion of it--the murdering therefore of our neighbour. It may be an\ninfinitely less evil to murder a man than to refuse to forgive him. The\nformer may be the act of a moment of passion: the latter is the heart's\nchoice. It is _spiritual_ murder, the worst, to hate, to brood over the\nfeeling that excludes, that, in our microcosm, kills the image, the\nidea of the hated. We listen to the voice of our own hurt pride or hurt\naffection (only the latter without the suggestion of the former,\nthinketh no evil) to the injury of the evil-doer. In as far as we can,\nwe quench the relations of life between us; we close up the passages of\npossible return. This is to shut out God, the Life, the One. For how\nare we to receive the forgiving presence while we shut out our brother\nfrom our portion of the universal forgiveness, the final restoration,\nthus refusing to let God be All in all? If God appeared to us, how\ncould he say, \"I forgive you,\" while we remained unforgiving to our\nneighbour? Suppose it possible that he should say so, his forgiveness\nwould be no good to us while we were uncured of our unforgivingness. It\nwould not touch us. It would not come near us. Nay, it would hurt us,\nfor we should think ourselves safe and well, while the horror of\ndisease was eating the heart out of us. Tenfold the forgiveness lies in\nthe words, \"If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your\nheavenly Father forgive your trespasses.\" Those words are kindness\nindeed. God holds the unforgiving man with his hand, but turns his face\naway from him. If, in his desire to see the face of his Father, he\nturns his own towards his brother, then the face of God turns round and\nseeks his, for then the man may look upon God and not die. With our\nforgiveness to our neighbour, in flows the Consciousness of God's\nforgiveness to us; or even with the effort, we become capable of\nbelieving that God can forgive us. No man who will not forgive his\nneighbour, can believe that God is willing, yea, wanting to forgive\nhim, can believe that the dove of God's peace is hovering over a\nchaotic heart, fain to alight, but finding no rest for the sole of its\nfoot. For God to say to such a man, \"I cannot forgive you,\" is love as\nwell as necessity. If God said, \"I forgive you,\" to a man who hated his\nbrother, and if (as is impossible) that voice of forgiveness should\nreach the man, what would it mean to him? How would the man interpret\nit? Would it not mean to him, \"You may go on hating. I do not mind it.\nYou have had great provocation, and are justified in your hate\"? No\ndoubt God takes what wrong there is, and what provocation there is,\ninto the account; but the more provocation, the more excuse that can be\nurged for the hate, the more reason, if possible, that the hater should\nbe delivered from the hell of his hate, that God's child should be made\nthe loving child that he meant him to be. The man would think, not that\nGod loved the sinner, but that he forgave the sin, which God never\ndoes. Every sin meets with its due fate--inexorable expulsion from the\nparadise of God's Humanity. He loves the sinner so much that he cannot\nforgive him in any other way than by banishing from his bosom the demon\nthat possesses him, by lifting him out of that mire of his iniquity.\n\nNo one, however, supposes for a moment that a man who has once refused\nto forgive his brother, shall therefore be condemned to endless\nunforgiveness and unforgivingness. What is meant is, that while a man\ncontinues in such a mood, God cannot be with him as his friend; not\nthat he will not be his friend, but the friendship being all on one\nside--that of God--must take forms such as the man will not be able to\nrecognize as friendship. Forgiveness, as I have said, is not love\nmerely, but love _conveyed as love_ to the erring, so establishing\npeace towards God, and forgiveness towards our neighbour.\n\nTo return then to our immediate text: Is the refusal of forgiveness\ncontained in it a condemnation to irrecoverable impenitence? Strange\nrighteousness would be the decree, that because a man has done wrong--\nlet us say has done wrong so often and so much that he _is_ wrong--he\nshall for ever remain wrong! Do not tell me the condemnation is only\nnegative--a leaving of the man to the consequences of his own will, or\nat most a withdrawing from him of the Spirit which he has despised. God\nwill not take shelter behind such a jugglery of logic or metaphysics.\nHe is neither schoolman nor theologian, but our Father in heaven. He\nknows that that in him would be the same unforgivingness for which he\nrefuses to forgive man. The only tenable ground for supporting such a\ndoctrine is, that God _cannot_ do more; that Satan has overcome; and\nthat Jesus, amongst his own brothers and sisters in the image of God,\nhas been less strong than the adversary, the destroyer. What then shall\nI say of such a doctrine of devils as that, even if a man did repent,\nGod would not or could not forgive him?\n\nLet us look at \"_the_ unpardonable sin,\" as this mystery is commonly\ncalled, and see what we can find to understand about it.\n\nAll sin is unpardonable. There is no compromise to be made with it. We\nshall not come out except clean, except having paid the uttermost\nfarthing. But the special unpardonableness of those sins, the one of\nwhich I have spoken and that which we are now considering, lies in\ntheir shutting out God from his _genial_, his especially spiritual,\ninfluences upon the man. Possibly in the case of the former sin, I may\nhave said this too strongly; possibly the love of God may have some\npart even in the man who will not forgive his brother, although, if he\ncontinues unforgiving, that part must decrease and die away; possibly\nresentment against our brother, might yet for a time leave room for\nsome divine influences by its side, although either the one or the\nother must speedily yield; but the man who denies truth, who\nconsciously resists duty, who says there is no truth, or that the truth\nhe sees is not true, who says that which is good is of Satan, or that\nwhich is bad is of God, supposing him to know that it is good or is\nbad, denies the Spirit, shuts out the Spirit, and therefore cannot be\nforgiven. For without the Spirit no forgiveness can enter the man to\ncast out the satan. Without the Spirit to witness with his spirit, no\nman could know himself forgiven, even if God appeared to him and said\nso. The full forgiveness is, as I have said, when a man feels that God\nis forgiving him; and this cannot be while he opposes himself to the\nvery essence of God's will.\n\nAs far as we can see, the men of whom this was spoken were men who\nresisted the truth with some amount of perception that it was the\ntruth; men neither led astray by passion, nor altogether blinded by\ntheir abounding prejudice; men who were not excited to condemn one form\nof truth by the love which they bore to another form of it; but men so\nset, from selfishness and love of influence, against one whom they saw\nto be a good man, that they denied the goodness of what they knew to be\ngood, in order to put down the man whom they knew to be good, because\nHe had spoken against them, and was ruining their influence and\nauthority with the people by declaring them to be no better than they\nknew themselves to be. Is not this to be Satan? to be in hell? to be\ncorruption? to be that which is damned? Was not this their _condition_\nunpardonable? How, through all this mass of falsehood, could the pardon\nof God reach the essential humanity within it? Crying as it was for\nGod's forgiveness, these men had almost separated their humanity from\nthemselves, had taken their part with the powers of darkness.\nForgiveness while they were such was an impossibility. No. Out of that\nthey must come, else there was no word of God for them. But the very\nword that told them of the unpardonable state in which they were, was\njust the one form the voice of mercy could take in calling on them to\nrepent. They must hear and be afraid. I dare not, cannot think that\nthey refused the truth, knowing all that it was; but I think they\nrefused the truth, knowing that it was true--not carried away, as I\nhave said, by wild passion, but by cold self-love, and envy, and\navarice, and ambition; not merely doing wrong knowingly, but setting\ntheir whole natures knowingly against the light. Of this nature must\nthe sin against the Holy Ghost surely be. \"This is the condemnation,\"\n(not the sins that men have committed, but the condition of mind in\nwhich they choose to remain,) \"that light is come into the world, and\nmen loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.\"\nIn this sin against the Holy Ghost, I see no single act alone, although\nit must find expression in many acts, but a wilful condition of mind,\n\n          As far removed from God and light of heaven,\n          As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole.\n\n\nFor this there could be no such excuse made as that even a little light\nmight work beside it; for there light could find no entrance and no\nroom; light was just what such a mind was set against, almost because\nit was what it was. The condition was utterly bad.\n\nBut can a man really fall into such a condition of spiritual depravity?\n\nThat is my chief difficulty. But I think it may be. And wiser people\nthan I, have thought so. I have difficulty in believing it, I say; yet\nI think it must be so. But I do not believe that it is a fixed, a final\ncondition. I do not see why it should be such any more than that of the\nman who does not forgive his neighbour. If you say it is a worse\noffence, I say, Is it too bad for the forgiveness of God?\n\nBut is God able to do anything more with the man? Or how is the man\never to get out of this condition? If the Spirit of God is shut out\nfrom his heart, how is he to become better?\n\nThe Spirit of God is the Spirit whose influence is known by its\nwitnessing with our spirit. But may there not be other powers and means\nof the Spirit preparatory to this its highest office with man? God who\nhas made us can never be far from any man who draws the breath of\nlife--nay, must be in him; not necessarily in his heart, as we say, but\nstill in him. May not then one day some terrible convulsion from the\ncentre of his being, some fearful earthquake from the hidden gulfs of\nhis nature, shake such a man so that through all the deafness of his\ndeath, the voice of the Spirit may be faintly heard, the still small\nvoice that comes after the tempest and the earthquake? May there not be\na fire that even such can feel? Who shall set bounds to the consuming\nof the fire of our God, and the purifying that dwells therein?\n\nThe only argument that I can think of, which would with me have weight\nagainst this conclusion, is, that the revulsion of feeling in any one\nwho had thus sinned against the truth, when once brought to acknowledge\nhis sin, would be so terrible that life would never more be endurable,\nand the kindest thing God could do would be to put such a man out of\nbeing, because it had been a better thing for him never to have been\nborn. But he who could make such a man repent, could make him so\nsorrowful and lowly, and so glad that he had repented, that he would\nwish to live ever that he might ever repent and ever worship the glory\nhe now beheld. When a man gives up self, his past sins will no longer\noppress him. It is enough for the good of life that God lives, that the\nAll-perfect exists, and that we can behold him.\n\n\"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,\" said the\nDivine, making excuse for his murderers, not after it was all over, but\nat the very moment when he was dying by their hands. Then Jesus had\nforgiven them already. His prayer the Father must have heard, for he\nand the Son are one. When the Father succeeded in answering his prayer,\nthen his forgiveness in the hearts of the murderers broke out in\nsorrow, repentance, and faith. Here was a sin dreadful enough surely--\nbut easy for our Lord to forgive. All that excuse for the misled\npopulace! Lord Christ be thanked for that! That was like thee! But must\nwe believe that Judas, who repented even to agony, who repented so that\nhis high-prized life, self, soul, became worthless in his eyes and met\nwith no mercy at his own hand,--must we believe that he could find no\nmercy in such a God? I think, when Judas fled from his hanged and\nfallen body, he fled to the tender help of Jesus, and found it--I say\nnot how. He was in a more hopeful condition now than during any moment\nof his past life, for he had never repented before. But I believe that\nJesus loved Judas even when he was kissing him with the traitor's kiss;\nand I believe that he was his Saviour still. And if any man remind me\nof his words, \"It had been good for that man if he had not been born,\"\nI had not forgotten them, though I know that I now offer nothing beyond\na conjectural explanation of them when I say: Judas had got none of the\ngood of the world into which he had been born. He had not inherited the\nearth. He had lived an evil life, out of harmony with the world and its\nGod. Its love had been lost upon him. He had been brought to the very\nSon of God, and had lived with him as his own familiar friend; and he\nhad not loved him more, but less than himself. Therefore it had been\nall useless. \"It had been good for that man if he had not been born;\"\nfor it was all to try over again, in some other way--inferior perhaps,\nin some other world, in a lower school. He had to be sent down the\nscale of creation which is ever ascending towards its Maker. But I will\nnot, cannot believe, O my Lord, that thou wouldst not forgive thy\nenemy, even when he repented, and did thee right. Nor will I believe\nthat thy holy death was powerless to save thy foe--that it could not\nreach to Judas. Have we not heard of those, thine own, taught of thee,\nwho could easily forgive their betrayers in thy name? And if thou\nforgivest, will not thy forgiveness find its way at last in redemption\nand purification?\n\nLook for a moment at the clause preceding my text: \"He that denieth me\nbefore men shall be denied before the angels of God.\" What does it\nmean? Does it mean--\"Ah! you are mine, but not of my sort. You denied\nme. Away to the outer darkness\"? Not so. \"It shall be forgiven to him\nthat speaketh against the Son of man;\" for He may be but the truth\nrevealed _without_ him. Only he must have shame before the universe of\nthe loving God, and may need the fire that burneth and consumeth not.\n\nBut for him that speaketh against the Spirit of Truth, against the Son\nof God revealed _within_ him, he is beyond the teaching of that Spirit\nnow. For how shall he be forgiven? The forgiveness would touch him no\nmore than a wall of stone. Let him know what it is to be without the\nGod he hath denied. Away with him to the Outer Darkness! Perhaps _that_\nwill make him repent.\n\nMy friends, I offer this as only a contribution towards the\nunderstanding of our Lord's words. But if we ask him, he will lead us\ninto all truth. And let us not be afraid to think, for he will not take\nit ill.\n\nBut what I have said must be at least a part of the truth.\n\nNo amount of discovery in his words can tell us more than _we_ have\ndiscovered, more than we have seen and known to be true. For all the\nhelp the best of his disciples can give us is only to discover, to see\nfor ourselves.  And beyond all our discoveries in his words and being,\nthere lie depths within depths of truth that we cannot understand, and\nyet shall be ever going on to understand. Yea, even now sometimes we\nseem to have dim glimpses into regions from which we receive no word to\nbring away.\n\nThe fact that some things have become to us so much more simple than\nthey were, and that great truths have come out of what once looked\ncommon, is ground enough for hope that such will go on to be our\nexperience through the ages to come. Our advance from our former\nignorance can measure but a small portion of the distance that lies,\nand must ever lie, between our childishness and his manhood, between\nour love and his love, between our dimness and his mighty vision.  To\nhim ere long may we all come, all children, still children, more\nchildren than ever, to receive from his hand the _white stone, and in\nthe stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that\nreceiveth it_.\n\n\n\n\n                              THE NEW NAME.\n\n\n_To him that overcometh, I will give a white stone, and in the stone a\nnew name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.--\nREV. ii. 17._\n\nWhether the Book of the Revelation be written by the same man who wrote\nthe Gospel according to St John or not, there is, at least, one element\ncommon to the two--the mysticism.\n\nI use the word _mysticism_ as representing a certain mode of embodying\ntruth, common, in various degrees, to almost all, if not all, the\nwriters of the New Testament. The attempt to define it thoroughly would\nrequire an essay. I will hazard but one suggestion towards it: A\nmystical mind is one which, having perceived that the highest\nexpression of which the truth admits, lies in the symbolism of nature\nand the human customs that result from human necessities, prosecutes\nthought about truth so embodied by dealing with the symbols themselves\nafter logical forms. This is the highest mode of conveying the deepest\ntruth; and the Lord himself often employed it, as, for instance, in the\nwhole passage ending with the words, \"If therefore the light that is in\nthee be darkness, how great is the darkness!\"\n\nThe mysticism in the Gospel of St John is of the simplest, and,\ntherefore, noblest nature. No dweller in this planet can imagine a\nmethod of embodying truth that shall be purer, loftier, truer to the\ntruth embodied. There may be higher modes in other worlds, or there may\nnot--I cannot tell; but of all our modes these forms are best\nillustrations of the highest. Apparently the mysticism of St John's own\nnature enabled him to remember and report with sufficient accuracy the\nwords of our Lord, always, it seems to me, of a recognizably different\nkind from those of any of the writers of the New Testament--chiefly,\nperhaps, in the simplicity of their poetical mysticism.\n\nBut the mysticism in the Book of the Revelation is more complicated,\nmore gorgeous, less poetic, and occasionally, I think, perhaps\narbitrary, or approaching the arbitrary; _reminding_ one, in a word, of\nthe mysticism of Swedenborg. Putting aside both historical and literary\ncriticism, in neither of which with regard to the authorship of these\ntwo books have I a right even to an opinion, I would venture to suggest\nthat possibly their difference in tone is just what one might expect\nwhen the historian of a mystical teacher and the recorder of his\nmystical sayings, proceeds to embody his own thoughts, feelings, and\ninspirations; that is, when the revelation flows no longer from the\nlips of the Master, but through the disciple's own heart, soul, and\nbrain. For surely not the most idolatrous of our Bible-worshipping\nbrothers and sisters will venture to assert that the Spirit of God\ncould speak as freely by the lips of the wind-swayed, reed-like,\nrebukable Peter, or of the Thomas who could believe his own eyes, but\nneither the word of his brethren, nor the nature of his Master, as by\nthe lips of Him who was blind and deaf to everything but the will of\nhim that sent him.\n\nTruth is truth, whether from the lips of Jesus or Balaam. But, in its\ndeepest sense, _the truth_ is a condition of heart, soul, mind, and\nstrength towards God and towards our fellow--not an utterance, not even\na _right_ form of words; and therefore such truth coming forth in words\nis, in a sense, the person that speaks. And many of the utterances of\ntruth in the Revelation, commonly called of St John, are not merely\nlofty in form, but carry with them the conviction that the writer was\nno mere \"trumpet of a prophecy,\" but spoke that he did know, and\ntestified that he had seen.\n\nIn this passage about the gift of the white stone, I think we find the\nessence of religion.\n\nWhat the notion in the mind of the writer with regard to the white\nstone was, is, I think, of comparatively little moment. I take the\nstone to belong more to the arbitrary and fanciful than to the true\nmystical imagery, although for the bringing out of the mystical thought\nin which it is concerned, it is of high and honourable dignity. For\nfancy itself will subserve the true imagination of the mystic, and so\nbe glorified. I doubt if the writer himself associated any essential\nmeaning with it. Certainly I will not allow that he had such a poor\nnotion in it as that of a voting pebble--white, because the man who\nreceives it is accepted or chosen. The word is used likewise for a\nprecious stone set as a jewel. And the writer thought of it mystically,\na mode far more likely to involve a reference to nature than to a\npolitical custom. What his mystic meaning may be, must be taken\ndifferently by different minds. _I_ think he sees in its whiteness\npurity, and in its substance indestructibility. But I care chiefly to\nregard the stone as the vehicle of the name,--as the form whereby the\nname is represented as passing from God to the man, and what is\ninvolved in this communication is what I wish to show. If my reader\nwill not acknowledge my representation as St John's meaning, I yet hope\nso to set it forth that he shall see the representation to be true in\nitself, and then I shall willingly leave the interpretation to its\nfate.\n\nI say, in brief, the giving of the white stone with the new name is the\ncommunication of what God thinks about the man to the man. It is the\ndivine judgment, the solemn holy doom of the righteous man, the \"Come,\nthou blessed,\" spoken to the individual.\n\nIn order to see this, we must first understand what is the idea of a\nname,--that is, what is the perfect notion of a name. For, seeing the\nmystical energy of a holy mind here speaks of God as giving something,\nwe must understand that the essential thing, and not any of its\naccidents or imitations, is intended.\n\n_A name of the ordinary kind in this world, has nothing_ essential in\nit. It is but a label by which one man and a scrap of his external\nhistory may be known from another man and a scrap of his history. The\nonly names which have significance are those which the popular judgment\nor prejudice or humour bestows, either for ridicule or honour, upon a\nfew out of the many. Each of these is founded upon some external\ncharacteristic of the man, upon some predominant peculiarity of temper,\nsome excellence or the reverse of character, or something which he does\nor has done well or ill enough, or at least, singularly enough, to\nrender him, in the eyes of the people, worthy of such distinction from\nother men. As far as they go, these are real names, for, in some poor\nmeasure, they express individuality.\n\nThe true name is one which expresses the character, the nature, the\nbeing, the _meaning_ of the person who bears it. It is the man's own\nsymbol,--his soul's picture, in a word,--the sign which belongs to him\nand to no one else. Who can give a man this, his own name? God alone.\nFor no one but God sees what the man is, or even, seeing what he is,\ncould express in a name-word the sum and harmony of what he sees. To\nwhom is this name given? To him that overcometh. When is it given? When\nhe has overcome. Does God then not know what a man is going to become?\nAs surely as he sees the oak which he put there lying in the heart of\nthe acorn. Why then does he wait till the man has become by overcoming\nere he settles what his name shall be? He does not wait; he knows his\nname from the first. But as--although repentance comes because God\npardons--yet the man becomes aware of the pardon only in the\nrepentance; so it is only when the man has become his name that God\ngives him the stone with the name upon it, for then first can he\nunderstand what his name signifies. It is the blossom, the perfection,\nthe completion, that determines the name; and God foresees that from\nthe first, because he made it so; but the tree of the soul, before its\nblossom comes, cannot understand what blossom it is to bear, and could\nnot know what the word meant, which, in representing its own unarrived\ncompleteness, named itself. Such a name cannot be given until the man\n_is_ the name.\n\nGod's name for a man must then be the expression in a mystical word--a\nword of that language which all who have overcome understand--of his\nown idea of the man, that being whom he had in his thought when he\nbegan to make the child, and whom he kept in his thought through the\nlong process of creation that went to realize the idea. To tell the\nname is to seal the success--to say, \"In thee also I am well pleased.\"\n\nBut we are still in the region of symbol. For supposing that such a\nform were actually observed between God and him that overcometh, it\nwould be no less a symbol--only an acted one. We must therefore look\ndeeper still for the fulness of its meaning. Up to this point little\nhas been said to justify our expectations of discovery in the text. Let\nus, I say, look deeper. We shall not look long before we find that the\nmystic symbol has for its centre of significance the fact of the\npersonal individual relation of every man to his God. That every man\nhas affairs, and those his first affairs, with God, stands to the\nreason of every man who associates any meaning or feeling with the\nwords, Maker, Father, God. Were we but children of a day, with the\nunderstanding that some one had given us that one holiday, there would\nbe something to be thought, to be felt, to be done, because we knew it.\nFor then our nature would be according to our fate, and we could\nworship and die. But it would be only the praise of the dead, not the\npraise of the living, for death would be the deepest, the lasting, the\novercoming. We should have come out of nothingness, not out of God. He\ncould only be our Maker, not our Father, our Origin. But now we know\nthat God cannot be the God of the dead--must be the God of the living;\ninasmuch as to know that we died, would freeze the heart of worship,\nand we could not say Our God, or feel him worthy of such worth-ship as\nwe could render. To him who offers unto this God of the living his own\nself of sacrifice, to him that overcometh, him who has brought his\nindividual life back to its source, who knows that he is _one_ of God's\nchildren, _this_ one of the Father's making, he giveth the white stone.\nTo him who climbs on the stair of all his God-born efforts and\nGod-given victories up to the height of his being--that of looking face\nto face upon his ideal self in the bosom of the Father--God's _him_,\nrealized in him through the Father's love in the Elder Brother's\ndevotion--to him God gives the new name written.\n\nBut I leave this, because that which follows embraces and intensifies\nthis individuality of relation in a fuller development of the truth.\nFor the name is one \"which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it.\"\nNot only then has each man his individual relation to God, but each man\nhas his peculiar relation to God. He is to God a peculiar being, made\nafter his own fashion, and that of no one else; for when he is\nperfected he shall receive the new name which no one else can\nunderstand. Hence he can worship God as no man else can worship him,--\ncan understand God as no man else can understand him. This or that man\nmay understand God more, may understand God better than he, but no\nother man can understand God as he understands him. God give me grace\nto be humble before thee, my brother, that I drag not my simulacrum of\nthee before the judgment-seat of the unjust judge, but look up to\nthyself for what revelation of God thou and no one else canst give. As\nthe fir-tree lifts up itself with a far different need from the need of\nthe palm-tree, so does each man stand before God, and lift up a\ndifferent humanity to the common Father. And for each God has a\ndifferent response. With every man he has a secret--the secret of the\nnew name. In every man there is a loneliness, an inner chamber of\npeculiar life into which God only can enter. I say not it is _the\ninnermost chamber_--but a chamber into which no brother, nay, no sister\ncan come.\n\nFrom this it follows that there is a chamber also--(O God, humble and\naccept my speech)--a chamber in God himself, into which none can enter\nbut the one, the individual, the peculiar man,--out of which chamber\nthat man has to bring revelation and strength for his brethren. This is\nthat for which he was made--to reveal the secret things of the Father.\n\nBy his creation, then, each man is isolated with God; each, in respect\nof his peculiar making, can say, \"_my_ God;\" each can come to him\nalone, and speak with him face to face, as a man speaketh with his\nfriend. There is no _massing_ of men with God. When he speaks of\ngathered men, it is as a spiritual _body_, not a _mass_. For in a body\nevery smallest portion is individual, and therefore capable of forming\na part of the body.\n\nSee, now, what a significance the symbolism of our text assumes. Each\nof us is a distinct flower or tree in the spiritual garden of God,--\nprecious, each for his own sake, in the eyes of him who is even now\nmaking us,--each of us watered and shone upon and filled with life, for\nthe sake of his flower, his completed being, which will blossom out of\nhim at last to the glory and pleasure of the great gardener. For each\nhas within him a secret of the Divinity; each is growing towards the\nrevelation of that secret to himself, and so to the full reception,\naccording to his measure, of the divine. Every moment that he is true\nto his true self, some new shine of the white stone breaks on his\ninward eye, some fresh channel is opened upward for the coming glory of\nthe flower, the conscious offering of his whole being in beauty to the\nMaker. Each man, then, is in God's sight worth. Life and action,\nthought and intent, are sacred. And what an end lies before us! To have\na consciousness of our own ideal being flashed into us from the thought\nof God! Surely for this may well give way all our paltry\nself-consciousnesses, our self-admirations and self-worships! Surely to\nknow what he thinks about us will pale out of our souls all our\nthoughts about ourselves! and we may well hold them loosely now, and be\nready to let them go. Towards this result St Paul had already drawn\nnear, when he who had begun the race with a bitter cry for deliverance\nfrom the body of his death, was able to say that he judged his own self\nno longer.\n\n\"But is there not the worst of all dangers involved in such teaching--\nthe danger of spiritual pride?\" If there be, are we to refuse the\nspirit for fear of the pride? Or is there any other deliverance from\npride except the spirit? Pride springs from supposed success in the\nhigh aim: with attainment itself comes humility. But here there is no\nroom for ambition. Ambition is the desire to be above one's neighbour;\nand here there is no possibility of comparison with one's neighbour: no\none knows what the white stone contains except the man who receives it.\nHere is room for endless aspiration towards the unseen ideal; none for\nambition. Ambition would only be higher than others; aspiration would\nbe high. Relative worth is not only unknown--to the children of the\nkingdom it is unknowable. Each esteems the other better than himself.\nHow shall the rose, the glowing heart of the summer heats, rejoice\nagainst the snowdrop risen with hanging head from the white bosom of\nthe snow? Both are God's thoughts; both are dear to him; both are\nneedful to the completeness of his earth and the revelation of himself.\n\"God has cared to make me for himself,\" says the victor with the white\nstone, \"and has called me that which I like best; for my own name must\nbe what I would have it, seeing it is myself. What matter whether I be\ncalled a grass of the field, or an eagle of the air? a stone to build\ninto his temple, or a Boanerges to wield his thunder? I am his; his\nidea, his making; perfect in my kind, yea, perfect in his sight; full\nof him, revealing him, alone with him. Let him call me what he will.\nThe name shall be precious as my life. I seek no more.\"\n\nGone then will be all anxiety as to what his neighbour may think about\nhim. It is enough that God thinks about him. To be something to God--is\nnot that praise enough? To be a thing that God cares for and would have\ncomplete for himself, because it is worth caring for--is not that life\nenough?\n\nNeither will he thus be isolated from his fellows. For that we say of\none, we say of all. It is as _one_ that the man has claims amongst his\nfellows. Each will feel the sacredness and awe of his neighbour's dark\nand silent speech with his God. Each will regard the other as a\nprophet, and look to him for what the Lord hath spoken. Each, as a high\npriest returning from his Holy of Holies, will bring from his communion\nsome glad tidings, some gospel of truth, which, when spoken, his\nneighbours shall receive and understand. Each will behold in the other\na marvel of revelation, a present son or daughter of the Most High,\ncome forth from him to reveal him afresh. In God each will draw nigh to\neach.\n\nYes, there will be danger--danger as everywhere; but he giveth more\ngrace. And if the man who has striven up the heights should yet fall\nfrom them into the deeps, is there not that fire of God, the consuming\nfire, which burneth and destroyeth not?\n\nTo no one who has not already had some speech with God, or who has not\nat least felt some aspiration towards the fount of his being, can all\nthis appear other than foolishness. So be it.\n\nBut, Lord, help them and us, and make our being grow into thy likeness.\nIf through ages of strife and ages of growth, yet let us at last see\nthy face, and receive the white stone from thy hand. That thus we may\ngrow, give us day by day our daily bread. Fill us with the words that\nproceed out of thy mouth. Help us to lay up _treasures in heaven, where\nneither moth nor rust doth corrupt_.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE HEART WITH THE TREASURE.\n\n\n_Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust\ndoth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up for\nyourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth\ncorrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. For where\nyour treasure is, there will your heart be also_.--MATT. vi. 19, 20,\n21.\n\nTo understand the words of our Lord is the business of life. For it is\nthe main road to the understanding of The Word himself. And to receive\nhim is to receive the Father, and so to have Life in ourselves. And\nLife, the higher, the deeper, the simpler, the original, is the\nbusiness of life.\n\nThe Word is that by which we live, namely, Jesus himself; and his words\nrepresent, in part, in shadow, in suggestion, himself. Any utterance\nworthy of being called _a truth_, is human food: how much more _The\nWord_, presenting no abstract laws of our being, but the vital relation\nof soul and body, heart and will, strength and rejoicing, beauty and\nlight, to Him who first gave birth to them all! The Son came forth to\n_be_, before our eyes and in our hearts, that which he had made us for,\nthat we might behold _the truth_ in him, and cry out for the living\nGod, who, in the highest sense of all is The Truth, not as understood,\nbut as understanding, living, and being, doing and creating the truth.\n\"I am the truth,\" said our Lord; and by those who are in some measure\nlike him in being the truth, the Word can be understood. Let us try to\nunderstand him.\n\nSometimes, no doubt, the Saviour would have spoken after a different\n_fashion_ of speech, if he had come to Englishmen, instead of to Jews.\nBut the lessons he gave would have been the same; for even when\nquestioned about a matter for its passing import, his reply contained\nthe enunciation of the great human principle which lay in it, and\n_that_ lies changeless in every variation of changeful circumstance.\nWith the light of added ages of Christian experience, it ought to be\neasier for us to understand his words than it was for those who heard\nhim.\n\nWhat, I ask now, is here the power of his word _For: For where your\ntreasure is, there will your heart be also_? The meaning of the reason\nthus added is not obvious upon its surface. It has to be sought for\nbecause of its depth at once and its simplicity. But it is so complete,\nso imaginatively comprehensive, so immediately operative on the\nconscience through its poetic suggestiveness, that when it is once\nunderstood, there is nothing more to be said, but everything to be\ndone.\n\n\"Why not lay up for ourselves treasures upon earth?\"\n\n\"Because there the moth and rust and the thief come.\"\n\n\"And so we should lose those treasures!\"\n\n\"Yes; by the moth and the rust and the thief.\"\n\n\"Does the Lord then mean that the _reason_ for not laying up such\ntreasures is their transitory and corruptible nature?\"\n\n\"No. He adds a _For_: 'For where your treasure is, there will your\nheart be also.'\"\n\n\"Of course the heart will be where the treasure is; but what has that\nto do with the argument?\"\n\nThis: that what is with the treasure must fare as the treasure; that\nthe heart which haunts the treasure-house where the moth and rust\ncorrupt, will be exposed to the same ravages as the treasure, will\nitself be rusted and moth-eaten.\n\nMany a man, many a woman, fair and flourishing to see, is going about\nwith a rusty moth-eaten heart within that form of strength or beauty.\n\n\"But this is only a figure.\"\n\nTrue. But is the reality intended, less or more than the figure? Does\nnot _the rust and the moth_ mean more than disease? And does not _the\nheart_ mean more than the heart? Does it not mean a deeper heart, the\nheart of your own self, not of your body? of the _self_ that suffers,\nnot pain, but misery? of the self whose end is not comfort, or\nenjoyment, but blessedness, yea, ecstasy? a heart which is the inmost\nchamber wherein springs the divine fountain of your being? a heart\nwhich God regards, though you may never have known its existence, not\neven when its writhings under the gnawing of the moth and the slow fire\nof the rust have communicated a dull pain to that outer heart which\nsends the blood to its appointed course through your body? If God sees\nthat heart corroded with the rust of cares, riddled into caverns and\nfilms by the worms of ambition and greed, then your heart is as God\nsees it, for God sees things as they are. And one day you will be\ncompelled to see, nay, to _feel_ your heart as God sees it; and to know\nthat the cankered thing which you have within you, a prey to the vilest\nof diseases, is indeed the centre of your being, your very heart.\n\nNor does the lesson apply to those only who worship Mammon, who give\ntheir lives, their best energies to the accumulation of wealth: it\napplies to those equally who in any way worship the transitory; who\nseek the praise of men more than the praise of God; who would make a\nshow in the world by wealth, by taste, by intellect, by power, by art,\nby genius of any kind, and so would gather golden opinions to be\ntreasured in a storehouse of earth.\n\nNor to such only, but surely to those as well whose pleasures are of a\nmore evidently transitory nature still, such as the pleasures of the\nsenses in every direction--whether lawfully or unlawfully indulged, if\nthe joy of being is centred in them--do these words bear terrible\nwarning. For the hurt lies not in this--that these pleasures are false\nlike the deceptions of magic, for such they are not: pleasures they\nare; nor yet in this--that they pass away, and leave a fierce\ndisappointment behind: that is only so much the better; but the hurt\nlies in this--that the immortal, the infinite, created in the image of\nthe everlasting God, is housed with the fading and the corrupting, and\nclings to them as its good--clings to them till it is infected and\ninterpenetrated with their proper diseases, which assume in it a form\nmore terrible in proportion to the superiority of its kind, that which\nis mere decay in the one becoming moral vileness in the other, that\nwhich fits the one for the dunghill casting the other into the outer\ndarkness; creeps, that it may share with them, into a burrow in the\nearth, where its budded wings wither and damp and drop away from its\nshoulders, instead of haunting the open plains and the high-uplifted\ntable-lands, spreading abroad its young pinions to the sun and the air,\nand strengthening them in further and further flights, till at last\nthey should become strong to bear the God-born into the presence of its\nFather in Heaven. Therein lies the hurt.\n\nHe whose heart is sound because it haunts the treasure-house of heaven\nmay _be tempted of the devil_, but will be first _led up of the Spirit\ninto the wilderness_.\n\n\n\n\n                    THE TEMPTATION IN THE WILDERNESS.\n\n\n_Then was Jesus led up of the Spirit into the wilderness, to be tempted\nof the devil. And when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, he\nwas afterward an hungered. And when the tempter came to him, he said,\nif thou be the Son of God, command that these stones be made bread. But\nhe answered and said, It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone,\nbut by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God. Then the\ndevil taketh him up into the holy city, and setteth him on a pinnacle\nof the temple, and saith unto him, If thou be the Son of God, cast\nthyself down; for it is written, He shall give his angels charge\nconcerning thee, and in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at\nany time thou dash thy foot against a stone. Jesus said unto him, It is\nwritten again, thou shall not tempt the Lord thy God. Again, the devil\ntaketh him up into an exceeding high mountain, and showeth him all the\nkingdoms of the world, and the glory of them: and saith unto him, All\nthese things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.\nThen saith Jesus unto him, Get thee hence, Satan; for it is written,\nThou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.\nThen the devil leaveth him; and, behold, angels came and ministered\nunto him_.--MATT. iv. 1-11.\n\nThis narrative must have one of two origins. Either it is an invention,\nsuch as many tales told of our Lord in the earlier periods of\nChristianity; or it came from our Lord himself, for, according to the\nstory, except the wild beasts, of earthly presence there was none at\nhis Temptation.\n\nAs to the former of the two origins: The story bears upon it no sign of\nhuman invention. The man who could see such things as are here\nembodied, dared not invent such an embodiment for them. To one in doubt\nabout the matter it will be helpful, I think, to compare this story\nwith the best of those for which one or other of the apocryphal gospels\nis our only authority--say the grand account of the Descent into Hell\nin the Gospel according to Nicodemus.\n\nIf it have not this origin, there is but the other that it can have--\nOur Lord himself. To this I will return presently.\n\nAnd now, let us approach the subject from another side.\n\nWith this in view, I ask you to think how much God must know of which\nwe know nothing. Think what an abyss of truth was our Lord, out of\nwhose divine darkness, through that revealing countenance, that\nuplifting voice, those hands whose tenderness has made us great, broke\nall holy radiations of human significance. Think of his understanding,\nimagination, heart, in which lay the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.\nMust he not have known, felt, imagined, rejoiced in things that would\nnot be told in human words, could not be understood by human hearts?\nWas he not always bringing forth out of the light inaccessible? Was not\nhis very human form a veil hung over the face of the truth that, even\nin part by dimming the effulgence of the glory, it might reveal? What\ncould be conveyed must be thus conveyed: an infinite More must lie\nbehind. And even of those things that might be partially revealed to\nmen, could he talk to his Father and talk to his disciples in\naltogether the same forms, in altogether the same words? Would what he\nsaid to God on the mountain-tops, in the dim twilight or the gray dawn,\nnever be such that his disciples could have understood it no more than\nthe people, when the voice of God spoke to him from heaven, could\ndistinguish that voice from the inarticulate thunderings of the\nelement?\n\nThere is no attempt made to convey to us even the substance of the\nbattle of those forty days. Such a conflict of spirit as for forty days\nabsorbed all the human necessities of _The Man_ in the cares of the\nGodhead could not be rendered into forms intelligible to us, or rather,\ncould not be in itself intelligible to us, and therefore could not take\nany form of which we could lay hold. It is not till the end of those\nforty days that the divine event begins to dawn out from the sacred\ndepths of the eternal thought, becomes human enough to be made to\nappear, admits of utterance, becomes capable of being spoken in human\nforms to the ears of men, though yet only in a dark saying, which he\nthat hath ears to hear may hear, and he that hath a heart to understand\nmay understand. For the mystery is not left behind, nor can the speech\nbe yet clear unto men.\n\nAt the same moment when the approaching event comes within human ken,\nmay from afar be dimly descried by the God-upheld intelligence, the\nsame humanity seizes on the Master, and he is an hungered. The first\nsign that he has come back to us, that the strife is approaching its\nhuman result, is his hunger. On what a sea of endless life do we float,\nare our poor necessities sustained--not the poorest of them dissociated\nfrom the divine! Emerging from the storms of the ocean of divine\nthought and feeling into the shallower waters that lave the human\nshore, bearing with him the treasures won in the strife, our Lord is\nstraightway an hungered; and from this moment the temptation is human,\nand can be in some measure understood by us.\n\nBut could it even then have been conveyed to the human mind in merely\nintellectual forms? Or, granting that it might, could it be so conveyed\nto those who were only beginning to have the vaguest, most\nerror-mingled and confused notions about our Lord and what he came to\ndo? No. The inward experiences of our Lord, such as could be conveyed\nto them at all, could be conveyed to them only in a parable. For far\nplainer things than these, our Lord chose this form. The form of the\nparable is the first in which truth will admit of being embodied. Nor\nis this all: it is likewise the fullest; and to the parable will the\nteacher of the truth ever return. Is he who asserts that the passage\ncontains a simple narrative of actual events, prepared to believe, as\nthe story, so interpreted, indubitably gives us to understand, that a\nvisible demon came to our Lord and, himself the prince of worldly\nwisdom, thought, by quoting Scripture after the manner of the priests,\nto persuade a good man to tempt God; thought, by the promise of power,\nto prevail upon him to cast aside every claim he had upon the human\nrace, in falling down and worshipping one whom he knew to be the\nadversary of Truth, of Humanity, of God? How could Satan be so foolish?\nor, if Satan might be so foolish, wherein could such temptation so\npresented have tempted our Lord? and wherein would a victory over such\nbe a victory for the race?\n\nTold as a parable, it is as full of meaning as it would be bare if\nreceived as a narrative.\n\nOur Lord spake then this parable unto them, and so conveyed more of the\ntruth with regard to his temptation in the wilderness, than could have\nbeen conveyed by any other form in which the truth he wanted to give\nthem might have been embodied. Still I do not think it follows that we\nhave it exactly as he told it to his disciples. A man will hear but\nwhat he can hear, will see but what he can see, and, telling the story\nagain, can tell but what he laid hold of, what he seemed to himself to\nunderstand. His effort to reproduce the impression made upon his mind\nwill, as well as the impression itself, be liable to numberless\naltering, modifying, even, in a measure, discomposing influences. But\nit does not, therefore, follow that the reproduction is false. The\nmighty hosts of life-bearing worlds, requiring for the freedom of their\ncourses, and the glory of their changes, such awful abysses of space,\ndwindle in the human eye to seeds of light sown upon a blue plain. How\nfaint in the ears of man is the voice of their sphere-born thunder of\nadoration! Yet are they lovely indeed, uttering speech and teaching\nknowledge. So this story may not be just as the Lord told it, and yet\nmay contain in its mirror as much of the truth as we are able to\nreceive, and as will afford us sufficient scope for a life's discovery.\nThe modifying influences of the human channels may be essential to\nGod's revealing mode. It is only by seeing them first from afar that we\nlearn the laws of the heavens.\n\nAnd now arises the question upon the right answer to which depends the\nwhole elucidation of the story: _How could the Son of God be tempted_?\n\nIf any one say that he was not moved by those temptations, he must be\ntold that then they were no temptations to him, and he was not tempted;\nnor was his victory of more significance than that of the man who,\ntempted to bear false witness against his neighbour, abstains from\nrobbing him of his goods. For human need, struggle, and hope, it bears\nno meaning; and we must reject the whole as a fantastic folly of crude\ninvention; a mere stage-show; a lie for the poor sake of the fancied\ntruth; a doing of evil that good might come; and, with how many\nfragments soever of truth its mud may be filled, not in any way to be\nreceived as a divine message.\n\nBut asserting that these were real temptations if the story is to be\nreceived at all, am I not involving myself in a greater difficulty\nstill? For how could the Son of God be tempted with evil--with that\nwhich must to him appear in its true colours of discord, its true\nshapes of deformity? Or how could he then be the Son of his Father who\ncannot be tempted with evil?\n\nIn the answer to this lies the centre, the essential germ of the whole\ninterpretation: He was not tempted with Evil but with Good; with\ninferior forms of good, that is, pressing in upon him, while the higher\nforms of good held themselves aloof, biding their time, that is, God's\ntime. I do not believe that the Son of God could be tempted with evil,\nbut I do believe that he could be tempted with good--to yield to which\ntemptation would have been evil in him--ruin to the universe. But does\nnot all evil come from good?\n\nYes; but it has come _from_ it. It is no longer good. A good corrupted\nis no longer a good. Such could not tempt our Lord. Revenge may\noriginate in a sense of justice, but it is revenge not justice; an evil\nthing, for it would be fearfully unjust. Evil is evil whatever it may\nhave come from. The Lord could not have felt tempted to take vengeance\nupon his enemies, but he might have felt tempted to destroy the wicked\nfrom the face of the earth--to destroy them from the face of the earth,\nI say, not to destroy them for ever. To that I do not think he could\nhave felt tempted.\n\nBut we shall find illustration enough of what I mean in the matter\nitself. Let us look at the individual temptations represented in the\nparable.\n\nThe informing idea which led to St Matthew's arrangement seems to me\nsuperior to that showing itself in St Luke's. In the two accounts, the\ncloses, while each is profoundly significant, are remarkably different.\n\nNow let us follow St Matthew's record.\n\nAnd we shall see how the devil tempted him _to_ evil, but not _with_\nevil.\n\nFirst, He was hungry, and the devil said, _Make bread of this stone_.\n\nThe Lord had been fasting for forty days--a fast impossible except\nduring intense mental absorption. Let no one think to glorify this fast\nby calling it miraculous. Wonderful such fasts are on record on the\npart of holy men; and inasmuch as the Lord was more of a man than his\nbrethren, insomuch might he be farther withdrawn in the depths of his\nspiritual humanity from the outer region of his physical nature. So\nmuch the slower would be the goings on of that nature; and fasting in\nhis case might thus be extended beyond the utmost limits of similar\nfasts in others. This, I believe, was all--and this all infinite in its\nrelations. This is the grandest, simplest, and most significant, and,\ntherefore, the divinest way of regarding his fast. Hence, at the end of\nthe forty days, it was not hunger alone that made food tempting to him,\nbut that exhaustion of the whole system, wasting itself all the time it\nwas forgotten, which, reacting on the mind when the mind was already\nworn out with its own tension, must have deadened it so, that\n(speaking after the experience of his brethren, which alone will\nexplain his,) it could for the time see or feel nothing of the\nspiritual, and could only _believe in_ the unfelt, the unseen. What a\ntemptation was here! There is no sin in wishing to eat; no sin in\nprocuring food honestly that one may eat. But it rises even into an\nawful duty, when a man knows that to eat will restore the lost vision\nof the eternal; will, operating on the brain, and thence on the mind,\nrender the man capable of hope as well as of faith, of gladness as well\nas of confidence, of praise as well as of patience. Why then should he\nnot eat? Why should he not put forth the power that was in him that he\nmight eat? Because such power was his, not to take care of himself, but\nto work the work of him that sent him. Such power was his not even to\nhonour his Father save as his Father chose to be honoured, who is far\nmore honoured in the ordinary way of common wonders, than in the\nextraordinary way of miracles. Because it was God's business to take\ncare of him, his to do what the Father told him to do. To make that\nstone bread would be to take the care out of the Father's hands, and\nturn the divinest thing in the universe into the merest commonplace of\nself-preservation.\n\nAnd in nothing was he to be beyond his brethren, save in faith. No\nrefuge for him, any more than for them, save in the love and care of\nthe Father. Other refuge, let it be miraculous power or what you will,\nwould be but hell to him. God is refuge. God is life. \"Was he not to\neat when it came in his way? And did not the bread come in his way,\nwhen his power met that which could be changed into it?\"\n\nRegard that word _changed_. The whole matter lies in that. Changed from\nwhat? From what God had made it. Changed into what? Into what he did\nnot make it. Why changed? Because the Son was hungry, and the Father\nwould not feed him with food convenient for him! The Father did not\ngive him a stone when he asked for bread. It was Satan that brought the\nstone and told him to provide for himself. The Father said, That is a\nstone. The Son would not say, That is a loaf. No one creative _fiat_\nshall contradict another. The Father and the Son are of one mind. The\nLord could hunger, could starve, but would not change into another\nthing what his Father had made one thing. [Footnote: There was no such\nchange in the feeding of the multitudes. The fish and the bread were\nfish and bread before. I think this is significant as regards the true\nnature of a miracle, and its relation to the ordinary ways of God.\nThere was in these miracles, and I think in all, only a hastening of\nappearances; the doing of that in a day, which may ordinarily take a\nthousand years, for with God time is not what it is with us. He makes\nit. And the hastening of a process does not interfere in the least with\ncause and effect in the process, nor does it render the process one\nwhit more miraculous. In deed, the wonder of the growing corn is to me\ngreater than the wonder of feeding the thousands. It is easier to\nunderstand the creative power going forth at once--immediately--than\nthrough the countless, the lovely, the seemingly forsaken wonders of\nthe corn-field. To the merely scientific man all this is pure nonsense,\nor at best belongs to the region of the fancy. The time will come, I\nthink, when he will see that there is more in it, namely, a higher\nreason, a loftier science, how incorrectly soever herein indicated.]\n\nIf we regard the answer he gave the devil, we shall see the root of the\nmatter at once: \"Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word\nthat proceedeth out of the mouth of God.\" Yea even by the word which\nmade that stone that stone. Everything is all right. It is life indeed\nfor him to leave that a stone, which the Father had made a stone. It\nwould be death to him to alter one word that He had spoken.\n\n\"Man shall not live by bread alone.\" There are other ways of living\nbesides that which comes by bread. A man will live by the word of God,\nby what God says to him, by what God means between Him and him, by the\ntruths of being which the Father alone can reveal to his child, by the\ncommunion of love between them. Without the bread he will die, as men\nsay; but he will not find that he dies. He will only find that the tent\nwhich hid the stars from him is gone, and that he can see the heavens;\nor rather, the earthly house will melt away from around him, and he\nwill find that he has a palace-home about him, another and loftier word\nof God clothing upon him. So the man lives by the word of God even in\nrefusing the bread which God does not give him, for, instead of dying\nbecause he does not eat, he rises into a higher life even of the same\nkind.\n\nFor I have been speaking of the consciousness of existence, and not of\nthat higher spiritual life on which all other life depends. That of\ncourse can for no one moment exist save from the heart of God. When a\nman tries to live by bread and not by the word that comes out of that\nheart of God, he may think he lives, but he begins to die or is dead.\nOur Lord says, \"I can do without the life that comes of bread: without\nthe life that comes of the word of my Father, I die indeed.\" Therefore\nhe does not think twice about the matter. That God's will be done is\nall his care. That done, all will be right, and all right with him,\nwhether he thinks about himself or not. For the Father does not forget\nthe child who is so busy trusting in him, that he cares not even to\npray for himself.\n\nIn the higher aspect of this first temptation, arising from the fact\nthat a man cannot feel the things he believes except under certain\nconditions of physical well-being dependent upon food, the answer is\nthe same: A man does not live by his feelings any more than by bread,\nbut by the Truth, that is, the Word, the Will, the uttered Being of\nGod.\n\nI am even ashamed to yield here to the necessity of writing what is but\nas milk for babes, when I would gladly utter, if I might, only that\nwhich would be as bread for men and women. What I must say is this:\nthat, by _the Word of God_, I do not understand _The Bible_. The Bible\nis _a_ Word of God, the chief of his written words, because it tells us\nof The Word, the Christ; but everything God has done and given man to\nknow is a word of his, a will of his; and inasmuch as it is a will of\nhis, it is a necessity to man, without which he cannot live: the\nreception of it is man's life. For inasmuch as God's utterances are a\nwhole, every smallest is essential: he speaks no foolishness--there are\nwith him no vain repetitions. But by _the word_ of the God and not\nMaker only, who is God just because he _speaks_ to men, I must\nunderstand, in the deepest sense, every revelation of Himself in the\nheart and consciousness of man, so that the man knows that God is\nthere, nay, rather, that he is here. Even Christ himself is not The\nWord of God in the deepest sense _to a man_, until he is this\nRevelation of God to the man,--until the Spirit that is the meaning in\nthe Word has come to him,--until the speech is not a sound as of\nthunder, but the voice of words; for a word is more than an utterance--\nit is a sound to be understood. No word, I say, is fully a Word _of_\nGod until it is a Word _to_ man, until the man therein recognizes God.\nThis is that for which the word is spoken. The words of God are as the\nsands and the stars,--they cannot be numbered; but the end of all and\neach is this--to reveal God. Nor, moreover, can the man know that any\none of them is the word of God, save as it comes thus to him, is a\nrevelation of God in him. It is _to_ him that it may be _in_ him; but\ntill it is _in_ him he cannot _know_ that it was _to_ him. God must be\nGod _in_ man before man can know that he is God, or that he has\nreceived aright, and for that for which it was spoken, any one of his\nwords. [Footnote: No doubt the humble spirit will receive the testimony\nof every one whom he reveres, and look in the direction indicated for a\nword from the Father; but till he thus receives it in his heart, he\ncannot know what the word spoken of is.]\n\nIf, by any will of God--that is, any truth in him--we live, we live by\nit tenfold when that will has become a word to us. When we receive it,\nhis will becomes our will, and so we live by God. But the word of God\nonce understood, a man must live by the faith of what God is, and not\nby his own feelings even in regard to God. It is the Truth itself, that\nwhich God is, known by what goeth out of his mouth, that man lives by.\nAnd when he can no longer _feel_ the truth, he shall not therefore die.\nHe lives because God is true; and he is able to know that he lives\nbecause he knows, having once understood the word, that God is truth.\nHe believes in the God of former vision, lives by that word therefore,\nwhen all is dark and there is no vision.\n\nWe now come to the second attempt of the Enemy. \"Then if God is to be\nso trusted, try him. Fain would I see the result. Shew thyself his\ndarling. Here is the word itself for it: He shall give his angels\ncharge concerning thee; not a stone shall hurt thee. Take him at his\nword. Throw thyself down, and strike the conviction into me that thou\nart the Son of God. For thou knowest thou dost not look like what thou\nsayest thou art.\"\n\nAgain, with a written word, in return, the Lord meets him. And he does\nnot quote the scripture for logical purposes--to confute Satan\nintellectually, but as giving even Satan the reason of his conduct.\nSatan quotes Scripture as a verbal authority; our Lord meets him with a\nScripture by the truth in which he regulates his conduct.\n\nIf we examine it, we shall find that this answer contains the same\nprinciple as the former, namely this, that to the Son of God the will\nof God is Life. It was a temptation to shew the powers of the world\nthat he was the Son of God; that to him the elements were subject; that\nhe was above the laws of Nature, because he was the Eternal Son; and\nthus stop the raging of the heathen, and the vain imaginations of the\npeople. It would be but to shew them the truth. But he was the _Son_ of\nGod: what was his _Father's_ will? Such was not the divine way of\nconvincing the world of sin, of righteousness, of judgment. If the\nFather told him to cast himself down, that moment the pinnacle pointed\nnaked to the sky. If the devil threw him down, let God send his angels;\nor, if better, allow him to be dashed to pieces in the valley below.\nBut never will he forestall the divine will. The Father shall order\nwhat comes next. The Son will obey. In the path of his work he will\nturn aside for no stone. There let the angels bear him in their hands\nif need be. But he will not choose the path because there is a stone in\nit. He will not choose at all. He will go where the Spirit leads him.\n\nI think this will throw some light upon the words of our Lord, \"If ye\nhave faith and doubt not, if ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou\nremoved, and be thou cast into the sea; it shall be done.\" Good people,\namongst them John Bunyan, have been tempted to tempt the Lord their God\nupon the strength of this saying, just as Satan sought to tempt our\nLord on the strength of the passage he quoted from the Psalms. Happily\nfor such, the assurance to which they would give the name of faith\ngenerally fails them in time. Faith is that which, knowing the Lord's\nwill, goes and does it; or, not knowing it, stands and waits, content\nin ignorance as in knowledge, because God wills; neither pressing into\nthe hidden future, nor careless of the knowledge which opens the path\nof action. It is its noblest exercise to act with uncertainty of the\nresult, when the duty itself is certain, or even when a course seems\nwith strong probability to be duty. [Footnote: In the latter case a man\nmay be mistaken, and his work will be burned, but by that very fire he\nwill be saved. Nothing saves a man more than the burning of his work,\nexcept the doing of work that can stand the fire.] But to put God to\nthe question in any other way than by saying, What wilt thou have me to\ndo? is an attempt to compel God to declare himself, or to hasten his\nwork. This probably was the sin of Judas. It is presumption of a kind\nsimilar to the making of a stone into bread. It is, as it were, either\na forcing of God to act where he has created no need for action, or the\nmaking of a case wherein he shall seem to have forfeited his word if he\ndoes not act. The man is therein dissociating himself from God so far\nthat, instead of acting by the divine will from within, he acts in\nGod's face, as it were, to see what he will do. Man's first business\nis, \"What does God want me to do?\" not \"What will God do if I do so and\nso?\" To tempt a parent after the flesh in such a manner would be\nimpertinence: to tempt God so is the same vice in its highest form--a\nnatural result of that condition of mind which is worse than all the\nso-called cardinal sins, namely, spiritual pride, which attributes the\ntenderness and love of God not to man's being and man's need, but to\nsome distinguishing excellence in the individual himself, which causes\nthe Father to love him better than his fellows, and so pass by his\nfaults with a smile. Not thus did the Son of God regard his relation to\nhis Father. The faith which will remove mountains is that confidence in\nGod which comes from seeking nothing but his will. A man who was thus\nfaithful would die of hunger sooner than say to the stone, _Be bread_;\nwould meet the scoffs of the unbelieving without reply and with\napparent defeat, sooner than say to the mountain, _Be thou cast into\nthe sea_, even if he knew that it would be torn from its foundations at\nthe word, except he knew first that God would have it so.\n\nAnd thus I am naturally brought to consider more fully how this should\nbe a real temptation to the Son of Man. It would be good to confound\nhis adversaries; to force conviction upon them that he was the\nGod-supported messenger he declared himself. Why should he have\nAdversaries a moment longer to interfere between him and the willing\nhearts which would believe if they could? The answer to all this was\nplain to our Lord, and is plain to us now: It was not the way of the\nFather's will. It would not fall in with that gradual development of\nlife and history by which the Father works, and which must be the way\nto breed free, God-loving wills. It would be violent, theatrical,\ntherefore poor in nature and in result,--not God-like in any way.\nEverything in God's doing comes harmoniously with and from all the\nrest. Son of Man, his history shall be a man's history, shall be The\nMan's history. Shall that begin with an exception? Yet it might well be\na temptation to Him who longed to do all he could for men. He was the\nSon of God: why should not the sons of God know it?\n\nBut as this temptation in the wilderness was an epitome and type of the\ntemptations to come, against which for forty days he had been making\nhimself strong, revolving truth beyond our reach, in whose light every\ncommonest duty was awful and divine, a vision fit almost to oppress a\nGod in his humiliation, so we shall understand the whole better if we\nlook at his life in relation to it. As he refused to make stones bread,\nso throughout that life he never wrought a miracle to help himself; as\nhe refused to cast himself from the temple to convince Satan or glory\nvisibly in his Sonship, so he steadily refused to give the sign which\nthe human Satans demanded, notwithstanding the offer of conviction\nwhich they held forth to bribe him to the grant. How easy it seems to\nhave confounded them, and strengthened his followers! But such\nconviction would stand in the way of a better conviction in his\ndisciples, and would do his adversaries only harm. For neither could\nnot in any true sense be convinced by such a show: it could but prove\nhis power. It might prove so far the presence of a God; but would it\nprove that God? Would it bring him nearer to them, who could not see\nhim in the face of his Son? To say _Thou art God_, without knowing what\nthe _Thou_ means--of what use is it? God is a name only, except we know\n_God_. Our Lord did not care to be so acknowledged.\n\nOn the same principle, the very miracles which from their character did\npartially reveal his character to those who already had faith in him,\nhe would not do where unbelief predominated. He often avoided cities\nand crowds, and declined mighty works because of unbelief. Except for\nthe loving help they gave the distressed, revealing him to their hearts\nas the Redeemer from evil, I doubt if he would have wrought a single\nmiracle. I do not think he cared much about them. Certainly, as\nregarded the onlookers, he did not expect much to result from those\nmighty deeds. A mere marvel is practically soon forgotten, and long\nbefore it is forgotten, many minds have begun to doubt the senses,\ntheir own even, which communicated it. Inward sight alone can convince\nof truth; signs and wonders never. No number of signs can do more than\nconvey a probability that he who shews them knows that of which he\nspeaks. They cannot convey the truth. But the vision of the truth\nitself, in the knowledge of itself, a something altogether beyond the\nregion of signs and wonders, is the power of God, is salvation. This\nvision was in the Lord's face and form to the pure in heart who were\nable to see God; but not in his signs and wonders to those who sought\nafter such. Yet it is easy to see how the temptation might for a moment\nwork upon a mind that longed to enter upon its labours with the\ncredentials of its truth. How the true heart longs to be received by\nits brethren--to be known in its truth! But no. The truth must show\nitself in God's time, in and by the labour. The kingdom must come in\nGod's holy human way. Not by a stroke of grandeur, but by years of\nlove, yea, by centuries of seeming bafflement, by aeons of labour, must\nhe grow into the hearts of the sons and daughters of his Father in\nheaven. The Lord himself _will_ be bound by the changeless laws which\nare the harmony of the Fathers being and utterance. He will _be_, not\nseem. He will be, and thereby, not therefore, seem. Yet, once more,\neven on him, the idea of asserting the truth in holy power such as he\ncould have put forth, must have dawned in grandeur. The thought was\ngood: to have yielded to it would have been the loss of the world; nay,\nfar worse--ill inconceivable to the human mind--the God of obedience\nhad fallen from his throne, and--all is blackness.\n\nBut let us not forget that the whole is a faint parable--faint I mean\nin relation to the grandeur of the reality, as the ring and the shoes\nare poor types (yet how dear!) of the absolute love of the Father to\nhis prodigal children.\n\nWe shall now look at the third temptation. The first was to help\nhimself in his need; the second, perhaps, to assert the Father; the\nthird to deliver his brethren.\n\nTo deliver them, that is, after the fashion of men--from the outside\nstill. Indeed, the whole Temptation may be regarded as the contest of\nthe seen and the unseen, of the outer and inner, of the likely and the\ntrue, of the show and the reality. And as in the others, the evil in\nthis last lay in that it was a temptation to save his brethren, instead\nof doing the Will of his Father.\n\nCould it be other than a temptation to think that he might, if he\nwould, lay a righteous grasp upon the reins of government, leap into\nthe chariot of power, and ride forth conquering and to conquer? Glad\nvisions arose before him of the prisoner breaking jubilant from the\ncell of injustice; of the widow lifting up the bowed head before the\ndevouring Pharisee; of weeping children bursting into shouts at the\nsound of the wheels of the chariot before which oppression and wrong\nshrunk and withered, behind which sprung the fir-tree instead of the\nthorn, and the myrtle instead of the brier. What glowing visions of\nholy vengeance, what rosy dreams of human blessedness--and all from his\nhand--would crowd such a brain as his!--not like the castles-in-the-air\nof the aspiring youth, for he builds at random, because he knows that\nhe cannot realize; but consistent and harmonious as well as grand,\nbecause he knew them within his reach. Could he not mould the people at\nhis will? Could he not, transfigured in his snowy garments, call aloud\nin the streets of Jerusalem, \"Behold your King?\" And the fierce\nwarriors of his nation would start at the sound; the ploughshare would\nbe beaten into the sword, and the pruning-hook into the spear; and the\nnation, rushing to his call, learn war yet again indeed,--a grand, holy\nwar--a crusade--no; we should not have had _that_ word; but a war\nagainst the tyrants of the race--the best, as they called themselves--\nwho trod upon their brethren, and would not suffer them even to look to\nthe heavens.--Ah! but when were his garments white as snow? When,\nthrough them, glorifying them as it passed, did the light stream from\nhis glorified body? Not when he looked to such a conquest; but when, on\na mount like this, he \"spake of the decease that he should _accomplish_\nat Jerusalem\"! Why should this be \"the sad end of the war\"? \"Thou shalt\nworship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.\" Not even\nthine own visions of love and truth, O Saviour of the world, shall be\nthy guides to thy goal, but the will of thy Father in heaven.\n\nBut how would he, thus conquering, be a servant of Satan? Wherein would\nthis be a falling-down and a worshipping of him (that is, an\nacknowledging of the worth of him) who was the lord of misrule and its\npain?\n\nI will not inquire whether such an enterprise could be accomplished\nwithout the worship of Satan,--whether men could be managed for such an\nend without more or less of the trickery practised by every ambitious\nleader, every self-serving conqueror--without double-dealing, tact,\nflattery, finesse. I will not inquire into this, because, on the most\ndistant supposition of our Lord being the leader of his country's\narmies, these things drop out of sight as impossibilities. If these\nwere necessary, such a career for him refuses to be for a moment\nimagined. But I will ask whether to know better and do not so well, is\nnot a serving of Satan;--whether to lead men on in the name of God as\ntowards the best when the end is not the best, is not a serving of\nSatan;--whether to flatter their pride by making them conquerors of the\nenemies of their nation instead of their own evils, is not a serving of\nSatan;--in a word, whether, to desert the mission of God, who knew that\nmen could not be set free in that way, and sent him to be a man, a true\nman, the one man, among them, that his life might become their life,\nand that so they might be as free in prison or on the cross, as upon a\nhill-side or on a throne,--whether, so deserting the truth, to give men\nover to the lie of believing other than spirit and truth to be the\nworship of the Father, other than love the fulfilling of the law, other\nthan the offering of their best selves the service of God, other than\nobedient harmony with the primal love and truth and law, freedom,--\nwhether, to desert God thus, and give men over thus, would not have\nbeen to fall down and worship the devil. Not all the sovereignty of\nGod, as the theologians call it, delegated to the Son, and administered\nby the wisdom of the Spirit that was given to him without measure,\ncould have wrought the kingdom of heaven in one corner of our earth.\nNothing but the obedience of the Son, the obedience unto the death, the\nabsolute _doing_ of the will of God because it was the truth, could\nredeem the prisoner, the widow, the orphan. But it would redeem them by\nredeeming the conquest-ridden conqueror too, the stripe-giving jailer,\nthe unjust judge, the devouring Pharisee himself with the insatiable\nmoth-eaten heart. The earth should be free because Love was stronger\nthan Death. Therefore should fierceness and wrong and hypocrisy and\nGod-service play out their weary play. He would not pluck the spreading\nbranches of the tree; he would lay the axe to its root. It would take\ntime; but the tree would be dead at last--dead, and cast into the lake\nof fire. It would take time; but his Father had time enough and to\nspare. It would take courage and strength and self-denial and\nendurance; but his Father could give him all. It would cost pain of\nbody and mind, yea, agony and torture; but those he was ready to take\non himself. It would cost him the vision of many sad and, to all but\nhim, hopeless sights; he must see tears without wiping them, hear sighs\nwithout changing them into laughter, see the dead lie, and let them\nlie; see Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted;\nhe must look on his brothers and sisters crying as children over their\nbroken toys, and must not mend them; he must go on to the grave, and\nthey not know that thus he was setting all things right for them. His\nwork must be one with and completing God's Creation and God's History.\nThe disappointment and sorrow and fear he could, he would bear. The\nwill of God should be done. Man should be free,--not merely man as he\nthinks of himself, but man as God thinks of him. The divine idea shall\nbe set free in the divine bosom; the man on earth shall see his angel\nface to face. He shall grow into the likeness of the divine thought,\nfree not in his own fancy, but in absolute divine fact of being, as in\nGod's idea. The great and beautiful and perfect will of God _must_ be\ndone.\n\n\"Get thee hence, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord\nthy God, and him only shalt thou serve.\"\n\nIt was when Peter would have withstood him as he set his face\nsteadfastly to meet this death at Jerusalem, that he gave him the same\nkind of answer that he now gave to Satan, calling him Satan too.\n\n\"Then the devil leaveth him, and behold angels came and ministered unto\nhim.\"\n\nSo saith St Matthew. They brought him the food he had waited for,\nwalking in the strength of the word. He would have died if it had not\ncome now.\n\n\"And when the devil had ended all the temptation, he departed from him\nfor a season.\"\n\nSo saith St Luke.\n\nThen Satan ventured once more. When?\n\nWas it then, when at the last moment, in the agony of the last faint,\nthe Lord cried out, \"Why hast thou forsaken me?\" when, having done the\ngreat work, having laid it aside clean and pure as the linen cloth that\nwas ready now to infold him, another cloud than that on the mount\novershadowed his soul, and out of it came a voiceless persuasion that,\nafter all was done, God did not care for his work or for him?\n\nEven in those words the adversary was foiled--and for ever. For when he\nseemed to be forsaken, his cry was still, \"_My God! my God!_\"\n\n\n\n\n                                THE ELOI.\n\n\n_\"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?\"_--ST MATTHEW xxvii. 46.\n\nI do not know that I should dare to approach this, of all utterances\ninto which human breath has ever been moulded, most awful in import,\ndid I not feel that, containing both germ and blossom of the final\ndevotion, it contains therefore the deepest practical lesson the human\nheart has to learn. The Lord, the Revealer, hides nothing that can be\nrevealed, and will not warn away the foot that treads in naked humility\neven upon the ground of that terrible conflict between him and Evil,\nwhen the smoke of the battle that was fought not only with garments\nrolled in blood but with burning and fuel of fire, rose up between him\nand his Father, and for the one terrible moment ere he broke the bonds\nof life, and walked weary and triumphant into his arms, hid God from\nthe eyes of his Son. He will give us even to meditate the one thought\nthat slew him at last, when he could bear no more, and fled to the\nFather to know that he loved him, and was well-pleased with him. For\nSatan had come at length yet again, to urge him with his last\ntemptation; to tell him that although he had done his part, God had\nforgotten his; that although he had lived by the word of his mouth,\nthat mouth had no word more to speak to him; that although he had\nrefused to tempt him, God had left him to be tempted more than he could\nbear; that although he had worshipped none other, for that worship God\ndid not care. The Lord hides not his sacred sufferings, for truth is\nlight, and would be light in the minds of men. The Holy Child, the Son\nof the Father, has nothing to conceal, but all the Godhead to reveal.\nLet us then put off our shoes, and draw near, and bow the head, and\nkiss those feet that bear for ever the scars of our victory. In those\nfeet we clasp the safety of our suffering, our sinning brotherhood.\n\nIt is with the holiest fear that we should approach the terrible fact\nof the sufferings of our Lord. Let no one think that those were less\nbecause he was more. The more delicate the nature, the more alive to\nall that is lovely and true, lawful and right, the more does it feel\nthe antagonism of pain, the inroad of death upon life; the more\ndreadful is that breach of the harmony of things whose sound is\ntorture. He felt more than man could feel, because he had a larger\nfeeling. He was even therefore worn out sooner than another man would\nhave been. These sufferings were awful indeed when they began to invade\nthe region about the will; when the struggle to keep consciously\ntrusting in God began to sink in darkness; when the Will of The Man put\nforth its last determined effort in that cry after the vanishing vision\nof the Father: _My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?_ Never had\nit been so with him before. Never before had he been unable to see God\nbeside him. Yet never was God nearer him than now. For never was Jesus\nmore divine. He could not see, could not feel him near; and yet it is\n\"_My_ God\" that he cries.\n\nThus the Will of Jesus, in the very moment when his faith seems about\nto yield, is finally triumphant. It has no _feeling_ now to support it,\nno beatific vision to absorb it. It stands naked in his soul and\ntortured, as he stood naked and scourged before Pilate. Pure and simple\nand surrounded by fire, it declares for God. The sacrifice ascends in\nthe cry, _My God_. The cry comes not out of happiness, out of peace,\nout of hope. Not even out of suffering comes that cry. It was a cry\n_in_ desolation, but it came out of Faith. It is the last voice of\nTruth, speaking when it can but cry. The divine horror of that moment\nis unfathomable by human soul. It was blackness of darkness. And yet he\nwould believe. Yet he would hold fast. God was his God yet. _My God_--\nand in the cry came forth the Victory, and all was over soon. Of the\npeace that followed that cry, the peace of a perfect soul, large as the\nuniverse, pure as light, ardent as life, victorious for God and his\nbrethren, he himself alone can ever know the breadth and length, and\ndepth and height.\n\nWithout this last trial of all, the temptations of our Master had not\nbeen so full as the human cup could hold; there would have been one\nregion through which we had to pass wherein we might call aloud upon\nour Captain-Brother, and there would be no voice or hearing: he had\navoided the fatal spot! The temptations of the desert came to the\nyoung, strong man with his road before him and the presence of his God\naround him; nay, gathered their very force from the exuberance of his\nconscious faith. \"Dare and do, for God is with thee,\" said the devil.\n\"I know it, and therefore I will wait,\" returned the king of his\nbrothers. And now, after three years of divine action, when his course\nis run, when the old age of finished work is come, when the whole frame\nis tortured until the regnant brain falls whirling down the blue gulf\nof fainting, and the giving up of the ghost is at hand, when the\nfriends have forsaken him and fled, comes the voice of the enemy again\nat his ear: \"Despair and die, for God is not with thee. All is in vain.\nDeath, not Life, is thy refuge. Make haste to Hades, where thy torture\nwill be over. Thou hast deceived thyself. He never was with thee. He\nwas the God of Abraham. Abraham is dead. Whom makest thou thyself?\" \"My\nGod, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?\" the Master cries. For God was\nhis God still, although he had forsaken him--forsaken _his vision_ that\nhis faith might glow out triumphant; forsaken _himself_? no; come\nnearer to him than ever; come nearer, even as--but with a yet deeper,\nmore awful pregnancy of import--even as the Lord himself withdrew from\nthe bodily eyes of his friends, that he might dwell in their\nprofoundest being.\n\nI do not think it was our Lord's deepest trial when in the garden he\nprayed that the cup might pass from him, and prayed yet again that the\nwill of the Father might be done. For that will was then present with\nhim. He was living and acting in that will. But now the foreseen horror\nhas come. He is drinking the dread cup, and the Will has vanished from\nhis eyes. Were that Will visible in his suffering, his will could bow\nwith tearful gladness under the shelter of its grandeur. But now his\nwill is left alone to drink the cup of The Will in torture. In the\nsickness of this agony, the Will of Jesus arises perfect at last; and\nof itself, unsupported now, declares--a naked consciousness of misery\nhung in the waste darkness of the universe--declares for God, in\ndefiance of pain, of death, of apathy, of self, of negation, of the\nblackness within and around it; calls aloud upon the vanished God.\n\nThis is the Faith of the Son of God. God withdrew, as it were, that the\nperfect Will of the Son might arise and go forth to find the Will of\nthe Father.\n\nIs it possible that even then he thought of the lost sheep who could\nnot believe that God was their Father; and for them, too, in all their\nloss and blindness and unlove, cried, saying the word they might say,\nknowing for them that _God_ means _Father_ and more, and knowing now,\nas he had never known till now, what a fearful thing it is to be\nwithout God and without hope? I dare not answer the question I put.\n\nBut wherein or what can this Alpine apex of faith have to do with the\ncreatures who call themselves Christians, creeping about in the\nvalleys, hardly knowing that there are mountains above them, save that\nthey take offence at and stumble over the pebbles washed across their\npath by the glacier streams? I will tell you. We are and remain such\ncreeping Christians, because we look at ourselves and not at Christ;\nbecause we gaze at the marks of our own soiled feet, and the trail of\nour own defiled garments, instead of up at the snows of purity, whither\nthe soul of Christ clomb. Each, putting his foot in the footprint of\nthe Master, and so defacing it, turns to examine how far his\nneighbour's footprint corresponds with that which he still calls the\nMaster's, although it is but his own. Or, having committed a petty\nfault, I mean a fault such as only a petty creature could commit, we\nmourn over the defilement to ourselves, and the shame of it before our\nfriends, children, or servants, instead of hastening to make the due\nconfession and amends to our fellow, and then, forgetting our paltry\nself with its well-earned disgrace, lift up our eyes to the glory which\nalone will quicken the true man in us, and kill the peddling creature\nwe so wrongly call our _self_. The true self is that which can look\nJesus in the face, and say _My Lord_.\n\nWhen the inward sun is shining, and the wind of thought, blowing where\nit lists amid the flowers and leaves of fancy and imagination, rouses\nglad forms and feelings, it is easy to look upwards, and say _My God_.\nIt is easy when the frosts of external failure have braced the mental\nnerves to healthy endurance and fresh effort after labour, it is easy\nthen to turn to God and trust in him, in whom all honest exertion gives\nan ability as well as a right to trust. It is easy in pain, so long as\nit does not pass certain undefinable bounds, to hope in God for\ndeliverance, or pray for strength to endure. But what is to be done\nwhen all feeling is gone? when a man does not know whether he believes\nor not, whether he loves or not? when art, poetry, religion are nothing\nto him, so swallowed up is he in pain, or mental depression, or\ndisappointment, or temptation, or he knows not what? It seems to him\nthen that God does not care for him, and certainly he does not care for\nGod. If he is still humble, he thinks that he is so bad that God cannot\ncare for him. And he then believes for the time that God loves us only\nbecause and when and while we love him; instead of believing that God\nloves us always because he is our God, and that we live only by his\nlove. Or he does not believe in a God at all, which is better.\n\nSo long as we have nothing to say to God, nothing to do with him, save\nin the sunshine of the mind when we feel him near us, we are poor\ncreatures, willed upon, not willing; reeds, flowering reeds, it may be,\nand pleasant to behold, but only reeds blown about of the wind; not\nbad, but poor creatures.\n\nAnd how in such a condition do we generally act? Do we not sit mourning\nover the loss of our feelings? or worse, make frantic efforts to rouse\nthem? or, ten times worse, relapse into a state of temporary atheism,\nand yield to the pressing temptation? or, being heartless, consent to\nremain careless, conscious of evil thoughts and low feelings alone, but\ntoo lazy, too content to rouse ourselves against them? We know we must\nget rid of them some day, but meantime--never mind; we do not _feel_\nthem bad, we do not feel anything else good; we are asleep and we know\nit, and we cannot be troubled to wake. No impulse comes to arouse us,\nand so we remain as we are.\n\nGod does not, by the instant gift of his Spirit, make us always feel\nright, desire good, love purity, aspire after him and his will.\nTherefore either he will not, or he cannot. If he will not, it must be\nbecause it would not be well to do so. If he cannot, then he would not\nif he could; else a better condition than God's is conceivable to the\nmind of God--a condition in which he could save the creatures whom he\nhas made, better than he can save them. The truth is this: He wants to\nmake us in his own image, _choosing the good_, _refusing_ the evil. How\nshould he effect this if he were _always_ moving us from within, as he\ndoes at divine intervals, towards the beauty of holiness? God gives us\nroom _to be_; does not oppress us with his will; \"stands away from us,\"\nthat we may act from ourselves, that we may exercise the pure will for\ngood. Do not, therefore, imagine me to mean that we can do anything of\nourselves without God. If we choose the right at last, it is all God's\ndoing, and only the more his that it is ours, only in a far more\nmarvellous way his than if he had kept us filled with all holy impulses\nprecluding the need of choice. For up to this very point, for this very\npoint, he has been educating us, leading us, pushing us, driving us,\nenticing us, that we may choose him and his will, and so be tenfold\nmore his children, of his own best making, in the freedom of the will\nfound our own first in its loving sacrifice to him, for which in his\ngrand fatherhood he has been thus working from the foundations of the\nearth, than we could be in the most ecstatic worship flowing from the\ndivinest impulse, without this _willing_ sacrifice. For God made our\nindividuality as well as, and a greater marvel than, our dependence;\nmade our _apartness_ from himself, that freedom should bind us divinely\ndearer to himself, with a new and inscrutable marvel of love; for the\nGodhead is still at the root, is the making root of our individuality,\nand the freer the man, the stronger the bond that binds him to him who\nmade his freedom. He made our wills, and is striving to make them free;\nfor only in the perfection of our individuality and the freedom of our\nwills call we be altogether his children. This is full of mystery, but\ncan we not see enough in it to make us very glad and very peaceful?\n\nNot in any other act than one which, in spite of impulse or of\nweakness, declares for the Truth, for God, does the will spring into\nabsolute freedom, into true life.\n\nSee, then, what lies within our reach every time that we are thus lapt\nin the folds of night. The highest condition of the human will is in\nsight, is attainable. I say not the highest condition of the Human\nBeing; that surely lies in the Beatific Vision, in the sight of God.\nBut the highest condition of the Human Will, as distinct, not as\nseparated from God, is when, not seeing God, not seeming to itself to\ngrasp him at all, it yet holds him fast. It cannot continue in this\ncondition, for, not finding, not seeing God, the man would die; but the\nwill thus asserting itself, the man has passed from death into life,\nand the vision is nigh at hand. Then first, thus free, in thus\nasserting its freedom, is the individual will one with the Will of God;\nthe child is finally restored to the father; the childhood and the\nfatherhood meet in one; the brotherhood of the race arises from the\ndust; and the prayer of our Lord is answered, \"I in them and thou in\nme, that they may be made perfect in one.\" Let us then arise in\nGod-born strength every time that we feel the darkness closing, or\nBecome aware that it has closed around us, and say, \"I am of the Light\nand not of the Darkness.\"\n\nTroubled soul, thou art not bound to feel, but thou art bound to arise.\nGod loves thee whether thou feelest or not. Thou canst not love when\nthou wilt, but thou art bound to fight the hatred in thee to the last.\nTry not to feel good when thou art not good, but cry to Him who is\ngood. He changes not because thou changest. Nay, he has an especial\ntenderness of love towards thee for that thou art in the dark and hast\nno light, and his heart is glad when thou dost arise and say, \"I will\ngo to my Father.\" For he sees thee through all the gloom through which\nthou canst not see him. Will thou his will. Say to him: \"My God, I am\nvery dull and low and hard; but thou art wise and high and tender, and\nthou art my God. I am thy child. Forsake me not.\" Then fold the arms of\nthy faith, and wait in quietness until light goes up in thy darkness.\nFold the arms of thy Faith I say, but not of thy Action: bethink thee\nof something that thou oughtest to do, and go and do it, if it be but\nthe sweeping of a room, or the preparing of a meal, or a visit to a\nfriend. Heed not thy feelings: Do thy work.\n\nAs God lives by his own will, and we live in him, so has he given to us\npower to will in ourselves. How much better should we not fare if,\nfinding that we are standing with our heads bowed away from the good,\nfinding that we have no feeble inclination to seek the source of our\nlife, we should yet _will_ upwards toward God, rousing that essence of\nlife in us, which he has given us from his own heart, to call again\nupon him who is our Life, who can fill the emptiest heart, rouse the\ndeadest conscience, quicken the dullest feeling, and strengthen the\nfeeblest will!\n\nThen, if ever the time should come, as perhaps it must come to each of\nus, when all consciousness of well-being shall have vanished, when the\nearth shall be but a sterile promontory, and the heavens a dull and\npestilent congregation of vapours, when man nor woman shall delight us\nmore, nay, when God himself shall be but a name, and Jesus an old\nstory, then, even then, when a Death far worse than \"that phantom of\ngrisly bone\" is griping at our hearts, and having slain love, hope,\nfaith, forces existence upon us only in agony, then, even then, we\nshall be able to cry out with our Lord, \"My God, my God, why hast thou\nforsaken me?\" Nor shall we die then, I think, without being able to\ntake up his last words as well, and say, \"_Father, into thy hands I\ncommend my spirit._\"\n\n\n\n\n                        THE HANDS OF THE FATHER.\n\n\n \"_Father, into thy hand I commend my spirit_.\"--St Luke xxiii. 46.\n\nNeither St Matthew nor St Mark tells us of any words uttered by our\nLord after the _Eloi_. They both, along with St Luke, tell us of a cry\nwith a loud voice, and the giving up of the ghost; between which cry\nand the giving up, St Luke records the words, \"Father, into thy hands I\ncommend my spirit.\" St Luke says nothing of the Eloi prayer of\ndesolation. St John records neither the _Eloi_, nor the _Father into\nthy hands_, nor the loud cry. He tells us only that after Jesus had\nreceived the vinegar, he said, \"_It is finished_,\" and bowed his head,\nand gave up the ghost.\n\nWill the Lord ever tell us why he cried so? Was it the cry of relief at\nthe touch of death? Was it the cry of victory? Was it the cry of\ngladness that he had endured to the end? Or did the Father look out\nupon him in answer to his _My God_, and the blessedness of it make him\ncry aloud because he could not smile? Was such his condition now that\nthe greatest gladness of the universe could express itself only in a\nloud cry? Or was it but the last wrench of pain ere the final repose\nbegan? It may have been all in one. But never surely in all books, in\nall words of thinking men, can there be so much expressed as lay\nunarticulated in that cry of the Son of God. Now had he made his Father\nLord no longer in the might of making and loving alone, but Lord in\nright of devotion and deed of love. Now should inward sonship and the\nspirit of glad sacrifice be born in the hearts of men; for the divine\nobedience was perfected by suffering. He had been amongst his brethren\nwhat he would have his brethren be. He had done for them what he would\nhave them do for God and for each other. God was henceforth inside and\nbeneath them, as well as around and above them, suffering with them and\nfor them, giving them all he had, his very life-being, his essence of\nexistence, what best he loved, what best he was. He had been among\nthem, their God-brother. And the mighty story ends with a cry.\n\nThen the cry meant, _It is finished_; the cry meant, _Father, into thy\nhands I commend my spirit_. Every highest human act is just a giving\nback to God of that which he first gave to us. \"Thou God hast given me:\nhere again is thy gift. I send my spirit home.\" Every act of worship is\na holding up to God of what God hath made us. \"Here, Lord, look what I\nhave got: feel with me in what thou hast made me, in this thy own\nbounty, my being. I am thy child, and know not how to thank thee save\nby uplifting the heave-offering of the overflowing of thy life, and\ncalling aloud, 'It is thine: it is mine. I am thine, and therefore I am\nmine.'\" The vast operations of the spiritual as of the physical world,\nare simply a turning again to the source.\n\nThe last act of our Lord in thus commending his spirit at the close of\nhis life, was only a summing up of what he had been doing all his life.\nHe had been offering this sacrifice, the sacrifice of himself, all the\nyears, and in thus sacrificing he had lived the divine life. Every\nmorning when he went out ere it was day, every evening when he lingered\non the night-lapt mountain after his friends were gone, he was offering\nhimself to his Father in the communion of loving words, of high\nthoughts, of speechless feelings; and, between, he turned to do the\nsame thing in deed, namely, in loving word, in helping thought, in\nhealing action towards his fellows; for the way to worship God while\nthe daylight lasts is to work; the service of God, the only \"divine\nservice,\" is the helping of our fellows.\n\nI do not seek to point out this commending of our spirits to the Father\nas a duty: that is to turn the highest privilege we possess into a\nburden grievous to be borne. But I want to shew that it is the simplest\nblessedest thing in the human world.\n\nFor the Human Being may say thus with himself: \"Am I going to sleep--to\nlose consciousness--to be helpless for a time--thoughtless--dead? Or,\nmore awful consideration, in the dreams that may come may I not be weak\nof will and scant of conscience?--Father, into thy hands I commend my\nspirit. I give myself back to thee. Take me, soothe me, refresh me,\n'make me over again.' Am I going out into the business and turmoil of\nthe day, where so many temptations may come to do less honourably, less\nfaithfully, less kindly, less diligently than the Ideal Man would have\nme do?--Father, into thy hands. Am I going to do a good deed? Then, of\nall times,--Father, into thy hands; lest the enemy should have me now.\nAm I going to do a hard duty, from which I would gladly be turned\naside,--to refuse a friend's request, to urge a neighbour's\nconscience?--Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit. Am I in pain?\nIs illness coming upon me to shut out the glad visions of a healthy\nbrain, and bring me such as are troubled and untrue?--Take my spirit,\nLord, and see, as thou art wont, that it has no more to bear than it\ncan bear. Am I going to die? Thou knowest, if only from the cry of thy\nSon, how terrible that is; and if it comes not to me in so terrible a\nshape as that in which it came to him, think how poor to bear I am\nbeside him. I do not know what the struggle means; for, of the\nthousands who pass through it every day, not one enlightens his\nneighbour left behind; but shall I not long with agony for one breath\nof thy air, and not receive it? shall I not be torn asunder with\ndying?--I will question no more: Father, into thy hands I commend my\nspirit. For it is thy business, not mine. Thou wilt know every shade of\nmy suffering; thou wilt care for me with thy perfect fatherhood; for\nthat makes my sonship, and inwraps and infolds it. As a child I could\nbear great pain when my father was leaning over me, or had his arm\nabout me: how much nearer my soul cannot thy hands come!--yea, with a\ncomfort, father of me, that I have never yet even imagined; for how\nshall my imagination overtake thy swift heart? I care not for the pain,\nso long as my spirit is strong, and into thy hands I commend that\nspirit. If thy love, which is better than life, receive it, then surely\nthy tenderness will make it great.\"\n\nThus may the Human Being say with himself.\n\nThink, brothers, think, sisters, we walk in the air of an eternal\nfatherhood. Every uplifting of the heart is a looking up to The Father.\nGraciousness and truth are around, above, beneath us, yea, _in_ us.\nWhen we are least worthy, then, most tempted, hardest, unkindest, let\nus yet commend our spirits into his hands. Whither else dare we send\nthem? How the earthly father would love a child who would creep into\nhis room with angry, troubled face, and sit down at his feet, saying\nwhen asked what he wanted: \"I feel so naughty, papa, and I want to get\ngood\"! Would he say to his child: \"How dare you! Go away, and be good,\nand then come to me?\" And shall we dare to think God would send us away\nif we came thus, and would not be pleased that we came, even if we were\nangry as Jonah? Would we not let all the tenderness of our nature flow\nforth upon such a child? And shall we dare to think that if we being\nevil know how to give good gifts to our children, God will not give us\nhis own spirit when we come to ask him? Will not some heavenly dew\ndescend cool upon the hot anger? some genial rain-drop on the dry\nselfishness? some glance of sunlight on the cloudy hopelessness? Bread,\nat least, will be given, and not a stone; water, at least, will be\nsure, and not vinegar mingled with gall.\n\nNor is there anything we can ask for ourselves that we may not ask for\nanother. We may commend any brother, any sister, to the common\nfatherhood. And there will be moments when, filled with that spirit\nwhich is the Lord, nothing will ease our hearts of their love but the\ncommending of all men, all our brothers, all our sisters, to the one\nFather. Nor shall we ever know that repose in the Father's hands, that\nrest of the Holy Sepulchre, which the Lord knew when the agony of death\nwas over, when the storm of the world died away behind his retiring\nspirit, and he entered the regions where there is only life, and\ntherefore all that is not music is silence, (for all noise comes of the\nconflict of Life and Death)--we shall never be able, I say, to rest in\nthe bosom of the Father, till the fatherhood is fully revealed to us in\nthe love of the brothers. For he cannot be our father save as he is\ntheir father; and if we do not see him and feel him as their father, we\ncannot know him as ours. Never shall we know him aright until we\nrejoice and exult for our race that he is _the_ Father. He that loveth\nnot his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not\nseen? To rest, I say, at last, even in those hands into which the Lord\ncommended his spirit, we must have learned already to love our\nneighbour as ourselves.\n\n\n\n\n                           LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR\n\n\n _Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself._--ST MATTHEW xxii. 39.\n\nThe original here quoted by our Lord is to be found in the words of God\nto Moses, (_Leviticus_ xix. 18:) _\"Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any\ngrudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy\nneighbour as thyself: I am the Lord\"_ Our Lord never thought of being\noriginal. The older the saying the better, if it utters the truth he\nwants to utter. In him it becomes fact: The _Word_ was made _flesh_.\nAnd so, in the wondrous meeting of extremes, the words he spoke were no\nmore words, but spirit and life.\n\nThe same words are twice quoted by St Paul, and once by St James,\nalways in a similar mode: Love they represent as the fulfilling of the\nlaw.\n\nIs the converse true then? Is the fulfilling of the law love? The\napostle Paul says: \"Love worketh no ill to his neighbour, therefore\nlove is the fulfilling of the law.\" Does it follow that _working no\nill_ is love? Love will fulfil the law: will the law fulfil love? No,\nverily. If a man keeps the law, I know he is a lover of his neighbour.\nBut he is not a lover because he keeps the law: he keeps the law\nbecause he is a lover. No heart will be content with the law for love.\nThe law cannot fulfil love.\n\n\"But, at least, the law will be able to fulfil itself, though it\nreaches not to love.\"\n\nI do not believe it. I am certain that it is impossible to keep the law\ntowards one's neighbour except one loves him. The law itself is\ninfinite, reaching to such delicacies of action, that the man who tries\nmost will be the man most aware of defeat. We are not made for law, but\nfor love. Love is law, because it is infinitely more than law. It is of\nan altogether higher region than law--is, in fact, the creator of law.\nHad it not been for love, not one of the _shall-nots_ of the law would\nhave been uttered. True, once uttered, they shew themselves in the form\nof justice, yea, even in the inferior and worldly forms of prudence and\nself-preservation; but it was love that spoke them first. Were there no\nlove in us, what sense of justice could we have? Would not each be\nfilled with the sense of his own wants, and be for ever tearing to\nhimself? I do not say it is _conscious_ love that breeds justice, but I\ndo say that without love in our nature justice would never be born. For\nI do not call that justice which consists only in a sense of _our own_\nrights. True, there are poor and withered forms of love which are\nimmeasurably below justice now; but even now they are of speechless\nworth, for they will grow into that which will supersede, because it\nwill necessitate, justice.\n\nOf what use then is the law? To lead us to Christ, the Truth,--to waken\nin our minds a sense of what our deepest nature, the presence, namely,\nof God _in_ us, requires of us,--to let us know, in part by failure,\nthat the purest effort of will of which we are capable cannot lift us\nup even to the abstaining from wrong to our neighbour. What man, for\ninstance, who loves not his neighbour and yet wishes to keep the law,\nwill dare be confident that never by word, look, tone, gesture,\nsilence, will he bear false witness against that neighbour? What man\ncan judge his neighbour aright save him whose love makes him refuse to\njudge him? Therefore are we told to love, and not judge. It is the sole\njustice of which we are capable, and that perfected will comprise all\njustice. Nay more, to refuse our neighbour love, is to do him the\ngreatest wrong. But of this afterwards. In order to fulfil the\ncommonest law, I repeat, we must rise into a loftier region altogether,\na region that is above law, because it is spirit and life and makes the\nlaw: in order to keep the law towards our neighbour, we must love our\nneighbour. We are not made for law, but for grace--or for faith, to use\nanother word so much misused. We are made on too large a scale\naltogether to have any pure relation to mere justice, if indeed we can\nsay there is such a thing. It is but an abstract idea which, in\nreality, will not be abstracted. The law comes to make us long for the\nneedful grace,--that is, for the divine condition, in which love is\nall, for God is Love.\n\nThough the fulfilling of the law is the practical form love will take,\nand the neglect of it is the conviction of lovelessness; though it is\nthe mode in which a man's _will_ must begin at once to be love to his\nneighbour, yet, that our Lord meant by the love of our neighbour; not\nthe fulfilling of the law towards him, but that condition of being\nwhich results in the fulfilling of the law and more, is sufficiently\nclear from his story of the good Samaritan. \"Who is my neighbour?\" said\nthe lawyer. And the Lord taught him that every one to whom he could be\nor for whom he could do anything was his neighbour, therefore, that\neach of the race, as he comes within the touch of one tentacle of our\nnature, is our neighbour. Which of the inhibitions of the law is\nillustrated in the tale? Not one. The love that is more than law, and\nrenders its breach impossible, lives in the endless story, coming out\nin active kindness, that is, the recognition of kin, of _kind_, of\nnighness, of _neighbourhood_; yea, in tenderness and loving-kindness--\nthe Samaritan-heart akin to the Jew-heart, the Samaritan hands\nneighbours to the Jewish wounds.\n\nThou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.\n\nSo direct and complete is this parable of our Lord, that one becomes\nalmost ashamed of further talk about it. Suppose a man of the company\nhad put the same question to our Lord that we have been considering,\nhad said, \"But I may keep the law and yet not love my neighbour,\" would\nhe not have returned: \"Keep thou the law thus, not in the letter, but\nin the spirit, that is, in the truth of action, and thou wilt soon\nfind, O Jew, that thou lovest thy Samaritan\"? And yet, when thoughts\nand questions arise in our minds, he desires that we should follow\nthem. He will not check us with a word of heavenly wisdom scornfully\nuttered. He knows that not even his words will apply to every question\nof the willing soul; and we know that his spirit will reply. When we\nwant to know more, that more will be there for us. Not every man, for\ninstance, finds his neighbour in need of help, and he would gladly\nhasten the slow results of opportunity by true thinking. Thus would we\nbe ready for further teaching from that Spirit who is the Lord.\n\n\"But how,\" says a man, who is willing to recognize the universal\nneighbourhead, but finds himself unable to fulfil the bare law towards\nthe woman even whom he loves best,--\"How am I then to rise into that\nhigher region, that empyrean of love?\" And, beginning straightway to\ntry to love his neighbour, he finds that the empyrean of which he spoke\nis no more to be reached in itself than the law was to be reached in\nitself. As he cannot keep the law without first rising into the love of\nhis neighbour, so he cannot love his neighbour without first rising\nhigher still. The whole system of the universe works upon this law--the\ndriving of things upward towards the centre. The man who will love his\nneighbour can do so by no immediately operative exercise of the will.\nIt is the man fulfilled of God from whom he came and by whom he is, who\nalone can as himself love his neighbour who came from God too and is by\nGod too. The mystery of individuality and consequent relation is deep\nas the beginnings of humanity, and the questions thence arising can be\nsolved only by him who has, practically, at least, solved the holy\nnecessities resulting from his origin. In God alone can man meet man.\nIn him alone the converging lines of existence touch and cross not.\nWhen the mind of Christ, the life of the Head, courses through that\natom which the man is of the slowly revivifying body, when he is alive\ntoo, then the love of the brothers is there as conscious life. From\nChrist through the neighbours comes the life that makes him a part of\nthe body.\n\nIt _is_ possible to love our neighbour as ourselves. Our Lord _never_\nspoke hyperbolically, although, indeed, that is the supposition on\nwhich many unconsciously interpret his words, in order to be able to\npersuade themselves that they believe them. We may see that it is\npossible before we attain to it; for our perceptions of truth are\nalways in advance of our condition. True, no man can see it perfectly\nuntil he is it; but we must see it, that we may be it. A man who knows\nthat he does not yet love his neighbour as himself may believe in such\na condition, may even see that there is no other goal of human\nperfection, nothing else to which the universe is speeding, propelled\nby the Father's will. Let him labour on, and not faint at the thought\nthat God's day is a thousand years: his millennium is likewise one\nday--yea, this day, for we have him, The Love, in us, working even now\nthe far end.\n\nBut while it is true that only when a man loves God with all his heart,\nwill he love his neighbour as himself, yet there are mingled processes\nin the attainment of this final result. Let us try to aid such\noperation of truth by looking farther. Let us suppose that the man who\nbelieves our Lord both meant what he said, and knew the truth of the\nmatter, proceeds to endeavour obedience in this of loving his neighbour\nas himself. He begins to think about his neighbours generally, and he\ntries to feel love towards them. He finds at once that they begin to\nclassify themselves. With some he feels no difficulty, for he loves\nthem already, not indeed because they _are_, but because they have, by\nfriendly qualities, by showing themselves lovable, that is loving,\nalready, moved his feelings as the wind moves the waters, that is\nwithout any self-generated action on his part. And he feels that this\nis nothing much to the point; though, of course, he would be farther\nfrom the desired end if he had none such to love, and farther still if\nhe loved none such. He recalls the words of our Lord, \"If ye love them\nwhich love you, what reward have ye?\" and his mind fixes upon--let us\nsay--one of a second class, and he tries to love him. The man is no\nenemy--we have not come to that class of neighbours yet--but he is\ndull, uninteresting--in a negative way, he thinks, unlovable. What is\nhe to do with him? With all his effort, he finds the goal as far off as\never.\n\nNaturally, in his failure, the question arises, \"Is it my duty to love\nhim who is unlovable?\"\n\nCertainly not, if he is unlovable. But that is a begging of the\nquestion.\n\nThereupon the man falls back on the primary foundation of things, and\nasks--\n\n\"How, then, is the man to be loved by me? Why should I love my\nneighbour as myself?\"\n\nWe must not answer \"Because the Lord says so.\" It is because the Lord\nsays so that the man is inquiring after some help to obey. No man can\nlove his neighbour merely because the Lord says so. The Lord says so\nbecause it is right and necessary and natural, and the man wants to\nfeel it thus right and necessary and natural. Although the Lord would\nbe pleased with any man for doing a thing because he said it, he would\nshow his pleasure by making the man more and more dissatisfied until he\nknew why the Lord had said it. He would make him see that he could not\nin the deepest sense--in the way the Lord loves--obey any command until\nhe saw the reasonableness of it. Observe I do not say the man ought to\nput off obeying the command until he see its reasonableness: that is\nanother thing quite, and does not lie in the scope of my present\nsupposition. It is a beautiful thing to obey the rightful source of a\ncommand: it is a more beautiful thing to worship the radiant source of\nour light, and it is for the sake of obedient vision that our Lord\ncommands us. For then our heart meets his: we see God.\n\nLet me represent in the form of a conversation what might pass in the\nman's mind on the opposing sides of the question.--\"Why should I love\nmy neighbour?\"\n\n\"He is the same as I, and therefore I ought to love him.\"\n\n\"Why? I am I. He is he.\"\n\n\"He has the same thoughts, feelings, hopes, sorrows, joys, as I.\"\n\n\"Yes; but why should I love him for that? He must mind his, I can only\ndo with mine.\"\n\n\"He has the same consciousness as I have. As things look to me, so\nthings look to him.\"\n\n\"Yes; but I cannot get into his consciousness, nor he into mine. I feel\nmyself, I do not feel him. My life flows through my veins, not through\nhis. The world shines into my consciousness, and I am not conscious of\nhis consciousness. I wish I could love him, but I do not see why. I am\nan individual; he is an individual. My self must be closer to me than\nhe can be. Two bodies keep me apart from his self. I am isolated with\nmyself.\"\n\nNow, here lies the mistake at last. While the thinker supposes a\nduality in himself which does not exist, he falsely judges the\nindividuality a separation. On the contrary, it is the sole possibility\nand very bond of love. _Otherness_ is the essential ground of\naffection. But in spiritual things, such a unity is pre-supposed in the\nvery contemplation of them by the spirit of man, that wherever anything\ndoes not exist that ought to be there, the space it ought to occupy,\neven if but a blank, assumes the appearance of a separating gulf. The\nnegative looks a positive. Where a man does not love, the not-loving\nmust seem rational. For no one loves because he sees why, but because\nhe loves. No human reason can be given for the highest necessity of\ndivinely created existence. For reasons are always from above\ndownwards. A man must just feel this necessity, and then questioning is\nover. It justifies itself. But he who has not felt has it not to argue\nabout. He has but its phantom, which he created himself in a vain\neffort to understand, and which he supposes to be it. Love cannot be\nargued about in its absence, for there is no reflex, no symbol of it\nnear enough to the fact of it, to admit of just treatment by the\nalgebra of the reason or imagination. Indeed, the very talking about it\nraises a mist between the mind and the vision of it. But let a man once\nlove, and all those difficulties which appeared opposed to love, will\njust be so many arguments for loving.\n\nLet a man once find another who has fallen among thieves; let him be a\nneighbour to him, pouring oil and wine into his wounds, and binding\nthem up, and setting him on his own beast, and paying for him at the\ninn; let him do all this merely from a sense of duty; let him even, in\nthe pride of his fancied, and the ignorance of his true calling, bate\nno jot of his Jewish superiority; let him condescend to the very\nbaseness of his own lowest nature; yet such will be the virtue of\nobeying an eternal truth even to his poor measure, of putting in\nactuality what he has not even seen in theory, of doing the truth even\nwithout believing it, that even if the truth does not after the deed\ngive the faintest glimmer as truth in the man, he will yet be ages\nnearer the truth than before, for he will go on his way loving that\nSamaritan neighbour a little more than his Jewish dignity will justify.\nNor will he question the reasonableness of so doing, although he may\nnot care to spend any logic upon its support. How much more if he be a\nman who would love his neighbour if he could, will the higher condition\nunsought have been found in the action! For man is a whole; and so soon\nas he _unites himself_ by obedient action, the truth that is in him\nmakes itself known to him, shining from the new whole. For his action\nis his response to his maker's design, his individual part in the\ncreation of himself, his yielding to the All in all, to the tides of\nwhose harmonious cosmoplastic life all his being thenceforward lies\nopen for interpenetration and assimilation. When will once begins to\naspire, it will soon find that action must precede feeling, that the\nman may know the foundation itself of feeling.\n\nWith those who recognize no authority as the ground of tentative\naction, a doubt, a suspicion of truth ought to be ground enough for\nputting it to the test.\n\nThe whole system of divine education as regards the relation of man and\nman, has for its end that a man should love his neighbour as himself.\nIt is not a lesson that he can learn by itself, or a duty the\nobligation of which can be shown by argument, any more than the\ndifference between right and wrong can be defined in other terms than\ntheir own.  \"But that difference,\" it may be objected, \"manifests\nitself of itself to every mind: it is self-evident; whereas the loving\nof one's neighbour is _not_ seen to be a primary truth; so far from it,\nthat far the greater number of those who hope for an eternity of\nblessedness through him who taught it, do not really believe it to be a\ntruth; believe, on the contrary, that the paramount obligation is to\ntake care of one's self at much risk of forgetting one's neighbour.\"\n\nBut the human race generally has got as far as the recognition of right\nand wrong; and therefore most men are born capable of making the\ndistinction. The race has not yet lived long enough for its latest\noffspring to be born with the perception of the truth of love to the\nneighbour. It is to be seen by the present individual only after a long\nreception of and submission to the education of life. And once seen, it\nis believed.\n\nThe whole constitution of human society exists for the express end, I\nsay, of teaching the two truths by which man lives, Love to God and\nLove to Man. I will say nothing more of the mysteries of the parental\nrelation, because they belong to the teaching of the former truth, than\nthat we come into the world as we do, to look up to the love over us,\nand see in it a symbol, poor and weak, yet the best we can have or\nreceive of the divine love. [Footnote: It might be expressed after a\ndeeper and truer fashion by saying that, God making human affairs after\nhis own thoughts, they are therefore such as to be the best teachers of\nlove to him and love to our neighbour. This is an immeasurably nobler\nand truer manner of regarding them than as a scheme or plan invented by\nthe divine intellect.] And thousands more would find it easy to love\nGod if they had not such miserable types of him in the self-seeking,\nimpulse-driven, purposeless, faithless beings who are all they have for\nfather and mother, and to whom their children are no dearer than her\nlitter is to the unthinking dam. What I want to speak of now, with\nregard to the second great commandment, is the relation of brotherhood\nand sisterhood. Why does my brother come of the same father and mother?\nWhy do I behold the helplessness and confidence of his infancy? Why is\nthe infant laid on the knee of the child? Why do we grow up with the\nsame nurture? Why do we behold the wonder of the sunset and the mystery\nof the growing moon together? Why do we share one bed, join in the same\ngames, and attempt the same exploits? Why do we quarrel, vow revenge\nand silence and endless enmity, and, unable to resist the brotherhood\nwithin us, wind arm in arm and forget all within the hour? Is it not\nthat Love may grow lord of all between him and me? Is it not that I may\nfeel towards him what there are no words or forms of words to express--\na love namely, in which the divine self rushes forth in utter\nself-forgetfulness to live in the contemplation of the brother--a love\nthat is stronger than death,--glad and proud and satisfied? But if love\nstop there, what will be the result? Ruin to itself; loss of the\nbrotherhood. He who loves not his brother for deeper reasons than those\nof a common parentage will cease to love him at all. The love that\nenlarges not its borders, that is not ever spreading and including, and\ndeepening, will contract, shrivel, decay, die. I have had the sons of\nmy mother that I may learn the universal brotherhood. For there is a\nbond between me and the most wretched liar that ever died for the\nmurder he would not even confess, closer infinitely than that which\nsprings only from having one father and mother. That we are the sons\nand the daughters of God born from his heart, the outcoming offspring\nof his love, is a bond closer than all other bonds in one. No man ever\nloved his own child aright who did not love him for his humanity, for\nhis divinity, to the utter forgetting of his origin from himself. The\nson of my mother is indeed my brother by this greater and closer bond\nas well; but if I recognize that bond between him and me at all, I\nrecognize it for my race. True, and thank God! the greater excludes not\nthe less; it makes all the weaker bonds stronger and truer, nor forbids\nthat where all are brothers, some should be those of our bosom. Still\nmy brother according to the flesh is my first neighbour, that we may be\nvery nigh to each other, whether we will or no, while our hearts are\ntender, and so may learn _brotherhood_. For our love to each other is\nbut the throbbing of the heart of the great brotherhood, and could come\nonly from the eternal Father, not from our parents. Then my second\nneighbour appears, and who is he? Whom I come in contact with soever.\nHe with whom I have any transactions, any human dealings whatever. Not\nthe man only with whom I dine; not the friend only with whom I share my\nthoughts; not the man only whom my compassion would lift from some\nslough; but the man who makes my clothes; the man who prints my book;\nthe man who drives me in his cab; the man who begs from me in the\nstreet, to whom, it may be, for brotherhood's sake, I must not give;\nyea, even the man who condescends to me. With all and each there is a\nchance of doing the part of a neighbour, if in no other way yet by\nspeaking truly, acting justly, and thinking kindly. Even these deeds\nwill help to that love which is born of righteousness. All true action\nclears the springs of right feeling, and lets their waters rise and\nflow. A man must not choose his neighbour; he must take the neighbour\nthat God sends him. In him, whoever he be, lies, hidden or revealed, a\nbeautiful brother. The neighbour is just the man who is next to you at\nthe moment, the man with whom any business has brought you in contact.\n\nThus will love spread and spread in wider and stronger pulses till the\nwhole human race will be to the man sacredly lovely. Drink-debased,\nvice-defeatured, pride-puffed, wealth-bollen, vanity-smeared, they will\nyet be brothers, yet be sisters, yet be God-born neighbours. Any\nrough-hewn semblance of humanity will at length be enough to move the\nman to reverence and affection. It is harder for some to learn thus\nthan for others. There are whose first impulse is ever to repel and not\nto receive. But learn they may, and learn they must. Even these may\ngrow in this grace until a countenance unknown will awake in them a\nyearning of affection rising to pain, because there is for it no\nexpression, and they can only give the man to God and be still.\n\nAnd now will come in all the arguments out of which the man tried in\nvain before to build a stair up to the sunny heights of love. \"Ah\nbrother! thou hast a soul like mine,\" he will say. \"Out of thine eyes\nthou lookest, and sights and sounds and odours visit thy soul as mine,\nwith wonder and tender comforting. Thou too lovest the faces of thy\nneighbours. Thou art oppressed with thy sorrows, uplifted with thy\njoys. Perhaps thou knowest not so well as I, that a region of gladness\nsurrounds all thy grief, of light all thy darkness, of peace all thy\ntumult. Oh, my brother! I will love thee. I cannot come very near thee:\nI will love thee the more. It may be thou dost not love thy neighbour;\nit may be thou thinkest only how to get from him, how to gain by him.\nHow lonely then must thou be! how shut up in thy poverty-stricken room,\nwith the bare walls of thy selfishness, and the hard couch of thy\nunsatisfaction! I will love thee the more. Thou shalt not be alone with\nthyself. Thou art not me; thou art another life--a second self;\ntherefore I can, may, and will love thee.\"\n\nWhen once to a man the human face is the human face divine, and the\nhand of his neighbour is the hand of a brother, then will he understand\nwhat St Paul meant when he said, \"I could wish that myself were\naccursed from Christ for my brethren.\" But he will no longer understand\nthose who, so far from feeling the love of their neighbour an essential\nof their being, expect to be set free from its law in the world to\ncome. There, at least, for the glory of God, they may limit its\nexpansive tendencies to the narrow circle of their heaven. On its\nbattlements of safety, they will regard hell from afar, and say to each\nother, \"Hark! Listen to their moans. But do not weep, for they are our\nneighbours no more.\" St Paul would be wretched before the throne of\nGod, if he thought there was one man beyond the pale of his mercy, and\nthat as much for God's glory as for the man's sake. And what shall we\nsay of the man Christ Jesus? Who, that loves his brother, would not,\nupheld by the love of Christ, and with a dim hope that in the far-off\ntime there might be some help for him, arise from the company of the\nblessed, and walk down into the dismal regions of despair, to sit with\nthe last, the only unredeemed, the Judas of his race, and be himself\nmore blessed in the pains of hell, than in the glories of heaven? Who,\nin the midst of the golden harps and the white wings, knowing that one\nof his kind, one miserable brother in the old-world-time when men were\ntaught to love their neighbour as themselves, was howling unheeded far\nbelow in the vaults of the creation, who, I say, would not feel that he\nmust arise, that he had no choice, that, awful as it was, he must gird\nhis loins, and go down into the smoke and the darkness and the fire,\ntravelling the weary and fearful road into the far country to find his\nbrother?--who, I mean, that had the mind of Christ, that had the love\nof the Father?\n\nBut it is a wild question. God is, and shall be, All in all. Father of\nour brothers and sisters! thou wilt not be less glorious than we,\ntaught of Christ, are able to think thee. When thou goest into the\nwilderness to seek, thou wilt not come home until thou hast found. It\nis because we hope not for them in thee, not knowing thee, not knowing\nthy love, that we are so hard and so heartless to the brothers and\nsisters whom thou hast given us.\n\nOne word more: This love of our neighbour is the only door out of the\ndungeon of self, where we mope and mow, striking sparks, and rubbing\nphosphorescences out of the walls, and blowing our own breath in our\nown nostrils, instead of issuing to the fair sunlight of God, the sweet\nwinds of the universe. The man thinks his consciousness is himself;\nwhereas his life consisteth in the inbreathing of God, and the\nconsciousness of the universe of truth. To have himself, to know\nhimself, to enjoy himself, he calls life; whereas, if he would forget\nhimself, tenfold would be his life in God and his neighbours. The\nregion of man's life is a spiritual region. God, his friends, his\nneighbours, his brothers all, is the wide world in which alone his\nspirit can find room. Himself is his dungeon. If he feels it not now,\nhe will yet feel it one day--feel it as a living soul would feel being\nprisoned in a dead body, wrapped in sevenfold cerements, and buried in\na stone-ribbed vault within the last ripple of the sound of the\nchanting people in the church above. His life is not in knowing that he\nlives, but in loving all forms of life. He is made for the All, for\nGod, who is the All, is his life. And the essential joy of his life\nlies abroad in the liberty of the All. His delights, like those of the\nIdeal Wisdom, are with the sons of men. His health is in the body of\nwhich the Son of Man is the head. The whole region of life is open to\nhim--nay, he must live in it or perish.\n\nNor thus shall a man lose the consciousness of well-being. Far deeper\nand more complete, God and his neighbour will flash it back upon him--\npure as life. No more will he agonize \"with sick assay\" to generate it\nin the light of his own decadence. For he shall know the glory of his\nown being in the light of God and of his brother.\n\nBut he may have begun to love his neighbour, with the hope of ere long\nloving him as himself, and notwithstanding start back affrighted at yet\nanother word of our Lord, seeming to be another law yet harder than the\nfirst, although in truth it is not another, for without obedience to it\nthe former cannot be attained unto. He has not yet learned to love his\nneighbour as himself whose heart sinks within him at the word, _I say\nunto you, Love your enemies_.\n\n\n\n\n                            LOVE THINE ENEMY.\n\n\n _Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy  neighbour,\nand hate thine enemy; but I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them\nthat curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which\ndespitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of\nyour Father which is in heaven; for he maketh his sun to rise on the\nevil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.\nFor if ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? do not even\nthe publicans the same? And if ye salute your brethren only, what do ye\nmore than others? do not even the publicans so? Be ye therefore\nperfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect._--St\nMatthew v. 43-48.\n\nIs not this at length _too_ much to expect? Will a man ever love his\nenemies? He may come to do good to them that hate him; but when will he\npray for them that despitefully use him and persecute him? When? When\nhe is the child of his Father in heaven. Then shall he love his\nneighbour as himself, even if that neighbour be his enemy. In the\npassage in Leviticus (xix. 18,) already referred to as quoted by our\nLord and his apostles, we find the neighbour and the enemy are one.\n\"Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy\npeople, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the Lord.\"\n\nLook at the glorious way in which Jesus interprets the scripture that\nwent before him. \"_I am the Lord_,\"--\"That  ye may be perfect, as your\nFather in heaven is perfect.\"\n\nIs it then reasonable to love our enemies? God does; therefore it must\nbe the highest reason. But is it reasonable to expect that man should\nbecome capable of doing so? Yes; on one ground: that the divine energy\nis at work in man, to render at length man's doing divine as his nature\nis. For this our Lord prayed when he said: \"That they all may be one,\nas thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be one in\nus.\" Nothing could be less likely to human judgment: our Lord knows\nthat one day it will come.\n\nWhy should we love our enemies? The deepest reason for this we cannot\nput in words, for it lies in the absolute reality of their being, where\nour enemies are of one nature with us, even of the divine nature. Into\nthis we cannot see, save as into a dark abyss. But we can adumbrate\nsomething of the form of this deepest reason, if we let the thoughts of\nour heart move upon the face of the dim profound.\n\n\"Are our enemies men like ourselves?\" let me begin by asking. \"Yes.\"\n\"Upon what ground? The ground of their enmity? The ground of the wrong\nthey do us?\" \"No.\" \"In virtue of cruelty, heartlessness, injustice,\ndisrespect, misrepresentation?\" \"Certainly not. _Humanum est errare_ is\na truism; but it possesses, like most truisms, a latent germ of worthy\ntruth. The very word _errare_ is a sign that there is a way so truly\nthe human that, for a man to leave it, is to _wander_. If it be human\nto wander, yet the wandering is not humanity. The very words _humane_\nand _humanity_ denote some shadow of that loving-kindness which, when\nperfected after the divine fashion, shall include even our enemies. We\ndo not call the offering of human sacrifices, the torturing of\ncaptives, cannibalism--humanity. Not because they do such deeds are\nthey men. Their humanity must be deeper than those. It is in virtue of\nthe divine essence which is in them, that pure essential humanity, that\nwe call our enemies men and women. It is this humanity that we are to\nlove--a something, I say, deeper altogether than and independent of the\nregion of hate. It is the humanity that originates the claim of\nneighbourhead; the neighbourhood only determines the occasion of its\nexercise.\" \"Is this humanity in every one of our enemies?\" \"Else there\nwere nothing to love.\" \"Is it there in very deed?--Then we _must_ love\nit, come between us and it what may.\"\n\nBut how can we love a man or a woman who is cruel and unjust to us?--\nwho sears with contempt, or cuts off with wrong every tendril we would\nput forth to embrace?--who is mean, unlovely, carping, uncertain,\nself-righteous, self-seeking, and self-admiring?--who can even sneer,\nthe most inhuman of human faults, far worse in its essence than mere\nmurder?\n\nThese things cannot be loved. The best man hates them most; the worst\nman cannot love them. But are these the man? Does a woman bear that\nform in virtue of these? Lies there not within the man and the woman a\ndivine element of brotherhood, of sisterhood, a something lovely and\nlovable,--slowly fading, it may be,--dying away under the fierce heat\nof vile passions, or the yet more fearful cold of sepulchral\nselfishness--but there? Shall that divine something, which, once\nawakened to be its own holy self in the man, will loathe these unlovely\nthings tenfold more than we loathe them now--shall this divine thing\nhave no recognition from us? It is the very presence of this fading\nhumanity that makes it possible for us to hate. If it were an animal\nonly, and not a man or a woman that did us hurt, we should not hate: we\nshould only kill. We hate the man just because we are prevented from\nloving him. We push over the verge of the creation--_we damn_--just\nbecause we cannot embrace. For to embrace is the necessity of our\ndeepest being. That foiled, we hate. Instead of admonishing ourselves\nthat there is our enchained brother, that there lies our enchanted,\ndisfigured, scarce recognizable sister, captive of the devil, to break,\nhow much sooner, from their bonds, that we love them!--we recoil into\nthe hate which would fix them there; and the dearly lovable reality of\nthem we sacrifice to the outer falsehood of Satan's incantations, thus\nleaving them to perish. Nay, we murder them to get rid of them, we\n_hate_ them. Yet within the most obnoxious to our hate, lies that\nwhich, could it but show itself as it is, and as it will show itself\none day, would compel from our hearts a devotion of love. It is not the\nunfriendly, the unlovely, that we are told to love, but the brother,\nthe sister, who is unkind, who is unlovely. Shall we leave our brother\nto his desolate fate? Shall we not rather say, \"With my love at least\nshalt thou be compassed about, for thou hast not thy own lovingness to\ninfold thee; love shall come as near thee as it may; and when thine\ncomes forth to meet mine, we shall be one in the indwelling God\"?\n\nLet no one say I have been speaking in a figure merely. That I have\nbeen so speaking I know. But many things which we see most vividly and\ncertainly are more truly expressed by using a right figure, than by\nattempting to give them a clear outline of logical expression. My\nfigure means a truth.\n\nIf any one say, \"Do not make such vague distinctions. There is the\nperson. Can you deny that that person is unlovely? How then can you\nlove him?\" I answer, \"That person, with the evil thing cast out of him,\nwill be yet more the _person_, for he will be his real self. The thing\nthat now makes you dislike him is separable from him, is therefore not\nhe, makes himself so much less himself, for it is working death in him.\nNow he is in danger of ceasing to be a person at all. When he is\nclothed and in his right mind, he will be a person indeed. You _could_\nnot then go on hating him. Begin to love him now, and help him into the\nloveliness which is his. Do not hate him although you can. The\npersonalty, I say, though clouded, besmeared, defiled with the wrong,\nlies deeper than the wrong, and indeed, so far as the wrong has reached\nit, is by the wrong injured, yea, so far, it may be, destroyed.\"\n\nBut those who will not acknowledge the claim of love, may yet\nacknowledge the claim of justice. There are who would shrink with\nhorror from the idea of doing injustice to those, from the idea of\nloving whom they would shrink with equal horror. But if it is\nimpossible, as I believe, without love to be just, much more cannot\njustice co-exist with hate. The pure eye for the true vision of\nanother's claims can only go with the loving heart. The man who hates\ncan hardly be delicate in doing justice, say to his neighbour's love,\nto his neighbour's predilections and peculiarities. It is hard enough\nto be just to our friends; and how shall our enemies fare with us? For\njustice demands that we shall think rightly of our neighbour as\ncertainly as that we shall neither steal his goods nor bear false\nwitness against him. Man is not made for justice from his fellow, but\nfor love, which is greater than justice, and by including supersedes\njustice. _Mere_ justice is an impossibility, a fiction of analysis. It\ndoes not exist between man and man, save relatively to human _law_.\nJustice to be justice must be much more than justice. Love is the law\nof our condition, without which we can no more render justice than a\nman can keep a straight line walking in the dark. The eye is not\nsingle, and the body is not full of light. No man who is even\nindifferent to his brother can recognize the claims which his humanity\nhas upon him. Nay, the very indifference itself is an injustice.\n\nI have taken for granted that the fault lies with the enemy so\nconsidered, for upon the primary rocks would I build my foundation. But\nthe question must be put to each man by himself, \"Is my neighbour\nindeed my enemy, or am I my neighbour's enemy, and so take him to be\nmine?--awful thought! Or, if he be mine, am not I his? Am I not\nrefusing to acknowledge the child of the kingdom within his bosom, so\nkilling the child of the kingdom within my own?\" Let us claim for\nourselves no more indulgence than we give to him. Such honesty will end\nin severity at home and clemency abroad. For we are accountable for the\nill in ourselves, and have to kill it; for the good in our neighbour,\nand have to cherish it. He only, in the name and power of God, can kill\nthe bad in him; we can cherish the good in him by being good to it\nacross all the evil fog that comes between our love and his good.\n\nNor ought it to be forgotten that this fog is often the result of\nmisapprehension and mistake, giving rise to all kinds of indignations,\nresentments, and regrets. Scarce anything about us is just as it seems,\nbut at the core there is truth enough to dispel all falsehood and\nreveal life as unspeakably divine. O brother, sister, across this weary\nfog, dim-lighted by the faint torches of our truth-seeking, I call to\nthe divine in thee, which is mine, not to rebuke thee, not to rouse\nthee, not to say \"Why hatest thou me?\" but to say \"I love thee; in\nGod's name I love thee.\" And I will wait until the true self looks out\nof thine eyes, and knows the true self in me.\n\nBut in the working of the Divine Love upon the race, my enemy is doomed\nto cease to be my enemy, and to become my friend. One flash of truth\ntowards me would destroy my enmity at once; one hearty confession of\nwrong, and our enmity passes away; from each comes forth the brother\nwho was inside the enemy all the time. For this The Truth is at work.\nIn the faith of this, let us love the enemy now, accepting God's work\nin reversion, as it were; let us believe as seeing his yet invisible\ntriumph, clasping and holding fast our brother, in defiance of the\nchangeful wiles of the wicked enchantment which would persuade our eyes\nand hearts that he is not our brother, but some horrible thing, hateful\nand hating.\n\nBut again I must ask, What if _we_ are in the wrong and do the wrong,\nand hate because we have injured? What then? Why, then, let us cry to\nGod as from the throat of hell; struggle, as under the weight of a\nspiritual incubus; cry, as knowing the vile disease that cleaveth fast\nunto us; cry, as possessed of an evil spirit; cry, as one buried alive,\nfrom the sepulchre of our evil consciousness, that He would take pity\nupon us the chief of sinners, the most wretched and vile of men, and\nsend some help to lift us from the fearful pit and the miry clay.\nNothing will help but the Spirit proceeding from the Father and the\nSon, the spirit of the Father and the Brother casting out and\nrevealing. It will be with tearing and foaming, with a terrible cry and\na lying as one dead, that such a demon will go out. But what a vision\nwill then arise in the depths of the purified soul!\n\n\"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your father which is in heaven is\nperfect.\" \"Love your enemies, and ye shall be the children of the\nhighest.\" It is the divine glory to forgive.\n\nYet a time will come when the Unchangeable will cease to forgive; when\nit will no more belong to his perfection to love his enemies; when he\nwill look calmly, and have his children look calmly too, upon the\nascending smoke of the everlasting torments of our strong brothers, our\nbeautiful sisters! Nay, alas! the brothers are weak now; the sisters\nare ugly now!\n\nO brother, believe it not. \"O Christ!\" the redeemed would cry, \"where\nart thou, our strong Jesus? Come, our grand brother. See the suffering\nbrothers down below! See the tormented sisters! Come, Lord of Life!\nMonarch of Suffering! Redeem them. For us, we will go down into the\nburning, and see whether we cannot at least carry through the howling\nflames a drop of water to cool their tongues.\"\n\nBelieve it not, my brother, lest it quench forgiveness in thee, and\nthou be not forgiven, but go down with those thy brothers to the\ntorment; whence, if God were not better than that phantom _thou_\ncallest God, thou shouldst _never_ come out; but whence assuredly thou\nshalt come out when thou hast paid the uttermost farthing; when thou\nhast learned of God in hell what thou didst refuse to learn of him upon\nthe gentle-toned earth; what the sunshine and the rain could not teach\nthee, nor the sweet compunctions of the seasons, nor the stately\nvisitings of the morn and the eventide, nor the human face divine, nor\nthe word that was nigh thee in thy heart and in thy mouth--the story of\nHim who was mighty to save, because he was perfect in love.\n\nO Father, thou art All-in-all, perfect beyond the longing of thy\nchildren, and we are all and altogether thine. Thou wilt make us pure\nand loving and free. We shall stand fearless in thy presence, because\nperfect in thy love. Then shall thy children be of good cheer, infinite\nin the love of each other, and eternal in thy love. Lord Jesus, let the\nheart of a child be given to us, that so we may arise from the grave of\nour dead selves and die no more, but see face to face _the God of the\nLiving_.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE GOD OF THE LIVING.\n\n\n _He is not a God of the dead, but of the living: for all live unto\nhim_.--ST LUKE xx. 38.\n\nIt is a recurring cause of perplexity in our Lord's teaching, that he\nis too simple for us; that while we are questioning with ourselves\nabout the design of Solomon's earring upon some gold-plated door of the\ntemple, he is speaking about the foundations of Mount Zion, yea, of the\nearth itself, upon which it stands. If the reader of the Gospel\nsupposes that our Lord was here using a verbal argument with the\nSadducees, namely, \"I _am_ the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob;\ntherefore they _are_,\" he will be astonished that no Sadducee was found\nwith courage enough to reply: \"All that God meant was to introduce\nhimself to Moses as the same God who had aided and protected his\nfathers while they were alive, saying, I am he that was the God of thy\nfathers. They found me faithful. Thou, therefore, listen to me, and\nthou too shalt find me faithful unto the death.\"\n\nBut no such reply suggested itself even to the Sadducees of that day,\nfor their eastern nature could see argument beyond logic. Shall God\ncall himself the God of the dead, of those who were alive once, but\nwhom he either could not or would not keep alive? Is that the Godhood,\nand its relation to those who worship it? The changeless God of an\never-born and ever-perishing torrent of life; of which each atom cries\nwith burning heart, _My God_! and straightway passes into the Godless\ncold! \"Trust in me, for I took care of your fathers once upon a time,\nthough they are gone now. Worship and obey me, for I will be good to\nyou for threescore years and ten, or thereabouts; and after that, when\nyou are not, and the world goes on all the same without you, I will\ncall myself your God still.\" God changes not. Once God he is always\nGod. If he has once said to a man, \"I am thy God, and that man has died\nthe death of the Sadducee's creed,\" then we have a right to say that\nGod is the God of the dead.\n\n\"And wherefore should he not be so far the God of the dead, if during\nthe time allotted to them here, he was the faithful God of the living?\"\nWhat Godlike relation can the ever-living, life-giving, changeless God\nhold to creatures who partake not of his life, who have death at the\nvery core of their being, are not worth their Maker's keeping alive? To\nlet his creatures die would be to change, to abjure his Godhood, to\ncease to be that which he had made himself. If they are not worth\nkeeping alive, then his creating is a poor thing, and he is not so\ngreat, nor so divine as even the poor thoughts of those his dying\ncreatures have been able to imagine him. But our Lord says, \"All live\nunto him.\" With Him death is not. Thy life sees our life, O Lord. All\nof whom _all_ can be said, are present to thee. Thou thinkest about us,\neternally more than we think about thee. The little life that burns\nwithin the body of this death, glows unquenchable in thy true-seeing\neyes. If thou didst forget us for a moment then indeed death would be.\nBut unto thee we live. The beloved pass from our sight, but they pass\nnot from thine. This that we call death, is but a form in the eyes of\nmen. It looks something final, an awful cessation, an utter change. It\nseems not probable that there is anything beyond. But if God could see\nus before we were, and make us after his ideal, that we shall have\npassed from the eyes of our friends can be no argument that he beholds\nus no longer. \"All live unto Him.\" Let the change be ever so great,\never so imposing; let the unseen life be ever so vague to our\nconception, it is not against reason to hope that God could see\nAbraham, after his Isaac had ceased to see him; saw Isaac after Jacob\nceased to see him; saw Jacob after some of the Sadducees had begun to\ndoubt whether there ever had been a Jacob at all. He remembers them;\nthat is, he carries them in his mind: he of whom God thinks, lives. He\ntakes to himself the name of _Their God_. The Living One cannot name\nhimself after the dead; when the very Godhead lies in the giving of\nlife. Therefore they must be alive. If he speaks of them, remembers his\nown loving thoughts of them, would he not have kept them alive if he\ncould; and if he could not, how could he create them? Can it be an\neasier thing to call into life than to keep alive?\n\n\"But if they live to God, they are aware of God. And if they are aware\nof God, they are conscious of their own being: Whence then the\nnecessity of a resurrection?\"\n\nFor their relation to others of God's children in mutual revelation;\nand for fresh revelation of God to all.--But let us inquire what is\nmeant by the resurrection of the body. \"With what body do they come?\"\n\nSurely we are not required to believe that the same body is raised\nagain. That is against science, common sense, Scripture. St Paul\nrepresents the matter quite otherwise. One feels ashamed of arguing\nsuch a puerile point. Who could wish his material body which has indeed\ndied over and over again since he was born, never remaining for one\nhour composed of the same matter, its endless activity depending upon\nits endless change, to be fixed as his changeless possession, such as\nit may then be, at the moment of death, and secured to him in worthless\nidentity for the ages to come? A man's material body will be to his\nconsciousness at death no more than the old garment he throws aside at\nnight, intending to put on a new and a better in the morning. To desire\nto keep the old body seems to me to argue a degree of sensual\nmaterialism excusable only in those pagans who in their Elysian fields\ncould hope to possess only such a thin, fleeting, dreamy, and\naltogether funebrial existence, that they might well long for the\nthicker, more tangible bodily being in which they had experienced the\npleasures of a tumultuous life on the upper world. As well might a\nChristian desire that the hair which has been shorn from him through\nall his past life should be restored to his risen and glorified head.\n\nYet not the less is the doctrine of the Resurrection gladdening as the\nsound of the silver trumpet of its visions, needful as the very breath\nof life to our longing souls. Let us know what it means, and we shall\nsee that it is thus precious.\n\nLet us first ask what is the use of this body of ours. It is the means\nof Revelation to us, the _camera_ in which God's eternal shows are set\nforth. It is by the body that we come into contact with Nature, with\nour fellow-men, with all their revelations of God to us. It is through\nthe body that we receive all the lessons of passion, of suffering, of\nlove, of beauty, of science. It is through the body that we are both\ntrained outwards from ourselves, and driven inwards into our deepest\nselves to find God. There is glory and might in this vital evanescence,\nthis slow glacier-like flow of clothing and revealing matter, this ever\nuptossed rainbow of tangible humanity. It is no less of God's making\nthan the spirit that is clothed therein.\n\nWe cannot yet have learned all that we are meant to learn through the\nbody. How much of the teaching even of this world can the most diligent\nand most favoured man have exhausted before he is called to leave it!\nIs all that remains to be lost? Who that has loved this earth can but\nbelieve that the spiritual body of which St Paul speaks will be a yet\nhigher channel of such revelation? The meek who have found that their\nLord spake true, and have indeed inherited the earth, who have seen\nthat all matter is radiant of spiritual meaning, who would not cast a\nsigh after the loss of mere animal pleasure, would, I think, be the\nleast willing to be without a body, to be unclothed without being again\nclothed upon. Who, after centuries of glory in heaven, would not\nrejoice to behold once more that patient-headed child of winter and\nspring, the meek snowdrop? In whom, amidst the golden choirs, would not\nthe vision of an old sunset wake such a song as the ancient dwellers of\nthe earth would with gently flattened palm hush their throbbing harps\nto hear?\n\nAll this revelation, however, would render only _a_ body necessary, not\nthis body. The fulness of the word _Resurrection_ would be ill met if\nthis were all. We need not only a body to convey revelation to us, but\na body to reveal us to others. The thoughts, feelings, imaginations\nwhich arise in us, must have their garments of revelation whereby shall\nbe made manifest the unseen world within us to our brothers and sisters\naround us; else is each left in human loneliness. Now, if this be one\nof the uses my body served on earth before, the new body must be like\nthe old. Nay, it must be the same body, glorified as we are glorified,\nwith all that was distinctive of each from his fellows more visible\nthan ever before. The accidental, the nonessential, the unrevealing,\nthe incomplete will have vanished. That which made the body what it was\nin the eyes of those who loved us will be tenfold there. Will not this\nbe the resurrection of the body? of the same body though not of the\nsame dead matter? Every eye shall see the beloved, every heart will\ncry, \"My own again!--more mine because more himself than ever I beheld\nhim!\" For do we not say on earth, \"He is not himself to-day,\" or \"She\nlooks her own self;\" \"She is more like herself than I have seen her for\nlong\"? And is not this when the heart is glad and the face is radiant?\nFor we carry a better likeness of our friends in our hearts than their\ncountenances, save at precious seasons, manifest to us.\n\nWho will dare to call anything less than this a resurrection? Oh, how\nthe letter killeth! There are who can believe that the dirt of their\nbodies will rise the same as it went down to the friendly grave, who\nyet doubt if they will know their friends when they rise again. And\nthey call _that_ believing in the resurrection!\n\nWhat! shall a man love his neighbour as himself, and must he be content\nnot to know him in heaven? Better be content to lose our consciousness,\nand know ourselves no longer. What! shall God be the God of the\nfamilies of the earth, and shall the love that he has thus created\ntowards father and mother, brother and sister, wife and child, go\nmoaning and longing to all eternity; or worse, far worse, die out of\nour bosoms? Shall God be God, and shall this be the end?\n\nAh, my friends! what will resurrection or life be to me, how shall I\ncontinue to love God as I have learned to love him through you, if I\nfind he cares so little for this human heart of mine, as to take from\nme the gracious visitings of your faces and forms? True, I might have a\ngaze at Jesus, now and then; but he would not be so good as I had\nthought him. And how should I see him if I could not see you? God will\nnot take you, has not taken you from me to bury you out of my sight in\nthe abyss of his own unfathomable being, where I cannot follow and find\nyou, myself lost in the same awful gulf. No, our God is an unveiling, a\nrevealing God. He will raise you from the dead, that I may behold you;\nthat that which vanished from the earth may again stand forth, looking\nout of the same eyes of eternal love and truth, holding out the same\nmighty hand of brotherhood, the same delicate and gentle, yet strong\nhand of sisterhood, to me, this me that knew you and loved you in the\ndays gone by. I shall not care that the matter of the forms I loved a\nthousand years ago has returned to mingle with the sacred goings on of\nGod's science, upon that far-off world wheeling its nursery of growing\nloves and wisdoms through space; I shall not care that the muscle which\nnow sends the ichor through your veins is not formed of the very\nparticles which once sent the blood to the pondering brain, the\nflashing eye, or the nervous right arm; I shall not care, I say, so\nlong as it is yourselves that are before me, beloved; so long as\nthrough these forms I know that I look on my own, on my loving souls of\nthe ancient time; so long as my spirits have got garments of revealing\nafter their own old lovely fashion, garments to reveal themselves to\nme. The new shall then be dear as the old, and for the same reason,\nthat it reveals the old love. And in the changes which, thank God, must\ntake place when the mortal puts on immortality, shall we not feel that\nthe nobler our friends are, the more they are themselves; that the more\nthe idea of each is carried out in the perfection of beauty, the more\nlike they are to what we thought them in our most exalted moods, to\nthat which we saw in them in the rarest moments of profoundest\ncommunion, to that which we beheld through the veil of all their\nimperfections when we loved them the truest?\n\nLord, evermore give us this Resurrection, like thine own in the body of\nthy Transfiguration. Let us see and hear, and know, and be seen, and\nheard, and known, as thou seest, hearest, and knowest. Give us\nglorified bodies through which to reveal the glorified thoughts which\nshall then inhabit us, when not only shalt thou reveal God, but each of\nus shall reveal thee.\n\nAnd for this, Lord Jesus, come thou, the child, the obedient God, that\nwe may be one with thee, and with every man and woman whom thou hast\nmade, in the Father.\n\n\n                           END OF FIRST SERIES\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                      UNSPOKEN SERMONS SERIES TWO\n\n\n\n\n                               THESE ALSO\n                          AFTER EIGHTEEN YEARS\n                                   TO\n                                MY WIFE\n\n\n                          CORAGGIO, BORDIGHERA\n\n\n                             _January 1885_\n\n\n\n\n                                THE WAY.\n\n\n     '_If thou wouldest be perfect_.'--ST. MATTHEW xix 21.\n\nFor reasons many and profound, amongst the least because of the\nfragmentary nature of the records, he who would read them without the\ncandle of the Lord--that is, the light of truth in his inward parts--\nmust not merely fall into a thousand errors--a thing for such a one of\nless moment--but must fail utterly of perceiving and understanding the\nlife therein struggling to reveal itself--the life, that is, of the Son\nof Man, the thought, the feeling, the intent of the Lord himself, that\nby which he lived, that which is himself, that which he poured out for\nus. Yet the one thing he has to do with is this life of Jesus, his inner\nnature and being, manifested through his outer life, according to the\npower of sight in the spiritual eye that looks thereupon.\n\nIn contemplating the incident revealing that life of which I would now\nendeavour to unfold the truth, my readers who do not _study_ the Greek\nTestament must use the revised version. Had I not known and rejoiced in\nit long before the revision appeared, I should have owed the revisers\nendless gratitude, if for nothing more than the genuine reading of St.\nMatthew's report of the story of the youth who came to our Lord.\nWhoever does not welcome the change must fail to see its preciousness.\n\nReading then from the revised version, we find in St. Matthew the\ncommencement of the conversation between Jesus and the young man very\ndifferent from that given in the Gospels of St. Mark and St. Luke.\nThere is not for that the smallest necessity for rejecting either\naccount; they blend perfectly, and it is to me a joy unspeakable to\nhave both. Put together they give a completed conversation. Here it is\nas I read it; let my fellow students look to the differing, far from\nopposing, reports, and see how naturally they combine.\n\n'Good Master,' said the kneeling youth, and is interrupted by the\nMaster:--\n\n'Why callest thou me good?' he returns. 'None is good save one, even\nGod.'\n\nDaring no reply to this, the youth leaves it, and betakes himself to\nhis object in addressing the Lord.\n\n'What good thing shall I do,' he says, 'that I may have eternal life?'\n\nBut again the Lord takes hold of the word _good_:--\n\n'Why askest thou me concerning that which is good?' he rejoins. 'One\nthere is who is good.--But if thou wouldest enter into life, keep the\ncommandments.'\n\n'Which?'\n\n'Thou shalt not kill, Thou shalt not commit adultery, Thou shalt not\nsteal, Thou shalt not bear false witness, Honour thy father and thy\nmother; and, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.'\n\n'All these things have I observed: what lack I yet?'\n\n'If thou wouldest be perfect, go, sell that thou hast, and give to the\npoor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.'\n\nLet us regard the story.\n\nAs Jesus went out of a house (see St. Mark x. 10 and 17), the young man\ncame running to him, and kneeling down in the way, addressed him as\n'Good Master.'\n\nThe words with which the Lord interrupts his address reveal the whole\nattitude of the Lord's being. At that moment, at every and each moment,\njust as much as when in the garden of Gethsemane, or encountering any\nof those hours which men call crises of life, his whole thought, his\nwhole delight, was in the thought, in the will, in the being of his\nFather. The joy of the Lord's life, that which made it life to him, was\nthe Father; of him he was always thinking, to him he was always\nturning. I suppose most men have some thought of pleasure or\nsatisfaction or strength to which they turn when action pauses, life\nbecomes for a moment still, and the wheel sleeps on its own swiftness:\nwith Jesus it needed no pause of action, no rush of renewed\nconsciousness, to send him home; his thought was ever and always his\nFather. To its home in the heart of the Father his heart ever turned.\nThat was his treasure-house, the jewel of his mind, the mystery of his\ngladness, claiming all degrees and shades of delight, from peace and\ncalmest content to ecstasy. His life was hid in God. No vain show could\nenter at his eyes; every truth and grandeur of life passed before him\nas it was; neither ambition nor disappointment could distort them to\nhis eternal childlike gaze; he beheld and loved them from the bosom of\nthe Father. It was not for himself he came to the world--not to\nestablish his own power over the doings, his own influence over the\nhearts of men: he came that they might know the Father who was his joy,\nhis life. The sons of men were his Father's children like himself: that\nthe Father should have them all in his bosom was the one thought of his\nheart: that should be his doing for his Father, cost him what it might!\nHe came to do his will, and on the earth was the same he had been from\nthe beginning, the eternal first. He was not interested in himself, but\nin his Father and his Father's children. He did not care to hear\nhimself called good. It was not of consequence to him. He was there to\nlet men see the goodness of the Father in whom he gloried. For that he\nentered the weary dream of the world, in which the glory was so dulled\nand clouded. 'You call _me_ good! You should know my Father!'\n\nFor the Lord's greatness consisted in his Father being greater than he:\nwho calls into being is greater than who is called. The Father was\nalways the Father, the Son always the Son; yet the Son is not of\nhimself, but by the Father; he does not live by his own power, like the\nFather. If there were no Father, there would be no Son. All that is the\nLord's is the Father's, and all that is the Father's he has given to\nthe Son. The Lord's goodness is of the Father's goodness; because the\nFather is good the Son is good. When the word _good_ enters the ears of\nthe Son, his heart lifts it at once to his Father, the Father of all.\nHis words contain no denial of goodness in himself: in his grand\nself-regard he was not the original of his goodness, neither did he care\nfor his own goodness, except to be good: it was to him a matter of course.\nBut for his Father's goodness, he would spend life, suffering, labour,\ndeath, to make that known! His other children must learn to give him\nhis due, and love him as did the primal Son! The Father was all in all\nto the Son, and the Son no more thought of his own goodness than an\nhonest man thinks of his honesty. When the good man sees goodness, he\nthinks of his own evil: Jesus had no evil to think of, but neither does\nhe think of his goodness; he delights in his Father's. 'Why callest\nthou me good? None is good save one, even God.'\n\nChecked thus, the youth turns to the question which, working in his\nheart, had brought him running, and made him kneel: what good thing\nshall he do that he may have eternal life? It is unnecessary to inquire\nprecisely what he meant by _eternal life_. Whatever shape the thing\ntook to him, that shape represented a something he needed and had not\ngot--a something which, it was clear to him, could be gained only in\nsome path of good. But he thought to gain a thing by a doing, when the\nvery thing desired was _a being_: he would have that as a possession\nwhich must possess him.\n\nThe Lord cared neither for isolated truth nor for orphaned deed. It was\ntruth in the inward parts, it was the good heart, the mother of good\ndeeds, he cherished. It was the live, active, knowing, breathing good\nhe came to further. He cared for no speculation in morals or religion.\nIt was good men he cared about, not notions of good things, or even\ngood actions, save as the outcome of life, save as the bodies in which\nthe primary live actions of love and will in the soul took shape and\ncame forth. Could he by one word have set at rest all the questionings\nof philosophy as to the supreme good and the absolute truth, I venture\nto say that word he would not have uttered. But he would die to make\nmen good and true. His whole heart would respond to the cry of sad\npublican or despairing pharisee, 'How am I to be good?'\n\nWhen the Lord says, 'Why askest thou me concerning that which is good?'\nwe must not put emphasis on the _me_, as if the Lord refused the\nquestion, as he had declined the epithet: he was the proper person to\nask, only the question was not the right one: the good thing was a\nsmall matter; the good Being was all in all. [Footnote: As it stands,\nit is difficult to read the passage without putting emphasis on the\n_me_, which spoils the sense. I think it would better be, 'Why dost\nthou ask me concerning &c.?'] 'Why ask me about the good thing? There\nis one living good, in whom the good thing, and all good, is alive and\never operant. Ask me not about the good thing, but the good person, the\ngood being--the origin of all good'--who, because he is, can make good.\nHe is the one live good, ready with his life to communicate living\ngood, the power of being, and so doing good, for he makes good itself\nto exist. It is not with this good thing and that good thing we have to\ndo, but with that power whence comes our power even to speak the word\n_good_. We have to do with him to whom no one can look without the need\nof being good waking up in his heart; to think about him is to begin to\nbe good. To do a good thing is to do a good thing; to know God is to be\ngood. It is not to make us do all things right he cares, but to make us\nhunger and thirst after a righteousness possessing which we shall never\nneed to think of what is or is not good, but shall refuse the evil and\nchoose the good by a motion of the will which is at once necessity and\nchoice. You see again he refers him immediately as before to his\nFather.\n\nBut I am anxious my reader should not mistake. Observe, the question in\nthe young man's mind is not about the doing or not doing of something\nhe knows to be right; had such been the case, the Lord would have\npermitted no question at all; the one thing he insists upon is the\n_doing_ of the thing we know we ought to do. In the instance present,\nthe youth looking out for some unknown good thing to do, he sends him\nback to the doing of what he knows, and that in answer to his question\nconcerning the way to eternal life.\n\nA man must have something to do in the matter, and may well ask such a\nquestion of any teacher! The Lord does not for a moment turn away from\nit, and only declines the form of it to help the youth to what he\nreally needs. He has, in truth, already more than hinted where the\nanswer lies, namely, in God himself, but that the youth is not yet\ncapable of receiving; he must begin with him farther back: 'If thou\nwouldest enter into life, keep the commandments;'--for verily, if the\ncommandments have nothing to do with entering into life, why were they\never given to men? This is his task--he must keep the commandments.\n\nThen the road to eternal life is the keeping of the commandments! Had\nthe Lord _not_ said so, what man of common moral sense would ever dare\nsay otherwise? What else can be the way into life but the doing of what\nthe Lord of life tells the creatures he has made, and whom he would\nhave live for ever, that they must do? It is the beginning of the way.\nIf a man had kept all those commandments, yet would he not therefore\nhave in him the life eternal; nevertheless, without keeping of the\ncommandments there is no entering into life; the keeping of them is the\npath to the gate of life; it is not life, but it is the way--so much of\nthe way to it. Nay, the keeping of the commandments, consciously or\nunconsciously, has closest and essential relation to eternal life.\n\nThe Lord says nothing about the first table of the law: why does he not\ntell this youth as he did the lawyer, that to love God is everything?\n\nHe had given him a glimpse of the essence of his own life, had pointed\nthe youth to the heart of all--for him to think of afterwards: he was\nnot ready for it yet. He wanted eternal life: to love God with all our\nheart, and soul, and strength, and mind, is to know God, and to know\nhim _is_ eternal life; that is the end of the whole saving matter; it\nis no human beginning, it is the grand end and eternal beginning of all\nthings; but the youth was not capable of it. To begin with that would\nbe as sensible as to say to one asking how to reach the top of some\nmountain, 'Just set your foot on that shining snow-clad peak, high\nthere in the blue, and you will at once be where you wish to go.' 'Love\nGod with all your heart, and eternal life is yours:'--it would have\nbeen to mock him. Why, he could not yet see or believe that that was\neternal life! He was not yet capable of looking upon life even from\nafar! How many _Christians_ are? How many know that they are not? How\nmany care that they are not? The Lord answers his question directly,\ntells him what to do--a thing he can do--to enter into life: he must\nkeep the commandments!--and when he asks, 'Which?' specifies only those\nthat have to do with his neighbour, ending with the highest and most\ndifficult of them.\n\n'But no man can perfectly keep a single commandment of the second table\nany more than of the first.'\n\nSurely not--else why should they have been given? But is there no\nmeaning in the word _keep_, or _observe_, except it be qualified by\n_perfectly_? Is there no keeping but a perfect keeping?\n\n'None that God cares for.'\n\nThere I think you utterly wrong. That no keeping but a perfect one will\n_satisfy_ God, I hold with all my heart and strength; but that there is\nnone else he cares for, is one of the lies of the enemy. What father is\nnot pleased with the first tottering attempt of his little one to walk?\nWhat father would be satisfied with anything but the manly step of the\nfull-grown son?\n\nWhen the Lord has definitely mentioned the commandments he means, the\nyouth returns at once that he _has_ observed those from his youth up:\nare we to take his word for it? The Lord at least takes his word for\nit: he looked on him and loved him. Was the Lord deceived in him? Did\nhe tell an untruth? or did the Master believe he had kept the\ncommandments perfectly? There must be a keeping of the commandments,\nwhich, although anything but perfect, is yet acceptable to the heart of\nhim from whom nothing is hid. In that way the youth had kept the\ncommandments. He had for years been putting forth something of his\nlife-energy to keep them. Nor, however he had failed of perfection, had\nhe missed the end for which they were given him to keep. For the\nimmediate end of the commandments never was that men should succeed in\nobeying them, but that, finding they could not do that which yet must\nbe done, finding the more they tried the more was required of them,\nthey should be driven to the source of life and law--of their life and\nhis law--to seek from him such reinforcement of life as should make the\nfulfilment of the law as possible, yea, as natural, as necessary. This\nresult had been wrought in the youth. His observance had given him no\nsatisfaction; he was not at rest; but he desired eternal life--of which\nthere was no word in the law: the keeping of the law had served to\ndevelop a hunger which no law or its keeping could fill. Must not the\nimperfection of his keeping of the commandments, even in the lower\nsense in which he read them, have helped to reveal how far they were\nbeyond any keeping of his, how their implicit demands rose into the\ninfinitude of God's perfection?\n\nHaving kept the commandments, the youth needed and was ready for a\nfurther lesson: the Lord would not leave him where he was; he had come\nto seek and to save. He saw him in sore need of perfection--the thing\nthe commonplace Christian thinks he can best do without--the thing the\nelect hungers after with an eternal hunger. Perfection, the perfection\nof the Father, is eternal life. 'If thou wouldest be perfect,' said the\nLord. What an honour for the youth to be by him supposed desirous of\nperfection! And what an enormous demand does he, upon the supposition,\nmake of him! To gain the perfection he desired, the one thing lacking\nwas, that he should sell all that he had, give it to the poor, and\nfollow the Lord! Could this be all that lay between him and entering\ninto life? God only knows what the victory of such an obedience might\nat once have wrought in him! Much, much more would be necessary before\nperfection was reached, but certainly the next step, to sell and\nfollow, would have been the step into life: had he taken it, in the\nvery act would have been born in him that whose essence and vitality is\neternal life, needing but process to develop it into the glorious\nconsciousness of oneness with The Life.\n\nThere was nothing like this in the law: was it not hard?--Hard to let\nearth go, and take heaven instead? for eternal life, to let dead things\ndrop? to turn his hack on Mammon, and follow Jesus? lose his rich\nfriends, and he of the Master's household? Let him say it was hard who\ndoes not know the Lord, who has never thirsted after righteousness,\nnever longed for the life eternal!\n\nThe youth had got on so far, was so pleasing in the eyes of the Master,\nthat he would show him the highest favour he could; he would take him\nto be with him--to walk with him, and rest with him, and go from him\nonly to do for him what he did for his Father in heaven--to plead with\nmen, he a mediator between God and men. He would set him free at once,\na child of the kingdom, an heir of the life eternal.\n\nI do not suppose that the youth was one whom ordinary people would call\na lover of money; I do not believe he was covetous, or desired even the\nlarge increase of his possessions; I imagine he was just like most good\nmen of property: he valued his possessions--looked on them as a good. I\nsuspect that in the case of another, he would have regarded such\npossession almost as a merit, a desert; would value a man more who had\n_means_, value a man less who had none--like most of my readers. They\nhave not a notion how entirely they will one day have to alter their\njudgment, or have it altered for them, in this respect: well for them\nif they alter it for themselves!\n\nFrom this false way of thinking, and all the folly and unreality that\naccompany it, the Lord would deliver the young man. As the thing was,\nhe was a slave; for a man is in bondage to what ever he cannot part\nwith that is less than himself. He could have taken his possessions\nfrom him by an exercise of his own will, but there would have been\nlittle good in that; he wished to do it by the exercise of the young\nman's will: that would be a victory indeed for both! So would he enter\ninto freedom and life, delivered from the bondage of mammon by the\nlovely will of the Lord in him, one with his own. By the putting forth\nof the divine energy in him, he would escape the corruption that is in\nthe world through lust--that is, the desire or pleasure of _having_.\n\nThe young man would not.\n\nWas the Lord then premature in his demand on the youth? Was he not\nready for it? Was it meant for a test, and not as an actual word of\ndeliverance? Did he show the child a next step on the stair too high\nfor him to set his foot upon? I do not believe it. He gave him the very\nnext lesson in the divine education for which he was ready. It was\npossible for him to respond, to give birth, by obedience, to the\nredeemed and redeeming will, and so be free. It was time the demand\nshould be made upon him. Do you say, 'But he would not respond, he\nwould not obey!'? Then it was time, I answer, that he should refuse,\nthat he should know what manner of spirit he was of, and meet the\nconfusions of soul, the sad searchings of heart that must follow. A\ntime comes to every man when he must obey, or make such refusal--_and\nknow it_.\n\nShall I then be supposed to mean that the refusal of the young man was\nof necessity final? that he was therefore lost? that because he\ndeclined to enter into life the door of life was closed against him?\nVerily, I have not so learned Christ. And that the lesson was not lost,\nI see in this, that he went away sorrowful. Was such sorrow, in the\nmind of an earnest youth, likely to grow less or to grow more? Was all\nhe had gone through in the way of obedience to be of no good to him?\nCould the nature of one who had kept the commandments be so slight\nthat, after having sought and talked with Jesus, held communion with\nhim who is the Life, he would care less about eternal life than before?\nMany, alas! have looked upon his face, yet have never seen him, and\nhave turned back; some have kept company with him for years, and denied\nhim; but their weakness is not the measure of the patience or the\nresources of God. Perhaps this youth was never one of the Lord's so\nlong as he was on the earth, but perhaps when he saw that the Master\nhimself cared nothing for the wealth he had told him to cast away,\nthat, instead of ascending the throne of his fathers, he let the people\ndo with him what they would, and left the world the poor man he had\nlived in it, by its meanest door, perhaps then he became one of those\nwho sold all they had, and came and laid the money at the apostles'\nfeet. In the meantime he had that in his soul which made it heavy: by\nthe gravity of his riches the world held him, and would not let him\nrise. He counted his weight his strength, and it was his weakness.\nMoneyless in God's upper air he would have had power indeed. Money is\nthe power of this world--power for defeat and failure to him who holds\nit--a weakness to be overcome ere a man can be strong; yet many decent\npeople fancy it a power of the world to come! It is indeed a little\npower, as food and drink, as bodily strength, as the winds and the\nwaves are powers; but it is no mighty thing for the redemption of men;\nyea, to the redemption of those who have it, it is the saddest\nobstruction. To make this youth capable of eternal life, clearly--and\nthe more clearly that he went away sorrowful--the first thing was to\nmake a poor man of him! He would doubtless have gladly devoted his\nwealth to the service of the Master, yea, and gone with him, _as a rich\nman_, to spend it for him. But part with it to free him for his\nservice--that he could not--_yet_!\n\nAnd how now would he go on with his keeping of the commandments? Would\nhe not begin to see more plainly his shortcomings, the larger scope of\ntheir requirements? Might he not feel the keeping of them more\nimperative than ever, yet impossible without something he had not? The\ncommandments can never be kept while there is a strife to keep them:\nthe man is overwhelmed in the weight of their broken pieces. It needs a\nclean heart to have pure hands, all the power of a live soul to keep\nthe law--a power of life, not of struggle; the strength of love, not\nthe effort of duty.\n\nOne day the truth of his conduct must dawn upon him with absolute\nclearness. Bitter must be the discovery. He had refused the life\neternal! had turned his back upon The Life! In deepest humility and\nshame, yet with the profound consolation of repentance, he would return\nto the Master and bemoan his unteachableness. There are who, like St.\nPaul, can say, 'I did wrong, but I did it in ignorance; my heart was\nnot right, and I did not know it:' the remorse of such must be very\ndifferent from that of one who, brought to the point of being capable\nof embracing the truth, turned from it and refused to be set free. To\nhim the time will come, God only knows its hour, when he will see the\nnature of his deed, _with the knowledge that he was dimly seeing it so\neven when he did it_: the alternative had been put before him. And all\nthose months, or days, or hours, or moments, he might have been\nfollowing the Master, hearing the words he spoke, through the windows\nof his eyes looking into the very gulfs of Godhead!\n\nThe sum of the matter in regard to the youth is this:--He had begun\nearly to climb the eternal stair. He had kept the commandments, and by\nevery keeping had climbed. But because he was _well to do_--a phrase of\nunconscious irony--he felt well to be--quite, but for that lack of\neternal life! His possessions gave him a standing in the world--a\nposition of consequence--of value in his eyes. He knew himself looked\nup to; he liked to be looked up to; he looked up to himself because of\nhis _means_, forgetting that _means_ are but tools, and poor tools too.\nTo part with his wealth would be to sink to the level of his inferiors!\nWhy should he not keep it? why not use it in the service of the Master?\nWhat wisdom could there be in throwing away such a grand advantage? He\ncould devote it, but he could not cast it from him! He could devote it,\nbut he could not devote himself! He could not make himself naked as a\nlittle child and let his Father take him! To him it was not the word of\nwisdom the 'Good Master' spoke. How could precious money be a hindrance\nto entering into life! How could a rich man believe he would be of more\nvalue without his money? that the casting of it away would make him one\nof God's Anakim? that the battle of God could be better fought without\nits impediment? that his work refused as an obstruction the aid of\nwealth? But the Master had repudiated money that he might do the will\nof his Father; and the disciple must be as his master. Had he done as\nthe Master told him, he would soon have come to understand. Obedience\nis the opener of eyes.\n\nThere is this danger to every good youth in keeping the commandments,\nthat he will probably think of himself more highly than he ought to\nthink. He may be correct enough as to the facts, and in his deductions,\nand consequent self-regard, be anything but fair. He may think himself\na fine fellow, when he is but an ordinarily reasonable youth, trying to\ndo but the first thing necessary to the name or honour of a man.\nDoubtless such a youth is exceptional among youths; but the number of\nfools not yet acknowledging the first condition of manhood nowise\nalters the fact that he who has begun to recognize duty, and\nacknowledge the facts of his being, is but a tottering child on the\npath of life. He is on the path; he is as wise as at the time he can\nbe; the Father's arms are stretched out to receive him; but he is not\ntherefore a wonderful being; not therefore a model of wisdom; not at\nall the admirable creature his largely remaining folly would, in his\nworst moments, that is when he feels best, persuade him to think\nhimself; he is just one of God's poor creatures. What share this\nbesetting sin of the _good young man_ may have had in the miserable\nfailure of this one, we need not inquire; but it may well be that he\nthought the Master under-valued his work as well as his wealth, and was\nless than fair to him.\n\nTo return to the summing up of the matter:--\n\nThe youth, climbing the stair of eternal life, had come to a landing-place\nwhere not a step more was visible. On the cloud-swathed platform\nhe stands looking in vain for further ascent. What he thought with\nhimself he wanted, I cannot tell: his idea of eternal life I do not\nknow; I can hardly think it was but the poor idea of living for ever,\nall that commonplace minds grasp at for eternal life--its mere\nconcomitant shadow, in itself not worth thinking about, not for a\nmoment to be disputed, and taken for granted by all devout Jews: when a\nman has eternal life, that is, when he is one with God, what should he\ndo but live for ever? without oneness with God, the continuance of\nexistence would be to me the all but unsurpassable curse--the\nunsurpassable itself being, a God other than the God I see in Jesus;\nbut whatever his idea, it must have held in it, though perhaps only in\nsolution, all such notions as he had concerning God and man and a\ncommon righteousness. While thus he stands, then, alone and helpless,\nbehold the form of the Son of Man! It is God himself come to meet the\nclimbing youth, to take him by the hand, and lead him up his own stair,\nthe only stair by which ascent can be made. He shows him the first step\nof it through the mist. His feet are heavy; they have golden shoes. To\ngo up that stair he must throw aside his shoes. He must walk\nbare-footed into life eternal. Rather than so, rather than stride\nfree-limbed up the everlasting stair to the bosom of the Father, he will\nkeep his precious shoes! It is better to drag them about on the earth,\nthan part with them for a world where they are useless!\n\nBut how miserable his precious things, his golden vessels, his\nembroidered garments, his stately house, must have seemed when he went\nback to them from the face of the Lord! Surely it cannot have been long\nbefore in shame and misery he cast all from him, even as Judas cast\nfrom him the thirty pieces of silver, in the agony of every one who\nwakes to the fact that he has preferred money to the Master! For,\nalthough never can man be saved without being freed from his\npossessions, it is yet only _hard_, not impossible, _for a rich man to\nenter into the kingdom of God_.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE HARDNESS OF THE WAY.\n\n\n     \"_Children, how hard is it_!\"--St. Mark x. 24.\n\nI suspect there is scarcely a young man rich and thoughtful who is not\nready to feel our Lord's treatment of this young man hard. He is apt to\nask, \"Why should it be difficult for a rich man to enter into the\nkingdom of heaven?\" He is ready to look upon the natural fact as an\narbitrary decree, arising, shall I say? from some prejudice in the\ndivine mind, or at least from some objection to the joys of well-being,\nas regarded from the creatures' side. Why should the rich fare\ndifferently from other people in respect of the world to come? They do\nnot perceive that the law is they _shall_ fare like other people,\nwhereas they want to fare as rich people. A condition of things in\nwhich it would be easy for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of\nheaven is to me inconceivable. There is no kingdom of this world into\nwhich a rich man may not easily enter--in which, if he be but rich\nenough, he may not be the first: a kingdom into which it would be easy\nfor a rich man to enter could be no kingdom of heaven. The rich man\ndoes not by any necessity of things belong to the kingdom of Satan, but\ninto that kingdom he is especially welcome, whereas into the kingdom of\nheaven he will be just as welcome as another man.\n\nI suspect also that many a rich man turns from the record of this\nincident with the resentful feeling that there lies in it a claim upon\nhis whole having; while there are many, and those by no means only of\nthe rich, who cannot believe the Lord really meant to take the poor\nfellow's money from him. To the man born to riches they seem not merely\na natural, but an essential condition of well-being; and the man who\nhas _made_ his money, feels it his by the labour of his soul, the\ntravail of the day, and the care of the night. Each feels a right to\nhave and to hold the things he possesses; and if there is a necessity\nfor his entering into the kingdom of heaven, it is hard indeed that\nright and necessity should confront each other, and constitute all but\na bare impossibility! Why should he not 'make the best of both worlds'?\nHe would compromise, if he might; he would serve Mammon a little, and\nGod much. He would not have such a 'best of both worlds' as comes of\nputting the lower in utter subservience to the higher--of casting away\nthe treasure of this world and taking the treasure of heaven instead.\nHe would gain as little as may be of heaven--but something, with the\nloss of as little as possible of the world. That which he desires of\nheaven is not its best; that which he would not yield of the world is\nits most worthless.\n\nI can well imagine an honest youth, educated in Christian forms, thus\nreasoning with himself:--'Is the story of general relation? Is this\ndemand made upon me? If I make up my mind to be a Christian, shall I be\nrequired to part with all I possess? It must have been comparatively\neasy in those times to give up the kind of things they had! If I had\nbeen he, I am sure I should have done it--at the demand of the Saviour\nin person. Things are very different now! Wealth did not then imply the\nsame social relations as now! I should be giving up so much more!\nNeither do I love money as he was in danger of doing: in all times the\nJews have been Mammon-worshippers! I try to do good with my money!\nBesides, am I not a Christian already? Why should the same thing be\nrequired of me as of a young Jew? If every one who, like me, has a\nconscience about money, and cares to use it well, had to give up all,\nthe power would at once be in the hands of the irreligious; they would\nhave no opposition, and the world would go to the devil! We read often\nin the Bible of rich men, but never of any other who was desired to\npart with all that he had! When Ananias was struck dead, it was not\nbecause he did not give up all his money, but because he pretended to\nhave done so. St. Peter expressly says, 'While it remained was it not\nthine own? and after it was sold, was it not in thine own power?' How\nwould the Lord have been buried but for the rich Joseph? Besides, the\nLord said, \"If thou wouldst be perfect, go, sell that thou hast.\" I\ncannot be perfect; it is hopeless; and he does not expect it.'--It\nwould be more honest if he said, 'I do not want to be perfect; I am\ncontent to be saved.' Such as he do not care for being perfect as their\nFather in heaven is perfect, but for being what they call _saved_. They\nlittle think that without perfection there is no salvation--that\nperfection is salvation: they are one.--'And again,' he adds, in\nconclusion triumphant, 'the text says, \"How hard is it for them that\ntrust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God!\" I do not trust in my\nriches. I know that they can do nothing to save me!'\n\nI will suppose myself in immediate communication with such a youth. I\nshould care little to set forth anything called truth, except in siege\nfor surrender to the law of liberty. If I cannot persuade, I would be\nsilent. Nor would I labour to instruct the keenest intellect; I would\nrather learn for myself. To persuade the heart, the will, the action,\nis alone worth the full energy of a man. His strength is first for his\nown, then for his neighbour's manhood. He must first pluck out the beam\nout of his own eye, then the mote out of his brother's--if indeed the\nmote in his brother's be more than the projection of the beam in his\nown. To make a man happy as a lark, _might be_ to do him grievous\nwrong: to make a man wake, rise, look up, turn, is worth the life and\ndeath of the Son of the Eternal.\n\nI say then to the youth:--\n\n'Have you kept--have you been keeping the commandments?'\n\n'I will not dare to say that,' I suppose him to answer. 'I ought to\nknow better than that youth how much is implied in the keeping of the\ncommandments!'\n\n'But,' I ask insisting, 'does your answer imply that, counting the Lord\na hard master, you have taken the less pains to do as he would have\nyou? or that, bending your energies to the absolute perfection he\nrequires, you have the more perceived the impossibility of fulfilling\nthe law? Can you have failed to note that it is the youth who has been\nfor years observing the commandments on whom the further, and to you\nstartling, command is laid, to part with all that he has? Surely not!\nAre you then one on whom, because of correspondent condition, the same\ncommand could be laid? Have you, in any sense like that in which the\nyouth answered the question, kept the commandments? Have you,\nunsatisfied with the result of what keeping you have given them, and\nfilled with desire to be perfect, gone kneeling to the Master to learn\nmore of the way to eternal life? or are you so well satisfied with what\nyou are, that you have never sought eternal life, never hungered and\nthirsted after the righteousness of God, the perfection of your being?\nIf this latter be your condition, then be comforted; the Master does\nnot require of you to sell what you have and give to the poor. _You_\nfollow him! _You_ go with him to preach good tidings!--you who care not\nfor righteousness! You are not one whose company is desirable to the\nMaster. Be comforted, I say: he does not want you; he will not ask you\nto open your purse for him; you may give or withhold; it is nothing to\nhim. What! is he to be obliged to one outside his kingdom--to the\nuntrue, the ignoble, for money? Bring him a true heart, an obedient\nhand: he has given his life-blood for that; but your money--he neither\nneeds it nor cares for it.'\n\n'Pray, do not deal harshly with me. I confess I have not been what I\nought, but I want to repent, and would fain enter into life. Do not\nthink, because I am not prepared, without the certainty that it is\nrequired of me, to cast from me all I have that I have no regard for\nhigher things.'\n\n'Once more, then, _go and keep the commandments_. It is not come to\nyour money yet. The commandments are enough for you. You are not yet a\nchild in the kingdom. You do not care for the arms of your father; you\nvalue only the shelter of his roof. As to your money, let the\ncommandments direct you how to use it. It is in you but pitiable\npresumption to wonder whether it is required of you to sell all that\nyou have. When in keeping the commandments you have found the great\nreward of loving righteousness--the further reward of discovering that,\nwith all the energy you can put forth, you are but an unprofitable\nservant; when you have come to know that the law can be kept only by\nsuch as need no law; when you have come to feel that you would rather\npass out of being than live on such a poor, miserable, selfish life as\nalone you can call yours; when you are aware of a something beyond all\nthat your mind can think, yet not beyond what your heart can desire--a\nsomething that is not yours, seems as if it never could be yours, which\nyet your life is worthless without; when you have come therefore to the\nMaster with the cry, \"What shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?\"\nit may be he will then say to you, \"Sell all that you have and give to\nthe poor, and come follow me.\" If he do, then will you be of men most\nhonourable if you obey--of men most pitiable if you refuse. Till then\nyou would be no comfort to him, no pleasure to his friends. For the\nyoung man to have sold all and followed him would have been to accept\nGod's patent of peerage: to you it is not offered. Were one of the\ndisobedient, in the hope of the honour, to part with every straw he\npossessed, he would but be sent back to keep the commandments in the\nnew and easier circumstances of his poverty.\n\n'Does this comfort you? Then alas for you! A thousand times alas! Your\nrelief is to know that the Lord has no need of you--does not require\nyou to part with your money, does not offer you himself instead! You do\nnot indeed sell him for thirty pieces of silver, but you are glad not\nto buy him with all that you have! Wherein do you differ from the youth\nof the story? In this, that he was invited to do more, to do\neverything, to partake of the divine nature; you have not had it in\nyour power to refuse; you are not fit to be invited. Such as you can\nnever enter the kingdom. You would not even know you were in heaven if\nyou were in it; you would not see it around you if you sat on the very\nfootstool of the throne.'\n\n'But I do not trust in my riches; I trust in the merits of my Lord and\nSaviour. I trust in his finished work, I trust in the sacrifice he has\noffered.'\n\n'Yes; yes!--you will trust in anything but the Man himself who tells\nyou it is hard to be saved! Not all the merits of God and his Christ\ncan give you eternal life; only God and his Christ can; and they\ncannot, would not if they could, without your keeping the commandments.\nThe knowledge of the living God _is_ eternal life. What have you to do\nwith his merits? You have to know his being, himself. And as to\ntrusting in your riches--who ever imagined he could have eternal life\nby his riches? No man with half a conscience, half a head, and no heart\nat all, could suppose that any man trusting in his riches to get him\nin, could enter the kingdom. That would be too absurd. The money-confident\nJew might hope that, as his riches were a sign of the favour\nof God, that favour would not fail him at the last; or their possession\nmight so enlarge his self-satisfaction that he could not entertain the\nidea of being lost; but _trust in his riches_!--no. It is the last\nrefuge of the riches-lover, the riches-worshipper, the man to whom\ntheir possession is essential for his peace, to say he does not trust\nin them to take him into life. Doubtless the man who thinks of nothing\nso much, trusts in them in a very fearful sense; but hundreds who do so\nwill yet say, \"I do not trust in my riches; I trust in--\" this or that\nstock-phrase.'\n\n'You forget yourself; you are criticizing the Lord's own words: he\nsaid, \"How hard is it _for them that trust in riches_ to enter into the\nkingdom of heaven!\"'\n\n'I do not forget myself; to this I have been leading you:--our Lord, I\nbelieve, never said those words. The reading of both the Sinaitic and\nthe Vatican manuscript, the oldest two we have, that preferred, I am\nglad to see, by both Westcott and Tischendorf, though not by Tregelles\nor the Revisers, is, \"Children, how hard is it to enter into the\nkingdom of God!\" These words I take to be those of the Lord. Some\ncopyist, with the mind at least of a rich man, dissatisfied with the\nLord's way of regarding money, and like yourself anxious to compromize,\nmust forsooth affix his marginal gloss--to the effect that it is not\nthe possessing of riches, but the trusting in them, that makes it\ndifficult to enter into the kingdom! _Difficult_? Why, it is eternally\nimpossible for the man who trusts in his riches to enter into the\nkingdom! it is for the man who has riches it is difficult. Is the Lord\nsupposed to teach that for a man who trusts in his riches it is\n_possible_ to enter the kingdom? that, though impossible with men, this\nis possible with God? God take the Mammon-worshipper into his glory!\nNo! the Lord never said it. The annotation of Mr. Facingbothways crept\ninto the text, and stands in the English version. Our Lord was not in\nthe habit of explaining away his hard words. He let them stand in all\nthe glory of the burning fire wherewith they would purge us. Where\ntheir simplicity finds corresponding simplicity, they are understood.\nThe twofold heart must mistake. It is hard for a rich man, just because\nhe is a rich man, to enter into the kingdom of heaven.'\n\nSome, no doubt, comfort themselves with the thought that, if it be so\nhard, the fact will be taken into account: it is but another shape of\nthe fancy that the rich man must be differently treated from his\nfellows; that as he has had his good things here, so he must have them\nthere too. Certain as life they will have absolute justice, that is,\nfairness, but what will that avail, if they enter not into the kingdom?\nIt is life they must have; there is no enduring of existence without\n_life_. They think _they can do without eternal life, if only they may\nlive for ever_! Those who know what eternal life means count it the one\nterror to have to live on without it.\n\nTake then the Lord's words thus: 'Children, how hard is it to enter\ninto the kingdom of God!' It is quite like his way of putting things.\nCalling them first to reflect on the original difficulty for every man\nof entering into the kingdom of God, he reasserts in yet stronger\nphrase the difficulty of the rich man: 'It is easier for a camel to go\nthrough a needle's eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom\nof God.' It always was, always will be, hard to enter into the kingdom\nof heaven. It is hard even to believe that one must be born from\nabove--must pass into a new and unknown consciousness. The law-faithful\nJew, the ceremonial Christian, shrinks from the self-annihilation, the\nLife of grace and truth, the upper air of heavenly delight, the\nall-embracing love that fills the law full and sets it aside. They\ncannot accept a condition of being as in itself eternal life. And hard\nto believe in, this life, this kingdom of God, this simplicity of\nabsolute existence, is hard to enter. How hard? As hard as the Master\nof salvation could find words to express the hardness: 'If any man\ncometh unto me, and hateth not .... his own life also, he cannot be my\ndisciple.' And the rich man must find it harder than another to hate\nhis own life. There is so much associated with it to swell out the self\nof his consciousness, that the difficulty of casting it from him as the\nmere ugly shadow of the self God made, is vastly increased.\n\nNone can know how difficult it is to enter into the kingdom of heaven,\nbut those who have tried--tried hard, and have not ceased to try. I\ncare not to be told that one may pass at once into all possible\nsweetness of assurance; it is not assurance I desire, but the thing\nitself; not the certainty of eternal life, but eternal life. I care not\nwhat other preachers may say, while I know that in St. Paul the spirit\nand the flesh were in frequent strife. They only, I repeat, know how\nhard it is to enter into life, who are in conflict every day, are\ngrowing to have this conflict every hour--nay, begin to see that no\nmoment is life, without the presence that maketh strong. Let any tell\nme of peace and content, yea, joy unspeakable as the instant result of\nthe new birth; I deny no such statement, refuse no such testimony; all\nI care to say is, that, if by salvation they mean less than absolute\noneness with God, I count it no salvation, neither would be content\nwith it if it included every joy in the heaven of their best imagining.\nIf they are not righteous even as he is righteous, they are not saved,\nwhatever be their gladness or their content; they are but on the way to\nbe saved. If they do not love their neighbour--not as themselves: that\nis a phrase ill to understand, and not of Christ, but--as Christ loves\nhim, I cannot count them entered into life, though life may have begun\nto enter into them. Those whose idea of life is simply an eternal one,\nbest know how hard it is to enter into life. The Lord said, 'Children\nhow hard is it to enter into the kingdom!' the disciples little knew\nwhat was required of them!\n\nDemands unknown before are continually being made upon the Christian:\nit is the ever fresh rousing and calling, asking and sending of the\nSpirit that worketh in the children of obedience. When he thinks he has\nattained, then is he in danger; when he finds the mountain he has so\nlong been climbing show suddenly a distant peak, radiant in eternal\nwhiteness, and all but lost in heavenly places, a peak whose\nglory-crowned apex it seems as if no human foot could ever reach--then\nis there hope for him; proof there is then that he has been climbing, for\nhe beholds the yet unclimbed; he sees what he could not see before; if\nhe knows little of what he is, he knows something of what he is not. He\nlearns ever afresh that he is not in the world as Jesus was in the\nworld; but the very wind that breathes courage as he climbs is the hope\nthat one day he shall be like him, seeing him as he is.\n\nPossessions are _Things_, and _Things_ in general, save as affording\nmatter of conquest and means of spiritual annexation, are very ready to\nprove inimical to the better life. The man who for consciousness of\nwell-being depends upon anything but life, the life essential, is a\nslave; he hangs on what is less than himself. He is not perfect who,\ndeprived of every _thing_, would not sit down calmly content, aware of\na well-being untouched; for none the less would he be possessor of all\nthings, the child of the Eternal. _Things_ are given us, this body\nfirst of things, that through them we may be trained both to\nindependence and true possession of them. We must possess them; they\nmust not possess us. Their use is to mediate--as shapes and\nmanifestations in lower kind of the things that are unseen, that is, in\nthemselves unseeable, the things that belong, not to the world of\nspeech, but the world of silence, not to the world of showing, but the\nworld of being, the world that cannot be shaken, and must remain. These\nthings unseen take form in the things of time and space--not that they\nmay exist, for they exist in and from eternal Godhead, but that their\nbeing may be known to those in training for the eternal; these things\nunseen the sons and daughters of God must possess. But instead of\nreaching out after them, they grasp at their forms, reward the things\nseen as the things to be possessed, fall in love with the bodies\ninstead of the souls of them. There are good people who can hardly\nbelieve that, if the young man had consented to give up his wealth, the\nLord would not then have told him to keep it; they too seem to think\nthe treasure in heaven insufficient as a substitute. They cannot\nbelieve he would have been better off without his wealth. 'Is not\nwealth power?' they ask. It is indeed power, and so is a wolf hid in\nthe robe; it is power, but as of a brute machine, of which the owner\nill knows the handles and cranks, valves and governor. The multitude of\nthose who read the tale are of the same mind as the youth himself--in\nhis worst moment, as he turned and went--with one vast difference, that\nthey are not sorrowful.\n\n_Things_ can never be really possessed by the man who cannot do without\nthem--who would not be absolutely, divinely content in the\nconsciousness that the cause of his being is within it--and _with him_.\nI would not be misunderstood: no man can have the consciousness of God\nwith him and not be content; I mean that no man who has not the Father\nso as to be eternally content in him alone, can possess a sunset or a\nfield of grass or a mine of gold or the love of a fellow-creature\naccording to its nature--as God would have him possess it--in the\neternal way of inheriting, having, and holding. He who has God, has all\nthings, after the fashion in which he who made them has them. To man,\nwoman, and child, I say--if you are not content, it is because God is\nnot with you as you need him, not with you as he would be with you, as\nyou _must_ have him; for you need him as your body never needed food or\nair, need him as your soul never hungered after joy, or peace, or\npleasure.\n\nIt is imperative on us to get rid of the tyranny of _things_. See how\nimperative: let the young man cling with every fibre to his wealth,\nwhat God can do he will do; his child shall not be left in the hell of\npossession! Comes the angel of death!--and where are the things that\nhaunted the poor soul with such manifold hindrance and obstruction! The\nworld, and all that is in the world, drops and slips, from his feet,\nfrom his hands, carrying with it his body, his eyes, his ears, every\npouch, every coffer, that could delude him with the fancy of\npossession.\n\n'Is the man so freed from the dominion of things? does Death so serve\nhim--so ransom him? Why then hasten the hour? Shall not the youth abide\nthe stroke of Time's clock--await the Inevitable on its path to free\nhim?'\n\nNot so!--for then first, I presume, does the man of things become aware\nof their tyranny. When a man begins to abstain, then first he\nrecognizes the strength of his passion; it may be, when a man has not a\nthing left, he will begin to know what a necessity he had made of\nthings; and if then he begin to contend with them, to cast out of his\nsoul what Death has torn from his hands, then first will he know the\nfull passion of possession, the slavery of prizing the worthless part\nof the precious.\n\n'Wherein then lies the service of Death? He takes the sting, but leaves\nthe poison!'\n\nIn this: it is not the fetters that gall, but the fetters that soothe,\nwhich eat into the soul. When the fetters of gold are gone, on which\nthe man delighted to gaze, though they held him fast to his dungeon-wall,\nburied from air and sunshine, then first will he feel them in the\nsoreness of their lack, in the weary indifference with which he looks\non earth and sea, on space and stars. When the truth begins to dawn\nupon him that those fetters were a horror and a disgrace, then will the\ngood of saving death appear, and the man begin to understand that\nhaving never was, never could be well-being; that it is not by\npossessing we live, but by life we possess. In this way is the loss of\nthe things he thought he had, a motioning, hardly _towards_, yet in\nfavour of deliverance. It may seem to the man the first of his slavery\nwhen it is in truth the beginning of his freedom. Never soul was set\nfree without being made to feel its slavery; nothing but itself can\nenslave a soul, nothing without itself free it.\n\nWhen the drunkard, free of his body, but retaining his desire unable to\nindulge it, has time at length to think, in the lack of the means of\ndestroying thought, surely there dawns for him then at last a fearful\nhope!--not until, by the power of God and his own obedient effort, he\nis raised into such a condition that, be the temptation what it might,\nhe would not yield for an immortality of unrequited drunkenness--all\nits delights and not one of its penalties--is he saved.\n\nThus death may give a new opportunity--with some hope for the multitude\ncounting themselves Christians, who are possessed by _things_ as by a\nlegion of devils; who stand well in their church; whose lives are\nregarded as stainless; who are kind, friendly, give largely, believe in\nthe redemption of Jesus, talk of the world and the church; yet whose\ncare all the time is to heap up, to make much into more, to add house\nto house and field to field, burying themselves deeper and deeper in\nthe ash-heap of _Things_.\n\nBut it is not the rich man only who is under the dominion of things;\nthey too are slaves who, having no money, are unhappy from the lack of\nit. The man who is ever digging his grave is little better than he who\nalready lies mouldering in it. The money the one has, the money the\nother would have, is in each the cause of an eternal stupidity. To the\none as to the other comes the word, '_How is it that ye do not\nunderstand_?'\n\n\n\n\n                    THE CAUSE OF SPIRITUAL STUPIDITY.\n\n\n     '_How is it that ye do not understand?_'--ST. MARK viii. 21.\n\nAfter feeding the four thousand with seven loaves and a few small\nfishes, on the east side of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus, having crossed\nthe lake, was met on the other side by certain Pharisees, whose\nattitude towards him was such that he betook himself again to the boat,\nand recrossed the lake. On the way the disciples bethought them that\nthey had in the boat but a single loaf: probably while the Lord was\noccupied with the Pharisees, one of them had gone and bought it, little\nthinking they were about to start again so soon. Jesus, still occupied\nwith the antagonism of the leaders of the people, and desirous of\ndestroying their influence on his disciples, began to warn them against\nthem. In so doing he made use of a figure they had heard him use\nbefore--that of leaven as representing a hidden but potent and\npervading energy: the kingdom of heaven, he had told them, was like\nleaven hid in meal, gradually leavening the whole of it. He now tells\nthem to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees. The disciples, whose\nminds were occupied with their lack of provisions, the moment they\nheard the word leaven, thought of bread, concluded it must be because\nof its absence that he spoke of leaven, and imagined perhaps a warning\nagainst some danger of defilement from Pharisaical cookery: 'It is\nbecause we have taken no bread!' A leaven like that of the Pharisees\nwas even then at work in their hearts; for the sign the Pharisees\nsought in the mockery of unbelief, they had had a few hours before, and\nhad already, in respect of all that made it of value, forgotten.\n\nIt is to the man who is trying to live, to the man who is obedient to\nthe word of the Master, that the word of the Master unfolds itself.\nWhen we understand the outside of things, we think we have them: the\nLord puts his things in subdefined, suggestive shapes, yielding no\nsatisfactory meaning to the mere intellect, but unfolding themselves to\nthe conscience and heart, to the man himself, in the process of\nlife-effort. According as the new creation, that of reality, advances in\nhim, the man becomes able to understand the words, the symbols, the\nparables of the Lord. For life, that is, action, is alone the human\ncondition into which the light of the Living can penetrate; life alone\ncan assimilate life, can change food into growth. See how the disciples\nhere fooled themselves!\n\nSee how the Lord calls them to their senses. He does not tell them in\nso many words where they are wrong; he attacks instead the cause in\nthemselves which led to their mistake--a matter always of infinitely\nmore consequence than any mistake itself: the one is a live mistake, an\nuntruth in the soul, the other a mere dead blunder born of it. The\nword-connection therefore between their blunder and our Lord's\nexhortation, is not to be found; the logic of what the Lord said, is\nnot on the surface. Often he speaks not to the words but to the\nthought; here he speaks not even to the thought, but to the whole mode\nof thinking, to the thought-matrix, the inward condition of the men.\n\nHe addresses himself to rouse in them a sense of their lack of\nconfidence in God, which was the cause of their blunder as to his\nmeaning. He reminds them of the two miracles with the loaves, and the\nquantity of fragments left beyond the need. From one of these miracles\nthey had just come; it was not a day behind them; yet here they were\ndoubting already! He makes them go over the particulars of the\nmiracles--hardly to refresh their memories-they were tenacious enough\nof the marvel, but to make their hearts dwell on them; for they had\nalready forgotten or had failed to see their central revelation--the\neternal fact of God's love and care and compassion. They knew the\nnumber of the men each time, the number of the loaves each time, the\nnumber of the baskets of fragments they had each time taken up, but\nthey forgot the Love that had so broken the bread that its remnants\ntwenty times outweighed its loaves.\n\nHaving thus questioned them like children, and listened as to the\nanswers of children, he turns the light of their thoughts upon\nthemselves, and, with an argument to the man which overleaps all the\nlinks of its own absolute logic, demands, 'How is it that ye do not\nunderstand?' Then they did understand, and knew that he did not speak\nto them of the leaven of bread, but of the teaching of the Pharisees\nand of the Sadducees. He who trusts can understand; he whose mind is\nset at ease can discover a reason.\n\nHow otherwise than by rebuking and quelling their anxiety, could those\nwords have made them see what then they saw? What connection was there\nbetween 'How many baskets took ye up?' and 'How is it that ye do not\nunderstand?' What had the miracles to do with their discovering that\nwhen he spoke of leaven, it was not of the leaven of bread? If not of\nthe leaven of bread, how did the reference to those miracles of bread\nmake them recognize the fact?\n\nThe lesson he would have had them learn from the miracle, the natural\nlesson, the only lesson worthy of the miracle, was, that God cared for\nhis children, and could, did, and would provide for their necessities.\nThis lesson they had not learned. No doubt the power of the miracle was\nsome proof of his mission, but the love of it proved it better, for it\nmade it worth proving: it was a throb of the Father's heart. The ground\nof the Master's upbraiding is not that they did not understand him, but\nthat they did not trust God; that, after all they had seen, they yet\ntroubled themselves about bread. Because we easily imagine ourselves in\nwant, we imagine God ready to forsake us. The miracles of Jesus were\nthe ordinary works of his Father, wrought small and swift that we might\ntake them in. The lesson of them was that help is always within God's\nreach when his children want it--their design, to show what God is--not\nthat Jesus was God, but that his Father was God--that is, was what he\nwas, for no other kind of God could be, or be worth believing in, no\nother notion of God be worth having. The mission undertaken by the Son,\nwas not to show himself as having all power in heaven and earth, but to\nreveal his Father, to show him to men such as he is, that men may know\nhim, and knowing, trust him. It were a small boon indeed that God\nshould forgive men, and not give himself. It would be but to give them\nback themselves; and less than God just as he is will not comfort men\nfor the essential sorrow of their existence. Only God the gift can turn\nthat sorrow into essential joy: Jesus came to give them God, who is\neternal life.\n\nThose miracles of feeding gave the same lesson to their eyes, their\nhands, their mouths, that his words gave to their ears when he said,\n'seek not ye what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink, neither be ye\nof doubtful mind; for your Father knoweth that ye have need of these\nthings;' 'Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and\nall these things shall be added unto you.' So little had they learned\nit yet, that they remembered the loaves but forgot the Father--as men\nin their theology forget the very [Greek: _Theou logos_]. Thus\nforgetting, they were troubled about provision for the day, and the\nmoment leaven was mentioned, thought of bread. _What else could he\nmean? The connection was plain_! The Lord reminds them of the miracle,\nwhich had they believed after its true value, they would not have been\nso occupied as to miss what he meant. It had set forth to them the\ntruth of God's heart towards them; revealed the loving care without\nwhich he would not be God. Had they learned this lesson, they would not\nhave needed the reminder; for their hearts would not have been so\nfilled with discomfort as to cause them mistake his word. Had they but\nsaid with themselves that, though they had but one loaf, they had him\nwho makes all the loaves, they would never have made the foolish\nblunder they did.\n\nThe answer then to the Lord's reproach, 'How is it that ye do not\nunderstand?' is plainly this: their minds were so full of care about\nthe day's bread, that they could not think with simplicity about\nanything else; the mere mention of leaven threw them floundering afresh\nin the bog of their unbelief. When the Lord reminded them of what their\neyes had seen, so of what he was and what God was, and of the\nfoolishness of their care--the moment their fear was taught to look up,\nthat moment they began to see what the former words of the Lord must\nhave meant: their minds grew clear enough to receive and reflect in a\nmeasure their intent.\n\nThe care of the disciples was care for the day, not for the morrow; the\nword _morrow_ must stand for any and every point of the future. The\nnext hour, the next moment, is as much beyond our grasp and as much in\nGod's care, as that a hundred years away. Care for the next minute is\njust as foolish as care for the morrow, or for a day in the next\nthousand years--in neither can we do anything, in both God is doing\neverything. Those claims only of the morrow which have to be prepared\nto-day are of the duty of to-day; the moment which coincides with work\nto be done, is the moment to be minded; the next is nowhere till God\nhas made it.\n\nTheir lack of bread seems to have come from no neglect, but from the\nimmediacy of the Lord's re-embarkation; at the same time had there been\na want of foresight, that was not the kind of thing the Lord cared to\nreprove; it was not this and that fault he had come to set right, but\nthe primary evil of life without God, the root of all evils, from\nhatred to discourtesy. Certain minor virtues also, prudence amongst the\nrest, would thus at length be almost, if not altogether, superseded. If\na man forget a thing, God will see to that: man is not lord of his\nmemory or his intellect. But man is lord of his will, his action; and\nis then verily to blame when, remembering a duty, he does not do it,\nbut puts it off, and so forgets it. If a man lay himself out to do the\nimmediate duty of the moment, wonderfully little forethought, I\nsuspect, will be found needful. That forethought only is right which\nhas to determine duty, and pass into action. To the foundation of\nyesterday's work well done, the work of the morrow will be sure to fit.\nWork done is of more consequence for the future than the foresight of\nan archangel.\n\nWith the disciples as with the rich youth, it was _Things_ that\nprevented the Lord from being understood. Because of possession the\nyoung man had not a suspicion of the grandeur of the call with which\nJesus honoured him. He thought he was hardly dealt with to be offered a\npatent of Heaven's nobility--he was so very rich! _Things_ filled his\nheart; things blocked up his windows; things barricaded his door, so\nthat the very God could not enter. His soul was not empty, swept, and\ngarnished, but crowded with meanest idols, among which his spirit crept\nabout upon its knees, wasting on them the gazes that belonged to his\nfellows and his Master. The disciples were a little further on than he;\nthey had left all and followed the Lord; but neither had they yet got\nrid of _Things_. The paltry solitariness of a loaf was enough to hide\nthe Lord from them, to make them unable to understand him. Why, having\nforgotten, could they not trust? Surely if he had told them that for\nhis sake they must go all day without food, they would not have minded!\nBut they lost sight of God, and were as if either he did not see, or\ndid not care for them.\n\nIn the former case it was the possession of wealth, in the latter the\nnot having more than a loaf, that rendered incapable of receiving the\nword of the Lord: the evil principle was precisely the same. If it be\n_Things_ that slay you, what matter whether things you have, or things\nyou have not? The youth, not trusting in God, the source of his riches,\ncannot brook the word of his Son, offering him better riches, more\ndirect from the heart of the Father. The disciples, forgetting who is\nlord of the harvests of the earth, cannot understand his word, because\nfilled with the fear of a day's hunger. He did not trust in God as\nhaving given; they did not trust in God as ready to give. We are like\nthem when, in _any_ trouble, we do not trust him. It is hard on God,\nwhen his children will not let him give; when they carry themselves so\nthat he must withhold his hand, lest he harm them. To take no care that\nthey acknowledge whence their help comes, would be to leave them\nworshippers of idols, trusters in that which is not.\n\nDistrust is atheism, and the barrier to all growth. Lord, we do not\nunderstand thee, because we do not trust thy Father--whole-hearted to\nus, as never yet was mother to her first-born! Full of care, as if he\nhad none, we think this and that escapes his notice, for this and that\nhe does not think! While we who are evil would die to give our children\nbread to eat, we are not certain the only Good will give us anything of\nwhat we desire! The things of thy world so crowd our hearts, that there\nis no room in them for the things of thy heart, which would raise ours\nabove all fear, and make us merry children in our Father's house!\nSurely many a whisper of the watching Spirit we let slip through\nbrooding over a need not yet come to us! To-morrow makes to-day's whole\nhead sick, its whole heart faint. When we should be still, sleeping or\ndreaming, we are fretting about an hour that lies a half sun's-journey\naway! Not so doest thou, Lord! thou doest the work of thy Father! Wert\nthou such as we, then should we have good cause to be troubled! But\nthou knowest it is difficult, _things_ pressing upon every sense, to\nbelieve that the informing power of them is in the unseen; that out of\nit they come; that, where we can descry no hand directing, a will,\nnearer than any hand, is moving them from within, causing them to\nfulfil his word! Help us to obey, to resist, to trust.\n\nThe care that is filling your mind at this moment, or but waiting till\nyou lay the book aside to leap upon you--that need which is no need, is\na demon sucking at the spring of your life.\n\n'No; mine is a reasonable care--an unavoidable care, indeed!'\n\n'Is it something you have to do this very moment?'\n\n'No.'\n\n'Then you are allowing it to usurp the place of something that is\nrequired of you this moment!'\n\n'There is nothing required of me at this moment.'\n\n'Nay, but there is--the greatest thing that can be required of man.'\n\n'Pray, what is it?'\n\n'Trust in the living God. His will is your life.'\n\n'He may not will I should have what I need!'\n\n'Then you only think you need it. Is it a good thing?'\n\n'Yes, it is a good thing.'\n\n'Then why doubt you shall have it?'\n\n'Because God may choose to have me go without it.'\n\n'Why should he?'\n\n'I cannot tell.'\n\n'Must it not be in order to give you something instead?'\n\n'I want nothing instead.'\n\n'I thought I was talking to a Christian!'\n\n'I can consent to be called nothing else.'\n\n'Do you not, then, know that, when God denies anything a child of his\nvalues, it is to give him something _he_ values?'\n\n'But if I do not want it?'\n\n'You are none the less miserable just because you do not have it.\nInstead of his great possessions the young man was to have the company\nof Jesus, and treasure in heaven. When God refused to deliver a certain\nman from a sore evil, concerning which he three times besought him,\nunaccustomed to be denied, he gave him instead his own graciousness,\nconsoled him in person for his pain.'\n\n'Ah, but that was St. Paul!'\n\n'True; what of that?'\n\n'He was one by himself!'\n\n'God deals with all his children after his own father-nature. No\nscripture is of private interpretation even for a St. Paul. It sets\nforth God's way with man. If thou art not willing that God should have\nhis way with thee, then, in the name of God, be miserable--till thy\nmisery drive thee to the arms of the Father.'\n\n'I do trust him in spiritual matters.'\n\n'Everything is an affair of the spirit. If God has a way, then that is\nthe only way. Every little thing in which you would have your own way,\nhas a mission for your redemption; and he will treat you as a naughty\nchild until you take your Father's way for yours.'\n\nThere will be this difference, however, between the rich that loves his\nriches and the poor that hates his poverty--that, when they die, the\nheart of the one will be still crowded with things and their pleasures,\nwhile the heart of the other will be relieved of their lack; the one\nhas had his good things, the other his evil things. But the rich man\nwho held his _things_ lightly, nor let them nestle in his heart; who\nwas a channel and no cistern; who was ever and always forsaking his\nmoney--starts, in the new world, side by side with the man who\naccepted, not hated, his poverty. Each will say, 'I am free!'\n\nFor the only air of the soul, in which it can breathe and live, is the\npresent God and the spirits of the just: that is our heaven, our home,\nour all-right place. Cleansed of greed, jealousy, vanity, pride,\npossession, all the thousand forms of the evil self, we shall be God's\nchildren on the hills and in the fields of that heaven, not one\ndesiring to be before another, any more than to cast that other out;\nfor ambition and hatred will then be seen to be one and the same\nspirit.--'What thou hast, I have; what thou desirest, I will; I give to\nmyself ten times in giving once to thee. My want that thou mightst\nhave, would be rich possession.' But let me be practical; for thou art\nready to be miserable over trifles, and dost not believe God good\nenough to care for thy care: I would reason with thee to help thee rid\nof thy troubles, for they hide from thee the thoughts of thy God.\n\nThe things readiest to be done, those which lie not at the door but on\nthe very table of a man's mind, are not merely in general the most\nneglected, but even by the thoughtful man, the oftenest let alone, the\noftenest postponed. The Lord of life demanding high virtue of us, can\nit be that he does not care for the first principles of justice? May a\nman become strong in righteousness without learning to speak the truth\nto his neighbour? Shall a man climb the last flight of the stair who\nhas never set foot on the lowest step? Truth is one, and he who does\nthe truth in the small thing is of the truth; he who will do it only in\na great thing, who postpones the small thing near him to the great\nthing farther from him, is not of the truth. Let me suggest some\npossible parallels between ourselves and the disciples maundering over\ntheir one loaf--with the Bread of Life at their side in the boat. We\ntoo dull our understandings with trifles, fill the heavenly spaces with\nphantoms, waste the heavenly time with hurry. To those who possess\ntheir souls in patience come the heavenly visions. When I trouble\nmyself over a trifle, even a trifle confessed--the loss of some little\narticle, say--spurring my memory, and hunting the house, not from\nimmediate need, but from dislike of loss; when a book has been borrowed\nof me and not returned, and I have forgotten the borrower, and fret\nover the missing volume, while there are thousands on my shelves from\nwhich the moments thus lost might gather treasure holding relation with\nneither moth, nor rust, nor thief; am I not like the disciples? Am I\nnot a fool whenever loss troubles me more than recovery would gladden?\nGod would have me wise, and smile at the trifle. Is it not time I lost\na few things when I care for them so unreasonably? This losing of\nthings is of the mercy of God; it comes to teach us to let them go. Or\nhave I forgotten a thought that came to me, which seemed of the truth,\nand a revealment to my heart? I wanted to keep it, to have it, to use\nit by and by, and it is gone! I keep trying and trying to call it back,\nfeeling a poor man till that thought be recovered--to be far more lost,\nperhaps, in a note-book, into which I shall never look again to find\nit! I forget that it is live things God cares about--live truths, not\nthings set down in a book, or in a memory, or embalmed in the joy of\nknowledge, but things lifting up the heart, things active in an active\nwill. True, my lost thought might have so worked; but had I faith in\nGod, the maker of thought and memory, I should know that, if the\nthought was a truth, and so alone worth anything, it must come again;\nfor it is in God--so, like the dead, not beyond my reach: kept for me,\nI shall have it again.\n\n'These are foolish illustrations--not worth writing!'\n\nIf such things are not, then the mention of them is foolish. If they\nare, then he is foolish who would treat them as if they were not. I\nchoose them for their smallness, and appeal especially to all who keep\nhouse concerning the size of trouble that suffices to hide word and\nface of God.\n\nWith every haunting trouble then, great or small, the loss of thousands\nor the lack of a shilling, go to God, and appeal to him, the God of\nyour life, to deliver you, his child, from that which is unlike him,\ntherefore does not belong to you, but is antagonistic to your nature.\nIf your trouble is such that you cannot appeal to him, the more need\nyou should appeal to him! Where one cannot go to God, there is\nsomething specially wrong. If you let thought for the morrow, or the\nnext year, or the next month, distress you; if you let the chatter of\nwhat is called the public, peering purblind into the sanctuary of\nmotive, annoy you; if you seek or greatly heed the judgment of men,\ncapable or incapable, you set open your windows to the mosquitoes of\ncare, to drown with their buzzing the voice of the Eternal!\n\nIf you tell me that but for care, the needful work of the world would\nbe ill done--'What work,' I ask, 'can that be, which will be better\ndone by the greedy or anxious than by the free, fearless soul? Can care\nbe a better inspirer of labour than the sending of God? If the work is\nnot his work, then, indeed, care may well help it, for its success is\nloss. But is he worthy the name of man who, for the fear of starvation,\nwill do better work than for the joy that his labour is not in vain in\nthe Lord? I know as well as you that you are not likely to get rich\nthat way; but neither will you block up the gate of the kingdom of\nheaven against yourself.\n\nAmbition in every shape has to do with _Things_, with outward\nadvantages for the satisfaction of self-worship; it is that form of\npride, foul shadow of Satan, which usurps the place of aspiration. The\nsole ambition that is of God is the ambition to rise above oneself; all\nother is of the devil. Yet is it nursed and cherished in many a soul\nthat thinks itself devout, filling it with petty cares and\ndisappointments, that swarm like bats in its air, and shut out the\nglory of God. The love of the praise of men, the desire of fame, the\npride that takes offence, the puffing-up of knowledge, these and every\nother form of Protean self-worship--we must get rid of them all. We\nmust be free. The man whom another enslaves may be free as God; to him\nwho is a slave in himself, God will not enter in; he will not sup with\nhim, for he cannot be his friend. He will sit by the humblest hearth\nwhere the daily food is prepared; he will not eat in a lumber-room, let\nthe lumber be thrones and crowns. _Will not_, did I say? _Cannot_, I\nsay. Men full of things would not once partake with God, were he by\nthem all the day.\n\nNor will God force any door to enter in. He may send a tempest about\nthe house; the wind of his admonishment may burst doors and windows,\nyea, shake the house to its foundations; but not then, not so, will he\nenter. The door must be opened by the willing hand, ere the foot of\nLove will cross the threshold. He watches to see the door move from\nwithin. Every tempest is but an assault in the siege of love. The\nterror of God is but the other side of his love; it is love outside the\nhouse, that would be inside--love that knows the house is no house,\nonly a place, until it enter--no home, but a tent, until the Eternal\ndwell there. _Things_ must be cast out to make room for their souls--\nthe eternal truths which in things find shape and show.\n\nBut who is sufficient to cast them out? If a man take courage and\nencounter the army of bats and demon-snakes that infests the place of\nthe Holy, it is but to find the task too great for him; that the temple\nof God will not be cleansed by him; that the very dust he raises in\nsweeping is full of corruptive forces. Let such as would do what they\nmust yet cannot, be what they must yet cannot, remember, with hope and\ncourage, that he who knows all about our being, once _spake a parable\nto the end that they ought always to pray, and not to faint_.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE WORD OF JESUS ON PRAYER.\n\n\n     '_They ought always to pray_.'--ST. LUKE xviii. I.\n\nThe impossibility of doing what we would as we would, drives us to look\nfor help. And this brings us to a new point of departure. Everything\ndifficult indicates something more than our theory of life yet\nembraces, checks some tendency to abandon the strait path, leaving open\nonly the way ahead. But there is a reality of being in which all things\nare easy and plain--oneness, that is, with the Lord of Life; to pray\nfor this is the first thing; and to the point of this prayer every\ndifficulty hedges and directs us. But if I try to set forth something\nof the reasonableness of all prayer, I beg my readers to remember that\nit is for the sake of action and not speculation; if prayer be anything\nat all, it is a thing to be done: what matter whether you agree with me\nor not, if you do not pray? I would not spend my labour for that; I\ndesire it to serve for help to pray, not to understand how a man might\npray and yet be a reasonable soul.\n\nFirst, a few words about the parable itself.\n\nIt is an instance, by no means solitary, of the Lord's use of a tale\nabout a very common or bad person, to persuade, reasoning _a fortiori_,\nof the way of the All-righteous. Note the points: 'Did the unrighteous\njudge, to save himself from annoyance, punish one with whom he was not\noffended, for the sake of a woman he cared nothing about? and shall not\nthe living Justice avenge his praying friends over whose injuries he\nhas to exercise a long-suffering patience towards their enemies?'--for\nso I would interpret the phrase, as correctly translated in the\nRevision, 'and he is long-suffering over them.'--'I say unto you, that\nhe will avenge them speedily. Howbeit when the Son of Man cometh, shall\nhe find faith on the earth?'\n\nHere then is a word of the Lord about prayer: it is a comfort that he\nrecognizes difficulty in the matter--sees that we need encouragement to\ngo on praying, that it looks as if we were not heard, that it is no\nwonder we should be ready to faint and leave off. He tells a parable in\nwhich the suppliant has to go often and often to the man who can help\nher, gaining her end only at the long last. Actual delay on the part of\nGod, we know from what follows, he does not allow; the more plain is it\nthat he recognizes how the thing must look to those whom he would have\ngo on praying. Here as elsewhere he teaches us that we must not go by\nthe look of things, but by the reality behind the look. A truth, a\nnecessity of God's own willed nature, is enough to set up against a\nwhole army of appearances. It looks as if he did not hear you: never\nmind; he does; it must be that he does; go on as the woman did; you too\nwill be heard. She is heard at last, and in virtue of her much going;\nGod hears at once, and will avenge speedily. The unrighteous judge\ncared nothing for the woman; those who cry to God are his own chosen--\nplain in the fact that they cry to him. He has made and appointed them\nto cry: they do cry: will he not hear them? They exist that they may\npray; he has chosen them that they may choose him; he has called them\nthat they may call him--that there may be such communion, such\ninterchange as belongs to their being and the being of their Father.\nThe gulf of indifference lay between the poor woman and the unjust\njudge; God and those who seek his help, are closer than two hands\nclasped hard in love: he will avenge them speedily. It is a bold\nassertion in the face of what seems great delay--an appearance\nacknowledged in the very groundwork of the parable. Having made it, why\ndoes he seem to check himself with a sigh, adding, Howbeit when the Son\nof Man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?' After all he had\nsaid, and had yet to say, after all he had done, and was going on to\ndo, when he came again, after time given for the holy leaven to work,\nwould he find men trusting the Father? Would he find them, even then,\nbeyond the tyranny of appearances, believing in spite of them? Would\nthey be children enough towards God to know he was hearing them and\nworking for them, though they could not hear him or see him work?--to\nbelieve the ways of God so wide, that even on the breadth of his track\nwas room for their understanding to lose its way--what they saw, so\nsmall a part of what he was doing, that it could give them but little\nclue to his end? that it was because the goal God had in view for them\nwas so high and afar, that they could detect no movement of approach\nthereto? The sigh, the exclamation, never meant that God might be doing\nsomething more than he was doing, but that the Father would have a\ndreary time to wait ere his children would know, that is, trust in him.\nThe utterance recognizes the part of man, his slowly yielded part in\nfaith, and his blame in troubling God by not trusting in him. If men\nwould but make haste, and stir themselves up to take hold on God! They\nwere so slow of heart to believe! They could but would not help it and\ndo better!\n\nHe seems here to refer to his second coming--concerning the time of\nwhich, he refused information; concerning the mode of which, he said it\nwould be unexpected; but concerning the duty of which, he insisted it\nwas _to be ready_: we must be faithful, and at our work. Do those who\nsay, lo here or lo there are the signs of his coming, think to be too\nkeen for him, and spy his approach? When he tells them to watch lest he\nfind them neglecting their work, they stare this way and that, and\nwatch lest he should succeed in coming like a thief! So throughout: if,\ninstead of speculation, we gave ourselves to obedience, what a\ndifference would soon be seen in the world! Oh, the multitude of\nso-called religious questions which the Lord would answer with, 'strive\nto enter in at the strait gate'! Many eat and drink and talk and teach\nin his presence; few do the things he says to them! Obedience is the one\nkey of life.\n\nI would meet difficulties, not answer objections; I would remove\nstumbling-blocks from the path of him who would pray; I would help him\nto pray. If, seeing we live not by our own will, we live by another\nwill, then is there reason, and then only can there be reason in\nprayer. To him who refuses that other will, I have nothing to say. The\nhour may come when he will wish there were some one to pray to; now he\nis not of those whom I can help.\n\nIf there be a God, and I am his creature, there may be, there should\nbe, there must be some communication open between him and me. If any\none allow a God, but one scarce good enough to care about his\ncreatures, I will yield him that it were foolish to pray to such a God;\nbut the notion that, with all the good impulses in us, we are the\noffspring of a cold-hearted devil, is so horrible in its inconsistency,\nthat I would ask that man what hideous and cold-hearted disregard to\nthe truth makes him capable of the supposition! To such a one God's\nterrors, or, if not his terrors, then God's sorrows yet will speak; the\ndivine something in him will love, and the love be left moaning.\n\nIf I find my position, my consciousness, that of one from home, nay,\nthat of one in some sort of prison; if I find that I can neither rule\nthe world in which I live nor my own thoughts or desires; that I cannot\nquiet my passions, order my likings, determine my ends, will my growth,\nforget when I would, or recall what I forget; that I cannot love where\nI would, or hate where I would; that I am no king over myself; that I\ncannot supply my own needs, do not even always know which of my seeming\nneeds are to be supplied, and which treated as impostors; if, in a\nword, my own being is everyway too much for me; if I can neither\nunderstand it, be satisfied with it, nor better it--may it not well\ngive me pause--the pause that ends in prayer? When my own scale seems\ntoo large for my management; when I reflect that I cannot account for\nmy existence, have had no poorest hand in it, neither, should I not\nlike it, can do anything towards causing it to cease; when I think that\nI can do nothing to make up to those I love, any more than to those I\nhate, for evils I have done them and sorrows I have caused them; that\nin my worst moments I disbelieve in my best, in my best loathe my\nworst; that there is in me no wholeness, no unity; that life is not a\ngood to me, for I scorn myself--when I think all or any such things,\ncan it be strange if I think also that surely there ought to be\nsomewhere a being to account for me, one to account for himself, and\nmake the round of my existence just; one whose very being accounts and\nis necessary to account for mine; whose presence in my being is\nimperative, not merely to supplement it, but to make to myself my\nexistence a good? For if not rounded in itself, but dependent on that\nwhich it knows not and cannot know, it cannot be to itself a good known\nas a good--a thing of reason and well-being: it will be a life longing\nfor a _logos_ to be the interpretative soul of its _cosmos_--a _logos_\nit cannot have. To know God present, to have the consciousness of God\nwhere he is the essential life, must be absolutely necessary to that\nlife! He that is made in the image of God must know him or be desolate:\nthe child must have the Father! Witness the dissatisfaction, yea\ndesolation of my soul--wretched, alone, unfinished, without him! It\ncannot act from itself, save in God; acting from what seems itself\nwithout God, is no action at all, it is a mere yielding to impulse. All\nwithin is disorder and spasm. There is a cry behind me, and a voice\nbefore; instincts of betterment tell me I must rise above my present\nself--perhaps even above all my possible self: I see not how to obey,\nhow to carry them out! I am shut up in a world of consciousness, an\nunknown _I_ in an unknown world: surely this world of my unwilled,\nunchosen, compelled existence, cannot be shut out from him, cannot be\nunknown to him, cannot be impenetrable, impermeable, unpresent to him\nfrom whom I am! nay, is it not his thinking in which I think? is it not\nby his consciousness that I am conscious? Whatever passes in me must be\nas naturally known to him as to me, and more thoroughly, even to\ninfinite degrees. My thought must lie open to him: if he makes me\nthink, how can I elude him in thinking? 'If I should spread my wings\ntoward the dawn, and sojourn at the last of the sea, even there thy\nhand would lead me, and thy right hand would hold me!' If he has\ndetermined the being, how shall any mode of that being be hidden from\nhim? If I speak to him, if I utter words ever so low; if I but think\nwords to him; nay, if I only think to him, surely he, my original, in\nwhose life and will and no otherwise I now think concerning him, hears,\nand knows, and acknowledges! Then shall I not think to him? Shall I\nnot tell him my troubles--how he, even he, has troubled me by making\nme?--how unfit I am to be that which I am?--that my being is not to me\na good thing yet?--that I need a law that shall account to me for it in\nrighteousness--reveal to me how I am to make it a good--how I am to\n_be_ a good, and not an evil? Shall I not tell him that I need him to\ncomfort me? his breath to move upon the face of the waters of the Chaos\nhe has made? Shall I not cry to him to be in me rest and strength? to\nquiet this uneasy motion called life, and make me live indeed? to\ndeliver me from my sins, and make me clean and glad? Such a cry is of\nthe child to the Father: if there be a Father, verily he will hear, and\nlet the child know that he hears! Every need of God, lifting up the\nheart, is a seeking of God, is a begging for himself, is profoundest\nprayer, and the root and inspirer of all other prayer.\n\nIf it be reasonable for me to cry thus, if I cannot but cry, it is\nreasonable that God should hear, he cannot but hear. A being that could\nnot hear or would not answer prayer, could not be God.\n\n'But, I ask, all this admitted--is what you call a necessary truth an\nexistent fact? You say, \"It must be so;\" I say, \"What if there is no\nGod!\" Convince me that prayer is heard, and I shall know. Why should\nthe question admit of doubt? Why should it require to be reasoned\nabout? We know that the wind blows: why should we not know that God\nanswers prayer?'\n\nI reply, What if God does not care to have you know it at second hand?\nWhat if there would be no good in that? There is some testimony on\nrecord, and perhaps there might be much were it not that, having to do\nwith things so immediately personal, and generally so delicate, answers\nto prayer would naturally not often be talked about; but no testimony\nconcerning the thing can well be conclusive; for, like a reported\nmiracle, there is always some way to daff it; and besides, the\nconviction to be got that way is of little value; it avails nothing to\nknow the thing by the best of evidence.\n\nAs to the evidence itself, adduction of proof is scarce possible in\nrespect of inward experience, and to this class belongs the better part\nof the evidence: the testimony may be truthful, yet the testifier\nutterly self-deceived! How am I to know the thing as he says he knows\nit? How am I to judge of it? There is king David:--Poetry!--old\npoetry!--and in the most indefinite language in the world! Doubtless he\nis little versed in the utterance of the human soul, who does not\nrecognize in many of the psalms a cry as true as ever came from depth\nof pain or height of deliverance; but it may all have been but now the\njarring and now the rhythmical movement of the waves of the psychical\naether!--I lay nothing upon testimony for my purpose now, knowing the\nthings that can be said, and also not valuing the bare assent of the\nintellect. The sole assurance worth a man's having, even if the most\nincontestable evidence were open to him from a thousand other quarters,\nis that to be gained only from personal experience--that assurance in\nhimself which he can least readily receive from another, and which is\nleast capable of being transmuted into evidence for another. The\nevidence of Jesus Christ could not take the place of that. A truth is\nof enormous import in relation to the life--that is the heart, and\nconscience, and will; it is of little consequence merely as a fact\nhaving relation to the understanding. God may hear all prayers that\never were offered to him, and a man may believe that he does, nor be\none whit the better for it, so long as God has no prayers of his to\nhear, he no answers to receive from God. Nothing in this quarter will\never be gained by investigation. Reader, if you are in any trouble, try\nwhether God will not help you; if you are in no need, why should you\nask questions about prayer? True, he knows little of himself who does\nnot know that he is wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and\nnaked; but until he begins at least to suspect a need, how can he pray?\nAnd for one who does not want to pray, I would not lift a straw to\ndefeat such a one in the argument whether God hears or does not hear\nprayer: for me, let him think what he will! it matters nothing in\nheaven or in earth: whether in hell I do not know.\n\nAs to the so-called scientific challenge to prove the efficacy of\nprayer by the result of simultaneous petition, I am almost ashamed to\nallude to it. There should be light enough in science itself to show\nthe proposal absurd. A God capable of being so moved in one direction\nor another, is a God not worth believing in--could not be the God\nbelieved in by Jesus Christ--and he said he knew. A God that should\nfail to hear, receive, attend to one single prayer, the feeblest or\nworst, I cannot believe in; but a God that would grant every request of\nevery man or every company of men, would be an evil God--that is no\nGod, but a demon. That God should hang in the thought-atmosphere like a\nwindmill, waiting till men enough should combine and send out prayer in\nsufficient force to turn his outspread arms, is an idea too absurd. God\nwaits to be gracious not to be tempted. A man capable of proposing such\na test, could have in his mind no worthy representative idea of a God,\nand might well disbelieve in any: it is better to disbelieve than\nbelieve in a God unworthy.\n\n'But I want to believe in God. I want to know that there is a God that\nanswers prayer, that I may believe in him. There was a time when I\nbelieved in him. I prayed to him in great and sore trouble of heart and\nmind, and he did not hear me. I have not prayed since.'\n\nHow do you know that he did not hear you?\n\n'He did not give me what I asked, though the weal of my soul hung on\nit.'\n\nIn your judgment. Perhaps he knew better.\n\n'I am the worse for his refusal. I would have believed in him if he had\nheard me.'\n\nTill the next desire came which he would not grant, and then you would\nhave turned your God away. A desirable believer you would have made! A\nworthy brother to him who thought nothing fit to give the Father less\nthan his all! You would accept of him no decision against your desire!\nThat ungranted, there was no God, or not a good one! I think I will not\nargue with you more. This only I will say: God has not to consider his\nchildren only at the moment of their prayer. Should he be willing to\ngive a man the thing he knows he would afterwards wish he had not given\nhim? If a man be not fit to be refused, if he be not ready to be\ntreated with love's severity, what he wishes may perhaps be given him\nin order that he may wish it had not been given him; but barely to give\na man what he wants because he wants it, and without farther purpose of\nhis good, would be to let a poor ignorant child take his fate into his\nown hands--the cruelty of a devil. Yet is every prayer heard; and the\nreal soul of the prayer may require, for its real answer, that it\nshould not be granted in the form in which it is requested.\n\n'To have a thing in another shape, might be equivalent to not having it\nat all.'\n\nIf you knew God, you would leave that to him. He is not mocked, and he\nwill not mock. But he knows you better than you know yourself, and\nwould keep you from fooling yourself. He will not deal with you as the\nchild of a day, but as the child of eternal ages. You shall be\nsatisfied, if you will but let him have his way with the creature he\nhas made. The question is between your will and the will of God. He is\nnot one of those who give readiest what they prize least. He does not\ncare to give anything but his best, or that which will prepare for it.\nNot many years may pass before you confess, 'Thou art a God who hears\nprayer, and gives a better answer.' You may come to see that the desire\nof your deepest heart would have been frustrated by having what seemed\nits embodiment then. That God should as a loving father listen, hear,\nconsider, and deal with the request after the perfect tenderness of his\nheart, is to me enough; it is little that I should go without what I\npray for. If it be granted that any answer which did not come of love,\nand was not for the final satisfaction of him who prayed, would be\nunworthy of God; that it is the part of love and knowledge to watch\nover the wayward, ignorant child; then the trouble of seemingly\nunanswered prayers begins to abate, and a lovely hope and comfort takes\nits place in the child-like soul. To hear is not necessarily to grant--\nGod forbid! but to hear is necessarily to attend to--sometimes as\nnecessarily to refuse.\n\n'Concerning this thing,' says St. Paul, 'I besought the Lord thrice,\nthat it might depart from me. And he hath said unto me, My grace is\nsufficient for thee; power is made perfect in weakness.' God had a\nbetter thing for Paul than granting his prayer and removing his\ncomplaint: he would make him strong; the power of Christ should descend\nand remain upon him; he would make him stronger than his suffering,\nmake him a sharer in the energy of God. Verily, if we have God, we can\ndo without the answer to any prayer.\n\n'But if God is so good as you represent him, and if he knows all that\nwe need, and better far than we do ourselves, why should it be\nnecessary to ask him for anything?'\n\nI answer, What if he knows prayer to be the thing we need first and\nmost? What if the main object in God's idea of prayer be the supplying\nof our great, our endless need--the need of himself? What if the good\nof all our smaller and lower needs lies in this, that they help to\ndrive us to God? Hunger may drive the runaway child home, and he may or\nmay not be fed at once, but he needs his mother more than his dinner.\nCommunion with God is the one need of the soul beyond all other need;\nprayer is the beginning of that communion, and some need is the motive\nof that prayer. Our wants are for the sake of our coming into communion\nwith God, our eternal need. If gratitude and love immediately followed\nthe supply of our needs, if God our Saviour was the one thought of our\nhearts, then it might be unnecessary that we should ask for anything we\nneed. But seeing we take our supplies as a matter of course, feeling as\nif they came out of nothing, or from the earth, or our own thoughts,\ninstead of out of a heart of love and a will which alone is force, it\nis needful that we should be made feel some at least of our wants, that\nwe may seek him who alone supplies all of them, and find his every gift\na window to his heart of truth. So begins a communion, a talking with\nGod, a coming-to-one with him, which is the sole end of prayer, yea, of\nexistence itself in its infinite phases. We must ask that we may\nreceive; but that we should receive what we ask in respect of our lower\nneeds, is not God's end in making us pray, for he could give us\neverything without that: to bring his child to his knee, God withholds\nthat man may ask.\n\nIn regard, however, to the high necessities of our nature, it is in\norder that he may be able to give that God requires us to ask--requires\nby driving us to it--by shutting us up to prayer. For how can he give\ninto the soul of a man what it needs, while that soul cannot receive\nit? The ripeness for receiving is the asking. The blossom-cup of the\nsoul, to be filled with the heavenly dews, is its prayer. When the soul\nis hungry for the light, for the truth--when its hunger has waked its\nhigher energies, thoroughly roused the will, and brought the soul into\nits highest condition, that of action, its only fitness for receiving\nthe things of God, that action is prayer. Then God can give; then he\ncan be as he would towards the man; for the glory of God is to give\nhimself.--We thank thee, Lord Christ, for by thy pain alone do we rise\ntowards the knowledge of this glory of thy rather and our Father.\n\nAnd even in regard to lower things--what it may be altogether unfit to\ndo for a man who does not recognize the source of his life, it may be\nin the highest sense fit to grant him when he comes to that source to\nask for it. Even in the case of some individual desire of one who in\nthe main recognizes the Father, it may be well to give him asking whom,\nnot asking, it would not benefit. For the real good of every gift it is\nessential, first, that the giver be in the gift--as God always is, for\nhe is love--and next, that the receiver know and receive the giver in\nthe gift. Every gift of God is but a harbinger of his greatest and only\nsufficing gift--that of himself. No gift unrecognized as coming from\nGod is at its own best; therefore many things that God would gladly\ngive us, things even that we need because we are, must wait until we\nask for them, that we may know whence they come: when in all gifts we\nfind him, then in him we shall find all things.\n\nSometimes to one praying will come the feeling rather than question:\n'Were it not better to abstain? If this thing be good, will he not give\nit me? Would he not be better pleased if I left it altogether to him?'\nIt comes, I think, of a lack of faith and childlikeness--taking form,\nperhaps, in a fear lest, asking for what was not good, the prayer\nshould be granted. Such a thought has no place with St. Paul; he says,\n'Casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you;' 'In everything\nmaking your request known unto him.' It may even come of ambition after\nspiritual distinction. In every request, heart and soul and mind ought\nto supply the low accompaniment, 'Thy will be done;' but the making of\nany request brings us near to him, into communion with our Life. Does\nit not also help us to think of him in all our affairs, and learn in\neverything to give thanks? Anything large enough for a wish to light\nupon, is large enough to hang a prayer upon: the thought of him to whom\nthat prayer goes will purify and correct the desire. To say, 'Father, I\nshould like this or that,' would be enough at once, if the wish were\nbad, to make us know it and turn from it. Such prayer about things must\nof necessity help to bring the mind into true and simple relation with\nhim; to make us remember his will even when we do not see what that\nwill is. Surely it is better and more trusting to tell him all without\nfear or anxiety. Was it not thus the Lord carried himself towards his\nFather when he said, 'If it be possible, let this cup pass from me'?\nBut there was something he cared for more than his own fear--his\nFather's will: 'Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done.' There is\nno apprehension that God might be displeased with him for saying what\nhe would like, and not leaving it all to his Father. Neither did he\nregard his Father's plans as necessarily so fixed that they could not\nbe altered to his prayer. The true son-faith is that which comes with\nboldness, fearless of the Father doing anything but what is right\nfatherly, patient, and full of loving-kindness. We must not think to\nplease him by any asceticism even of the spirit; we must speak straight\nout to him. The true child will not fear, but lay bare his wishes to\nthe perfect Father. The Father may will otherwise, but his grace will\nbe enough for the child.\n\nThere could be no riches but for need. God himself is made rich by\nman's necessity. By that he is rich to give; through that we are rich\nby receiving.\n\nAs to any notion of prevailing by entreaty over an unwilling God, that\nis heathenish, and belongs to such as think him a hard master, or one\nlike the unjust judge. What so quenching to prayer as the notion of\nunwillingness in the ear that hears! And when prayer is dull, what\nmakes it flow like the thought that God is waiting to give, wants to\ngive us everything! 'Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of\ngrace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of\nneed.' We shall be refused our prayer if that be better; but what is\ngood our Father will give us with divine good will. The Lord spoke his\nparable 'to the end that they ought always to pray, _and not to\nfaint_.'\n\n\n\n\n                   MAN'S DIFFICULTY CONCERNING PRAYER.\n\n\n     '--_and not to faint_.'--ST. LUKE xviii. 1.\n\n'How should any design of the All-wise be altered in response to prayer\nof ours!' How are we to believe such a thing?\n\nBy reflecting that he is the All-wise, who sees before him, and will\nnot block his path. Such objection springs from poorest idea of God in\nrelation to us. It supposes him to have cares and plans and intentions\nconcerning our part of creation, irrespective of us. What is the whole\nsystem of things for, but our education? Does God care for suns and\nplanets and satellites, for divine mathematics and ordered harmonies,\nmore than for his children? I venture to say he cares more for oxen\nthan for those. He lays no plans irrespective of his children; and, his\ndesign being that they shall be free, active, live things, he sees that\nspace be kept for them: they need room to struggle out of their\nchrysalis, to undergo the change that comes with the waking will, and\nto enter upon the divine sports and labours of children in the house\nand domain of their Father. Surely he may keep his plans in a measure\nunfixed, waiting the free desire of the individual soul! Is not the\ndesign of the first course of his children's education just to bring\nthem to the point where they shall pray? and shall his system appointed\nto that end be then found hard and fast, tooth-fitted and inelastic, as\nif informed of no live causing soul, but an unself-knowing force--so\nthat he cannot answer the prayer because of the system which has its\nexistence for the sake of the prayer? True, in many cases, the prayer,\nfar more than the opportunity of answering it, is God's end; but how\nwill the further end of the prayer be reached, which is oneness between\nthe heart of the child and of the Father? how will the child go on to\npray if he knows the Father cannot answer him? _Will not_ may be for\nlove, but how with a self-imposed _cannot_? How could he be Father, who\ncreating, would not make provision, would not keep room for the babbled\nprayers of his children? Is his perfection a mechanical one? Has he\nhimself no room for choice--therefore can give none? There must be a\nGodlike region of choice as there is a human, however little we may be\nable to conceive it. It were a glory in such system that its suns\nthemselves wavered and throbbed at the pulse of a new child-life.\n\nWhat perfection in a dwelling would it be that its furniture and the\npaths between were fitted as the trays and pigeon-holes of a cabinet?\nWhat stupidity of perfection would that be which left no margin about\nGod's work, no room for change of plan upon change of fact--yea, even\nthe mighty change that, behold now at length, his child is praying! See\nthe freedom of God in his sunsets--never a second like one of the\nforegone!--in his moons and skies--in the ever-changing solid earth!--\nall moving by no dead law, but in the harmony of the vital law of\nliberty, God's creative perfection--all ordered from within. A divine\nperfection that were indeed, where was no liberty! where there could be\nbut one way of a thing! I may move my arm as I please: shall God be\nunable so to move his? If but for himself, God might well desire no\nchange, but he is God for the sake of his growing creatures; all his\nmaking and doing is for them, and change is the necessity of their very\nexistence. They need a mighty law of liberty, into which shall never\nintrude one atom of chance. Is the one idea of creation the begetting\nof a free, grand, divine will in us? and shall that will, praying with\nthe will of the Father, find itself cramped, fettered, manacled by\nforegone laws? Will it not rather be a new-born law itself, working new\nthings? No man is so tied by divine law that he can nowise modify his\nwork: shall God not modify his? Law is but mode of life-action. Is it\nof his perfection that he should have no scope, no freedom? Is he but\nthe prisoned steam in the engine, pushing, escaping, stopped--his way\nordered by valve and piston? or is he an indwelling, willing, ordering\npower? Law is the slave of Life. Is not a man's soul, as it dwells in\nhis body, a dim-shadowing type of God in and throughout his universe?\nIf you say, he has made things to go, set them going, and left them--\nthen I say, If his machine interfered with his answering the prayer of\na single child, he would sweep it from him--not to bring back chaos,\nbut to make room for his child. But order is divine, and cannot be\nobstructive to its own higher ends; it must subserve them. Order, free\norder, neither chaos, nor law unpossessed and senseless, is the home of\nThought. If you say There can be but one perfect way, I answer, Yet the\nperfect way to bring a thing so far, to a certain crisis, can ill be\nthe perfect way to carry it on after that crisis: the plan will have to\nchange then. And as this crisis depends on a will, all cannot be in\nexact, though in live preparation for it. We must remember that God is\nnot occupied with a grand toy of worlds and suns and planets, of\nattractions and repulsions, of agglomerations and crystallizations, of\nforces and waves; that these but constitute a portion of his workshops\nand tools for the bringing out of righteous men and women to fill his\nhouse of love withal. Would he have let his Son die for a law of\nnature, as we call it? These doubtless are the outcome of willed laws\nof his own being; but they take their relations in matter only for the\nsake of the birth of sons and daughters, that they may yet again be\nborn from above, and into the higher region whence these things issue;\nand many a modification of the ideal, rendering it less than complete,\nmust be given to those whose very doom being to grow or perish implies\ntheir utter inability to lay hold of the perfect. The best _means_\ncannot be the ideal Best. The embodiment of uplifting truth for the\nlow, cannot be equal to that for the higher, else it will fail, and\nprove for its object not good; but, as the low ascend, their revelation\nwill ascend also.\n\nThat God cannot interfere to modify his plans, interfere without the\nchange of a single law of his world, is to me absurd. If we can change,\nGod can change, else is he less free than we--his plans, I say, not\nprinciples, not ends: God himself forbid!--change them after divine\nfashion, above our fashions as the heavens are higher than the earth.\nAnd as in all his miracles Jesus did only in miniature what his Father\ndoes ever in the great--in far wider, more elaborate, and beautiful\nways, I will adduce from them an instance of answer to prayer that has\nin it a point bearing, it seems to me, most importantly on the thing I\nam now trying to set forth. Poor, indeed, was the making of the wine in\nthe earthen pots of stone, compared with its making in the lovely\ngrowth of the vine with its clusters of swelling grapes--the live roots\ngathering from the earth the water that had to be borne in pitchers and\npoured into the great vases; but it is precious as the interpreter of\nthe same, even in its being the outcome of our Lord's sympathy with\nordinary human rejoicing. There is however an element in its origin\nthat makes it yet more precious to me--the regard of our Lord to a wish\nof his mother. Alas, how differently is the tale often received! how\nmisunderstood!\n\nHis mother had suggested to him that here was an opportunity for\nappearing in his own greatness, the potent purveyor of wine for the\nfailing feast. It was not in his plan, as we gather from his words; for\nthe Lord never pretended anything, whether to his enemy or his mother;\nhe is The True. He lets her know that he and she have different\noutlooks, different notions of his work: 'What to me and thee, woman?'\nhe said: 'my hour is not yet come;' but there was that in his look and\ntone whence she knew that her desire, scarce half-fashioned into\nrequest, was granted. What am I thence to conclude, worthy of the Son\nof God, and the Son of Mary, but that, at the prayer of his mother, he\nmade room in his plans for the thing she desired? It was not his wish\nthen to work a miracle, but if his mother wished it, he would! He did\nfor his mother what for his own part he would rather have let alone.\nNot always did he do as his mother would have him; but this was a case\nin which he could do so, for it would interfere nowise with the will of\nhis Father. Was the perfect son, for, being perfect, he must be perfect\nevery way, to be the only son of man who needed do nothing to please\nhis mother--nothing but what fell in with his plan for the hour? Not so\ncould he be the root, the living heart of the great response of the\nchildren to the Father of all! not so could the idea of the grand\nfamily ever be made a reality! Alas for the son who would not willingly\nfor his mother do something which in itself he would rather not do! If\nit would have hurt his mother, if it had been in any way turning from\nthe will of his Father in heaven, he would not have done it: that would\nhave been to answer her prayer against her. His yielding makes the\nstory doubly precious to my heart. The Son then could change his\nintent, and spoil nothing: so, I say, can the Father; for the Son does\nnothing but what he sees the Father do.\n\nFinding it possible to understand, however, that God may answer prayers\nto those who pray for themselves, what are we to think concerning\nprayer for others? One may well say, It would surely be very selfish to\npray only for ourselves! but the question is of the use, not of the\ncharacter of the action: if there be any good in it, let us pray for\nall for whom we feel we can pray; but is there to be found in regard to\nprayer for others any such satisfaction as in regard to prayer for\nourselves? The ground is changed--if the fitness of answering prayer\nlies in the praying of him who prays: the attitude necessary to\nreception does not belong to those _for_ whom prayer is made, but to\nhim _by_ whom it is made. What fitness then can there be in praying for\nothers? Will God give to another for our asking what he would not give\nwithout it? Would he not, if it could be done without the person's\nself, do it without a second person? If God were a tyrant, one whose\nheart might be softened by the sight of anxious love; or if he were one\nwho might be informed, enlightened, reasoned with; or one in whom a\nsetting forth of character, need, or claim might awake interest; then\nwould there be plain reason in prayer for another--which yet, however\ndisinterested and loving, must be degrading, as offered to one unworthy\nof prayer. But if we believe that God is the one unselfish, the one\ngood being in the universe, and that his one design with his children\nis to make them perfect as he is perfect; if we believe that he not\nonly would once give, but is always giving himself to us for our life;\nif we believe--which once I heard a bishop decline to acknowledge--that\nGod does his best for _every_ man; if also we believe that God knows\nevery man's needs, and will, for love's sake, not spare one pang that\nmay serve to purify the soul of one of his children; if we believe all\nthis, how can we think he will in any sort alter his way with one\nbecause another prays for him? The prayer would arise from nothing in\nthe person prayed for; why should it initiate a change in God's dealing\nwith him?\n\nThe argument I know not how to answer. I can only, in the face of it,\nand feeling all the difficulty, say, and say again, 'Yet I believe I\nmay pray for my friend--for my enemy--for anybody! Yet and yet, there\nis, there must be some genuine, essential good and power in the prayer\nof one man for another to the maker of both--and that just because\ntheir maker is perfect, not less than very God.' I shall not bring\nauthority to bear, for authority can at best but make us believe reason\nthere, it cannot make us see it. The difficulty remains the same even\nwhen we hear the Lord himself pray to his Father for those the Father\nloves because they have received his Son--loves therefore with a\nspecial love, as the foremost in faith, the elect of the world--loves\nnot merely because they must die if he did not love them, but loves\nfrom the deeps of divine approval. Those who believe in Jesus will be\nsatisfied, in the face of the incomprehensible, that in what he does\nreason and right must lie; but not therefore do we understand. At the\nsame time, though I cannot explain, I can show some ground upon which,\neven had he not been taught to do so, but left alone with his heart, a\nman might yet, I think, pray for another.\n\nIf God has made us to love like himself, and like himself long to help;\nif there are for whom we, like him, would give our lives to lift them\nfrom the evil gulf of their ungodliness; if the love in us would, for\nthe very easing of the love he kindled, gift another--like himself who\nchooses and cherishes even the love that pains him; if, in the midst of\na sore need to bless, to give, to help, we are aware of an utter\nimpotence; if the fire burns and cannot out; and if all our hope for\nourselves lies in God--what is there for us, what can we think of, what\ndo, but go to God?--what but go to him with this our own difficulty and\nneed? And where is the natural refuge, there must be the help. There\ncan be no need for which he has no supply. The best argument that he\nhas help, is that we have need. If I can be helped through my friend, I\nthink God will take the thing up, and do what I cannot do--help my\nfriend that I may be helped--perhaps help me to help him. You see, in\npraying for another we pray for ourselves--for the relief of the needs\nof our love; it is not prayer for another alone, and thus it comes\nunder the former kind. Would God give us love, the root of power, in\nus, and leave that love, whereby he himself creates, altogether\nhelpless in us? May he not at least expedite something for our prayers?\nWhere he could not alter, he could perhaps expedite, in view of some\nhelp we might then be able to give. If he desires that we should work\nwith him, that work surely helps him!\n\nThere are some things for which the very possibility of supposing them\nare an argument; but I think I can go a little farther here, and\nimagine at least the _where_ if not the _how_, the divine conditions in\nwhich the help for another in answer to prayer is born, the divine\nregion in which its possibility must dwell.\n\nGod is ever seeking to lift us up into the sharing of his divine\nnature; God's kings, such men, namely, as with Jesus have borne witness\nto the truth, share his glory even on the throne of the Father. See the\ngrandeur of the creative love of the Holy! nothing less will serve it\nthan to have his children, through his and their suffering, share the\nthrone of his glory! If such be the perfection of the Infinite, should\nthat perfection bring him under bonds and difficulties, and not rather\nset him freer to do the thing he would in the midst of opposing forces?\nIf his glory be in giving himself, and we must share therein, giving\nourselves, why should we not begin here and now? If he would have his\nchildren fellow-workers with him; if he has desired and willed that not\nonly by the help of his eternal Son, but by the help also of the\nchildren who through him have been born from above, other and still\nother children shall be brought to his knee, to his fireside, to the\nplenty of his house, why should he not have kept some margin of room\nwherein their prayers may work for those whom they have to help, who\nare of the same life as they? I cannot tell how, but may not those\nprayers in some way increase God's opportunity for working his best and\nhighest will? Dealing with his children, the good ones may add to his\npower with the not yet good--add to his means of helping them. One way\nis clear: the prayer will react upon the mind that prays, its light\nwill grow, will shine the brighter, and draw and enlighten the more.\nBut there must be more in the thing. Prayer in its perfect idea being a\nrising up into the will of the Eternal, may not the help of the Father\nbecome one with the prayer of the child, and for the prayer of him he\nholds in his arms, go forth for him who wills not yet to be lifted to\nhis embrace? To his bosom God himself cannot bring his children at\nonce, and not at all except through his own suffering and theirs. But\nwill not any good parent find some way of granting the prayer of the\nchild who comes to him, saying, 'Papa, this is my brother's birthday: I\nhave nothing to give him, and I do love him so! could you give me\nsomething to give him, or give him something for me?'\n\n'Still, could not God have given the gift without the prayer? And why\nshould the good of any one depend on the prayer of another?'\n\nI can only answer with the return question, 'Why should my love be\npowerless to help another?' But we must not tie God to our measures of\ntime, or think he has forgotten that prayer even which, apparently\nunanswered, we have forgotten. Death is not an impervious wall; through\nit, beyond it, go the prayers. It is possible we may have some to help\nin the next world because we have prayed for them in this: will it not\nbe a boon to them to have an old friend to their service? I but\nspeculate and suggest. What I see and venture to say is this: If in God\nwe live and move and have our being; if the very possibility of loving\nlies in this, that we exist in and by the live air of love, namely God\nhimself, we must in this very fact be nearer to each other than by any\nbodily proximity or interchange of help; and if prayer is like a pulse\nthat sets this atmosphere in motion, we must then by prayer come closer\nto each other than are the parts of our body by their complex\nnerve-telegraphy. Surely, in the Eternal, hearts are never parted! surely,\nthrough the Eternal, a heart that loves and seeks the good of another,\nmust hold that other within reach! Surely the system of things would\nnot be complete in relation to the best thing in it--love itself, if\nlove had no help in prayer. If I love and cannot help, does not my\nheart move me to ask him to help who loves and can?--him without whom\nlife would be to me nothing, without whom I should neither love nor\ncare to pray!--will he answer, 'Child, do not trouble me; I am already\ndoing all I can'? If such answer came, who that loved would not be\ncontent to be nowhere in the matter? But how if the eternal, limitless\nLove, the unspeakable, self-forgetting God-devotion, which, demanding\nall, gives all, should say, 'Child, I have been doing all I could; but\nnow you are come, I shall be able to do more! here is a corner for you,\nmy little one: push at this thing to get it out of the way'! How if he\nshould answer, 'Pray on, my child; I am hearing you; it goes through me\nin help to him. We are of one mind about it; I help and you help. I\nshall have you all safe home with me by and by! There is no fear, only\nwe must work, and not lose heart. Go, and let your light so shine\nbefore men that they may see your good things, and glorify me by\nknowing that I am light and no darkness'!--what then? Oh that lovely\npicture by Michelangelo, with the young ones and the little ones come\nto help God to make Adam!\n\nBut it may be that the answer to prayer will come in a shape that seems\na refusal. It may come even in an increase of that from which we seek\ndeliverance. I know of one who prayed to love better: a sore division\ncame between--out of which at length rose a dawn of tenderness.\n\nOur vision is so circumscribed, our theories are so small--the garment\nof them not large enough to wrap us in; our faith so continually\nfashions itself to the fit of our dwarf intellect, that there is\nendless room for rebellion against ourselves: we must not let our poor\nknowledge limit our not so poor intellect, our intellect limit our\nfaith, our faith limit our divine hope; reason must humbly watch over\nall--reason, the candle of the Lord.\n\nThere are some who would argue for prayer, not on the ground of any\npossible answer to be looked for, but because of the good to be gained\nin the spiritual attitude of the mind in praying. There are those even\nwho, not believing in any ear to hear, any heart to answer, will yet\npray. They say it does them good; they pray to nothing at all, but they\nget spiritual benefit.\n\nI will not contradict their testimony. So needful is prayer to the soul\nthat the mere attitude of it may encourage a good mood. Verily to pray\nto that which is not, is in logic a folly; yet the good that, they say,\ncomes of it, may rebuke the worse folly of their unbelief, for it\nindicates that prayer is natural, and how could it be natural if\ninconsistent with the very mode of our being? Theirs is a better way\nthan that of those who, believing there is a God, but not believing\nthat he will give any answer to their prayers, yet pray to him; that is\nmore foolish and more immoral than praying to the No-god. Whatever the\nGod be to whom they pray, their prayer is a mockery of him, of\nthemselves, of the truth.\n\nOn the other hand, let God give no assent to the individual prayer, let\nthe prayer even be for something nowise good enough to be a gift of\nGod, yet the soul that prays will get good of its prayer, if only in\nbeing thereby brought a little nearer to the Father, and making way for\ncoming again. Prayer does react in good upon the praying soul,\nirrespective of answer. But to pray for the sake of the prayer, and\nwithout regard to there being no one to hear, would to me indicate a\nnature not merely illogical but morally false, did I not suspect a\nvague undetected apprehension of a Something diffused through the All\nof existence, and some sort of shadowiest communion therewith.\n\nThere are moods of such satisfaction in God that a man may feel as if\nnothing were left to pray for, as if he had but to wait with patience\nfor what the Lord would work; there are moods of such hungering desire,\nthat petition is crushed into an inarticulate crying; and there is a\ncommunion with God that asks for nothing, yet asks for everything. This\nlast is the very essence of prayer, though not petition. It is possible\nfor a man, not indeed to believe in God, but to believe that there is a\nGod, and yet not desire to enter into communion with him; but he that\nprays and does not faint will come to recognize that to talk with God\nis more than to have all prayers granted--that it is the end of all\nprayer, granted or refused. And he who seeks the Father more than\nanything he can give, is likely to have what he asks, for he is not\nlikely to ask amiss.\n\nEven such as ask amiss may sometimes have their prayers answered. The\nFather will never give the child a stone that asks for bread; but I am\nnot sure that he will never give the child a stone that asks for a\nstone. If the Father say, 'My child, that is a stone; it is no bread;'\nand the child answer, 'I am sure it is bread; I want it;' may it not be\nwell he should try his bread?\n\nBut now for another point in the parable, where I think I can give some\nhelp--I mean the Lord's apparent recognition of delay in the answering\nof prayer: in the very structure of the parable he seems to take delay\nfor granted, and says notwithstanding, 'He will avenge them speedily!'\n\nThe reconciling conclusion is, that God loses no time, though the\nanswer may not be immediate.\n\nHe may delay because it would not be safe to give us at once what we\nask: we are not ready for it. To give ere we could truly receive, would\nbe to destroy the very heart and hope of prayer, to cease to be our\nFather. The delay itself may work to bring us nearer to our help, to\nincrease the desire, perfect the prayer, and ripen the receptive\ncondition.\n\nAgain, not from any straitening in God, but either from our own\ncondition and capacity, or those of the friend for whom we pray, time\nmay be necessary to the working out of the answer. God is limited by\nregard for our best; our best implies education; in this we must\nourselves have a large share; this share, being human, involves time.\nAnd perhaps, indeed, the better the gift we pray for, the more time is\nnecessary to its arrival. To give us the spiritual gift we desire, God\nmay have to begin far back in our spirit, in regions unknown to us, and\ndo much work that we can be aware of only in the results; for our\nconsciousness is to the extent of our being but as the flame of the\nvolcano to the world-gulf whence it issues: in the gulf of our unknown\nbeing God works behind our consciousness. With his holy influence, with\nhis own presence, the one thing for which most earnestly we cry, he may\nbe approaching our consciousness from behind, coming forward through\nregions of our darkness into our light, long before we begin to be\naware that he is answering our request--has answered it, and is\nvisiting his child. To avenge speedily must mean to make no delay\nbeyond what is absolutely necessary, to begin the moment it is possible\nto begin. Because the Son of Man did not appear for thousands of years\nafter men began to cry out for a Saviour, shall we imagine he did not\ncome the first moment it was well he should come? Can we doubt that to\ncome a moment sooner would have been to delay, not to expedite, his\nkingdom? For anything that needs a process, to begin to act at once is\nto be speedy. God does not put off like the unrighteous judge; he does\nnot delay until irritated by the prayers of the needy; he will hear\nwhile they are yet speaking; yea, before they call he will answer.\n\nThe Lord uses words without anxiety as to the misuse of them by such as\ndo not search after his will in them; and the word _avenge_ may be\nsimply retained from the parable without its special meaning therein;\nyet it suggests a remark or two.\n\nOf course, no prayer for any revenge that would gratify the selfishness\nof our nature, a thing to be burned out of us by the fire of God, needs\nthink to be heard. Be sure, when the Lord prayed his Father to forgive\nthose who crucified him, he uttered his own wish and his Father's will\nat once: God will never punish according to the abstract abomination of\nsin, as if men knew what they were doing. 'Vengeance is mine,' he says:\nwith a right understanding of it, we might as well pray for God's\nvengeance as for his forgiveness; that vengeance is, to destroy the\nsin--to make the sinner abjure and hate it; nor is there any\nsatisfaction in a vengeance that seeks or effects less. The man himself\nmust turn against himself, and so be for himself. If nothing else will\ndo, then hell-fire; if less will do, whatever brings repentance and\nself-repudiation, is God's repayment.\n\nFriends, if any prayers are offered against us; if the vengeance of God\nbe cried out for, because of some wrong you or I have done, God grant\nus his vengeance! Let us not think that we shall get off!\n\nBut perhaps the Lord was here thinking, not of persecution, or any form\nof human wrong, but of the troubles that most trouble his true\ndisciple; and the suggestion is comforting to those whose foes are\nwithin them, for, if so, then he recognizes the evils of self, against\nwhich we fight, not as parts of ourselves, but as our foes, on which he\nwill avenge the true self that is at strife with them. And certainly no\nevil is, or ever could be, of the essential being and nature of the\ncreature God made! The thing that is not good, however associated with\nour being, is against that being, not of it--is its enemy, on which we\nneed to be avenged. When we fight, he will avenge. Till we fight, evil\nshall have dominion over us, a dominion to make us miserable; other\nthan miserable can no one be, under the yoke of a nature contrary to\nhis own. Comfort thyself then, who findest thine own heart and soul, or\nrather the things that move therein, too much for thee: God will avenge\nhis own elect. He is not delaying; he is at work for thee. Only thou\nmust pray, and not faint. Ask, ask; it shall be given you. Seek most\nthe best things; to ask for the best things is to have them; the seed\nof them is in you, or you could not ask for them.\n\nBut from whatever quarter come our troubles, whether from the world\noutside or the world inside, still let us pray. In his own right way,\nthe only way that could satisfy us, for we are of his kind, will God\nanswer our prayers with help. He will avenge us of our adversaries, and\nthat speedily. Only let us take heed that we be adversaries to no man,\nbut fountains of love and forgiving tenderness to all. And from no\nadversary, either on the way with us, or haunting the secret chamber of\nour hearts, let us hope to be delivered till we _have paid the last\nfarthing_.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE LAST FARTHING.\n\n\n     _'Verily I say unto thee, thou shalt by no means come out thence,\n     till thou have paid the last farthing._'--ST. MATTHEW v. 26.\n\nThere is a thing wonderful and admirable in the parables, not readily\ngrasped, but specially indicated by the Lord himself--their\nunintelligibility to the mere intellect. They are addressed to the\nconscience and not to the intellect, to the will and not to the\nimagination. They are strong and direct but not definite. They are not\nmeant to explain anything, but to rouse a man to the feeling, 'I am not\nwhat I ought to be, I do not the thing I ought to do!' Many maundering\ninterpretations may be given by the wise, with plentiful loss of\nlabour, while the child who uses them for the necessity of walking in\nthe one path will constantly receive light from them. The greatest\nobscuration of the words of the Lord, as of all true teachers, comes\nfrom those who give themselves to interpret rather than do them.\nTheologians have done more to hide the gospel of Christ than any of its\nadversaries. It was not for our understandings, but our will, that\nChrist came. He who does that which he sees, shall understand; he who\nis set upon understanding rather than doing, shall go on stumbling and\nmistaking and speaking foolishness. He has not that in him which can\nunderstand that kind. The gospel itself, and in it the parables of the\nTruth, are to be understood only by those who walk by what they find.\nIt is he that runneth that shall read, and no other. It is not intended\nby the speaker of the parables that any other should know\nintellectually what, known but intellectually, would be for his\ninjury--what knowing intellectually he would imagine he had grasped,\nperhaps even appropriated. When the pilgrim of the truth comes on his\njourney to the region of the parable, he finds its interpretation. It\nis not a fruit or a jewel to be stored, but a well springing by the\nwayside.\n\nLet us try to understand what the Lord himself said about his parables.\nIt will be better to take the reading of St. Matthew xiii. 14, 15, as\nit is plainer, and the quotation from Isaiah (vi. 9, 10) is given in\nfull--after the Septuagint, and much clearer than in our version from\nthe Hebrew:--in its light should be read the corresponding passages in\nthe other Gospels: in St. Mark's it is so compressed as to be capable\nof quite a different and false meaning: in St. John's reference, the\nblinding of the heart seems attributed directly to the devil:--the\npurport is, that those who by insincerity and falsehood close their\ndeeper eyes, shall not be capable of using in the matter the more\nsuperficial eyes of their understanding. Whether this follows as a\npsychical or metaphysical necessity, or be regarded as a special\npunishment, it is equally the will of God, and comes from him who is\nthe live Truth. They shall not see what is not for such as they. It is\nthe punishment of the true Love, and is continually illustrated and\nfulfilled: if I know anything of the truth of God, then the objectors\nto Christianity, so far as I am acquainted with them, do not; their\narguments, not in themselves false, have nothing to do with the matter;\nthey see the thing they are talking against, but they do not see the\nthing they think they are talking against.\n\nThis will help to remove the difficulty that the parables are plainly\nfor the teaching of the truth, and yet the Lord speaks of them as for\nthe concealing of it. They are for the understanding of that man only\nwho is practical--who does the thing he knows, who seeks to understand\nvitally. They reveal to the live conscience, otherwise not to the\nkeenest intellect--though at the same time they may help to rouse the\nconscience with glimpses of the truth, where the man is on the borders\nof waking. Ignorance may be at once a punishment and a kindness: all\npunishment is kindness, and the best of which the man at the time is\ncapable: 'Because you will not do, you shall not see; but it would be\nworse for you if you did see, not being of the disposition to do.' Such\nare punished in having the way closed before them; they punish\nthemselves; their own doing results as it cannot but result on them. To\nsay to them certain things so that they could understand them, would\nbut harden them more, because they would not do them; they should have\nbut parables--lanterns of the truth, clear to those who will walk in\ntheir light, dark to those who will not. The former are content to have\nthe light cast upon their way; the latter will have it in their eyes,\nand cannot: if they had, it would but blind them. For them to know more\nwould be their worse condemnation. They are not fit to know more; more\nshall not be given them yet; it is their punishment that they are in\nthe wrong, and shall keep in the wrong until they come out of it. 'You\nchoose the dark; you shall stay in the dark till the terrors that dwell\nin the dark affray you, and cause you to cry out.' God puts a seal upon\nthe will of man; that seal is either his great punishment, or his\nmighty favour: 'Ye love the darkness, abide in the darkness:' 'O woman,\ngreat is thy faith: be it done unto thee even as thou wilt!'\n\nWhat special meaning may be read in the different parts of magistrate,\njudge, and officer, beyond the general suggestion, perhaps, of the\ntentative approach of the final, I do not know; but I think I do know\nwhat is meant by 'agree on the way,' and 'the uttermost farthing.' The\nparable is an appeal to the common sense of those that hear it, in\nregard to every affair of righteousness. Arrange what claim lies\nagainst you; compulsion waits behind it. Do at once what you must do\none day. As there is no escape from payment, escape at least the prison\nthat will enforce it. Do not drive Justice to extremities. Duty is\nimperative; it must be done. It is useless to think to escape the\neternal law of things; yield of yourself, nor compel God to compel you.\n\nTo the honest man, to the man who would fain be honest, the word is of\nright gracious import. To the untrue, it is a terrible threat; to him\nwho is of the truth, it is sweet as most loving promise. He who is of\nGod's mind in things, rejoices to hear the word of the changeless\nTruth; the voice of the Right fills the heavens and the earth, and\nmakes his soul glad; it is his salvation. If God were not inexorably\njust, there would be no stay for the soul of the feeblest lover of\nright: 'thou art true, O Lord: one day I also shall be true!' 'Thou\nshalt render the right, cost you what it may,' is a dread sound in the\nears of those whose life is a falsehood: what but the last farthing\nwould those who love righteousness more than life pay? It is a joy\nprofound as peace to know that God is determined upon such payment, is\ndetermined to have his children clean, clear, pure as very snow; is\ndetermined that not only shall they with his help make up for whatever\nwrong they have done, but at length be incapable, by eternal choice of\ngood, under any temptation, of doing the thing that is not divine, the\nthing God would not do.\n\nThere has been much cherishing of the evil fancy, often without its\ntaking formal shape, that there is some way of getting out of the\nregion of strict justice, some mode of managing to escape doing _all_\nthat is required of us; but there is no such escape. A way to avoid any\ndemand of righteousness would be an infinitely worse way than the road\nto the everlasting fire, for its end would be eternal death. No, there\nis no escape. There is no heaven with a little of hell in it--no plan\nto retain this or that of the devil in our hearts or our pockets. Out\nSatan must go, every hair and feather! Neither shalt thou think to be\ndelivered from the necessity of _being_ good by being made good. God is\nthe God of the animals in a far lovelier way, I suspect, than many of\nus dare to think, but he will not be the God of a man by making a good\nbeast of him. Thou must be good; neither death nor any admittance into\ngood company will make thee good; though, doubtless, if thou be willing\nand try, these and all other best helps will be given thee. There is no\nclothing in a robe of imputed righteousness, that poorest of legal\ncobwebs spun by spiritual spiders. To me it seems like an invention of\nwell-meaning dulness to soothe insanity; and indeed it has proved a\ndoor of escape out of worse imaginations. It is apparently an old\n'doctrine;' for St. John seems to point at it where he says, 'Little\nchildren, let no man lead you astray; he that doeth righteousness is\nrighteous even as he is righteous.' Christ is our righteousness, not\nthat we should escape punishment, still less escape being righteous,\nbut as the live potent creator of righteousness in us, so that we, with\nour wills receiving his spirit, shall like him resist unto blood,\nstriving against sin; shall know in ourselves, as he knows, what a\nlovely thing is righteousness, what a mean, ugly, unnatural thing is\nunrighteousness. He _is_ our righteousness, and that righteousness is\nno fiction, no pretence, no imputation.\n\nOne thing that tends to keep men from seeing righteousness and\nunrighteousness as they are, is, that they have been told many things\nare righteous and unrighteous, which are neither the one nor the other.\nRighteousness is just fairness--from God to man, from man to God and to\nman; it is giving every one his due--his large mighty due. He is\nrighteous, and no one else, who does this. And any system which tends\nto persuade men that there is any salvation but that of becoming\nrighteous even as Jesus is righteous; that a man can be made good, as a\ngood dog is good, without his own willed share in the making; that a\nman is saved by having his sins hidden under a robe of imputed\nrighteousness--that system, so far as this tendency, is of the devil\nand not of God. Thank God, not even error shall injure the true of\nheart; it is not wickedness. They grow in the truth, and as love casts\nout fear, so truth casts out falsehood.\n\nI read, then, in this parable, that a man had better make up his mind\nto be righteous, to be fair, to do what he can to pay what he owes, in\nany and all the relations of life--all the matters, in a word, wherein\none man may demand of another, or complain that he has not received\nfair play. Arrange your matters with those who have anything against\nyou, while you are yet together and things have not gone too far to be\narranged; _you will have to do it_, and that under less easy\ncircumstances than now. Putting off is of no use. You must. The thing\nhas to be done; there are means of compelling you.\n\n'In this affair, however, I am in the right.'\n\n'If so, very well--for this affair. But I have reason to doubt whether\nyou are capable of judging righteously in your own cause:--do you hate\nthe man?'\n\n'No, I don't hate him.'\n\n'Do you dislike him?'\n\n'I can't say I _like_ him.'\n\n'Do you love him as yourself?'\n\n'Oh, come! come! no one does that!'\n\n'Then no one is to be trusted when he thinks, however firmly, that he\nis all right, and his neighbour all wrong, in any matter between them.'\n\n'But I don't say I am all right, and he is all wrong; there may be\nsomething to urge on his side: what I say is, that I am more in the\nright than he.'\n\n'This is not fundamentally a question of things: it is a question of\ncondition, of spiritual relation and action, towards your neighbour. If\nin yourself you were all right towards him, you could do him no wrong.\nLet it be with the individual dispute as it may, you owe him something\nthat you do not pay him, as certainly as you think he owes you\nsomething he will not pay you.'\n\n'He would take immediate advantage of me if I owned that.'\n\n'So much the worse for him. Until you are fair to him, it does not\nmatter to you whether he is unfair to you or not.'\n\n'I beg your pardon--it is just what does matter! I want nothing but my\nrights. What can matter to me more than my rights?'\n\n'Your duties--your debts. You are all wrong about the thing. It is a\nvery small matter _to you_ whether the man give you your rights or not;\nit is life or death to you whether or not you give him his. Whether he\npay you what you count his debt or no, you will be compelled to pay him\nall you owe him. If you owe him a pound and he you a million, you must\npay him the pound whether he pay you the million or not; there is no\nbusiness-parallel here. If, owing you love, he gives you hate, you,\nowing him love, have yet to pay it. A love unpaid you, a justice undone\nyou, a praise withheld from you, a judgment passed on you without\njudgment, will not absolve you of the debt of a love unpaid, a justice\nnot done, a praise withheld, a false judgment passed: these uttermost\nfarthings--not to speak of such debts as the world itself counts\ngrievous wrongs--you must pay him, whether he pay you or not. We have a\ngood while given us to pay, but a crisis will come--come soon after\nall--comes always sooner than those expect it who are not ready for\nit--a crisis when the demand unyielded will be followed by prison.\n\nThe same holds with every demand of God: by refusing to pay, the man\nmakes an adversary who will compel him--and that for the man's own\nsake. If you or your life say, 'I will not,' then he will see to it.\nThere is a prison, and the one thing we know about that prison is, that\nits doors do not open until entire satisfaction is rendered, the last\nfarthing paid.\n\nThe main debts whose payment God demands are those which lie at the\nroot of all right, those we owe in mind, and soul, and being. Whatever\nin us can be or make an adversary, whatever could prevent us from doing\nthe will of God, or from agreeing with our fellow--all must be yielded.\nOur every relation, both to God and our fellow, must be acknowledged\nheartily, met as a reality. Smaller debts, if any debt can be small,\nfollow as a matter of course.\n\nIf the man acknowledge, and would pay if he could but cannot, the\nuniverse will be taxed to help him rather than he should continue\nunable. If the man accepts the will of God, he is the child of the\nFather, the whole power and wealth of the Father is for him, and the\nuttermost farthing will easily be paid. If the man denies the debt, or\nacknowledging does nothing towards paying it, then--at last--the\nprison! God in the dark can make a man thirst for the light, who never\nin the light sought but the dark. The cells of the prison may differ in\ndegree of darkness; but they are all alike in this, that not a door\nopens but to payment. There is no day but the will of God, and he who\nis of the night cannot be for ever allowed to roam the day; unfelt,\nunprized, the light must be taken from him, that he may know what the\ndarkness is. When the darkness is perfect, when he is totally without\nthe light he has spent the light in slaying, then will he know\ndarkness.\n\nI think I have seen from afar something of the final prison of all, the\ninnermost cell of the debtor of the universe; I will endeavour to\nconvey what I think it may be.\n\nIt is the vast outside; the ghastly dark beyond the gates of the city\nof which God is the light--where the evil dogs go ranging, silent as\nthe dark, for there is no sound any more than sight. The time of signs\nis over. Every sense has its signs, and they were all misused: there is\nno sense, no sign more--nothing now by means of which to believe. The\nman wakes from the final struggle of death, in absolute loneliness--\nsuch a loneliness as in the most miserable moment of deserted childhood\nhe never knew. Not a hint, not a shadow of anything outside his\nconsciousness reaches him. All is dark, dark and dumb; no motion--not\nthe breath of a wind! never a dream of change! not a scent from far-off\nfield! nothing to suggest being or thing besides the man himself, no\nsign of God anywhere. God has so far withdrawn from the man, that he is\nconscious only of that from which he has withdrawn. In the midst of the\nlive world he cared for nothing but himself; now in the dead world he\nis in God's prison, his own separated self. He would not believe in God\nbecause he never saw God; now he doubts if there be such a thing as the\nface of a man--doubts if he ever really saw one, ever anything more\nthan dreamed of such a thing:--he never came near enough to human\nbeing, to know what human being really was--so may well doubt if human\nbeings ever were, if ever he was one of them.\n\nNext after doubt comes reasoning on the doubt: 'The only one must be\nGod! I know no one but myself: I must myself be God--none else!' Poor\nhelpless dumb devil!--his own glorious lord god! Yea, he will imagine\nhimself that same resistless force which, without his will, without his\nknowledge, is the law by which the sun burns, and the stars keep their\ncourses, the strength that drives all the engines of the world. His\nfancy will give birth to a thousand fancies, which will run riot like\nthe mice in a house but just deserted: he will call it creation, and\n_his_. Having no reality to set them beside, nothing to correct them\nby; the measured order, harmonious relations, and sweet graces of God's\nworld nowhere for him; what he thinks, will be, for lack of what God\nthinks, the man's realities: what others can he have! Soon, misery will\nbeget on imagination a thousand shapes of woe, which he will not be\nable to rule, direct, or even distinguish from real presences--a whole\nworld of miserable contradictions and cold-fever-dreams.\n\nBut no liveliest human imagination could supply adequate representation\nof what it would be to be left without a shadow of the presence of God.\nIf God gave it, man could not understand it: he knows neither God nor\nhimself in the way of the understanding. For not he who cares least\nabout God was in this world ever left as God could leave him. I doubt\nif any man could continue following his wickedness from whom God had\nwithdrawn.\n\nThe most frightful idea of what could, to his own consciousness, befall\na man, is that he should have to lead an existence with which God had\nnothing to do. The thing could not be; for being that is caused, the\ncausation ceasing, must of necessity cease. It is always in, and never\nout of God, that we can live and do. But I suppose the man so left that\nhe seems to himself utterly alone, yet, alas! with himself--smallest\ninterchange of thought, feeblest contact of existence, dullest\nreflection from other being, impossible: in such evil case I believe\nthe man would be glad to come in contact with the worst-loathed insect:\nit would be a shape of life, something beyond and besides his own huge,\nvoid, formless being! I imagine some such feeling in the prayer of the\ndevils for leave to go into the swine. His worst enemy, could he but be\naware of him, he would be ready to worship. For the misery would be not\nmerely the absence of all being other than his own self, but the\nfearful, endless, unavoidable presence of that self. Without the\ncorrection, the reflection, the support of other presences, being is\nnot merely unsafe, it is a horror--for anyone but God, who is his own\nbeing. For him whose idea is God's, and the image of God, his own being\nis far too fragmentary and imperfect to be anything like good company.\nIt is the lovely creatures God has made all around us, in them giving\nus himself, that, until we know him, save us from the frenzy of\naloneness--for that aloneness is Self, Self, Self. The man who minds\nonly himself must at last go mad if God did not interfere.\n\nCan there be any way out of the misery? Will the soul that could not\nbelieve in God, with all his lovely world around testifying of him,\nbelieve when shut in the prison of its own lonely, weary all-and-nothing?\nIt would for a time try to believe that it was indeed nothing,\na mere glow of the setting sun on a cloud of dust, a paltry dream that\ndreamed itself--then, ah, if only the dream might dream that it was no\nmore! that would be the one thing to hope for. Self-loathing, and that\nfor no sin, from no repentance, from no vision of better, would begin\nand grow and grow; and to what it might not come no soul can tell--of\nessential, original misery, uncompromising self disgust! Only, then, if\na being be capable of self-disgust, is there not some room for hope--as\nmuch as a pinch of earth in the cleft of a rock might yield for the\ngrowth of a pine? Nay, there must be hope while there is existence; for\nwhere there is existence there must be God; and God is for ever good,\nnor can be other than good. But alas, the distance from the light! Such\na soul is at the farthest verge of life's negation!--no, not the\nfarthest! a man is nearer heaven when in deepest hell than just ere he\nbegins to reap the reward of his doings--for he is in a condition to\nreceive the smallest show of the life that is, as a boon unspeakable.\nAll his years in the world he received the endless gifts of sun and\nair, earth and sea and human face divine, as things that came to him\nbecause that was their way, and there was no one to prevent them; now\nthe poorest thinning of the darkness he would hail as men of old the\nglow of a descending angel; it would be as a messenger from God. Not\nthat he would think of God! it takes long to think of God; but hope,\nnot yet seeming hope, would begin to dawn in his bosom, and the thinner\ndarkness would be as a cave of light, a refuge from the horrid self of\nwhich he used to be so proud.\n\nA man may well imagine it impossible ever to think so unpleasantly of\nhimself! But he has only to let things go, and he will make it the\nreal, right, natural way to think of himself. True, all I have been\nsaying is imaginary; but our imagination is made to mirror truth; all\nthe things that appear in it are more or less after the model of things\nthat are; I suspect it is the region whence issues prophecy; and when\nwe are true it will mirror nothing but truth. I deal here with the same\nlight and darkness the Lord dealt with, the same St. Paul and St. John\nand St. Peter and St. Jude dealt with. Ask yourself whether the\nfaintest dawn of even physical light would not be welcome to such a\nsoul as some refuge from the dark of the justly hated self.\n\nAnd the light would grow and grow across the awful gulf between the\nsoul and its haven--its repentance--for repentance is the first\npressure of the bosom of God; and in the twilight, struggling and\nfaint, the man would feel, faint as the twilight, another thought\nbeside his, another thinking Something nigh his dreary self--perhaps\nthe man he had most wronged, most hated, most despised--and would be\nglad that some one, whoever, was near him: the man he had most injured,\nand was most ashamed to meet, would be a refuge from himself--oh, how\nwelcome!\n\nSo might I imagine a thousand steps up from the darkness, each a little\nless dark, a little nearer the light--but, ah, the weary way! He cannot\ncome out until he have paid the uttermost farthing! Repentance once\nbegun, however, may grow more and more rapid! If God once get a willing\nhold, if with but one finger he touch the man's self, swift as\npossibility will he draw him from the darkness into the light. For that\nfor which the forlorn, self-ruined wretch was made, was to be a child\nof God, a partaker of the divine nature, an heir of God and joint heir\nwith Christ. Out of the abyss into which he cast himself, refusing to\nbe the heir of God, he must rise and be raised. To the heart of God,\nthe one and only goal of the human race--the refuge and home of all and\neach, he must set out and go, or the last glimmer of humanity will die\nfrom him. Whoever will live must cease to be a slave and become a child\nof God. There is no half-way house of rest, where ungodliness may be\ndallied with, nor prove quite fatal. Be they few or many cast into such\nprison as I have endeavoured to imagine, there can be no deliverance\nfor human soul, whether in that prison or out of it, but in paying the\nlast farthing, in becoming lowly, penitent, self-refusing--so receiving\nthe sonship, and learning to cry, _Father_!\n\n\n\n\n                              ABBA, FATHER!\n\n\n'_--the spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father._'-ROMANS\nviii. 15.\n\nThe hardest, gladdest thing in the world is, to cry _Father_! from a\nfull heart. I would help whom I may to call thus upon the Father.\n\nThere are things in all forms of the systematic teaching of\nChristianity to check this outgoing of the heart--with some to render\nit simply impossible. The more delicate the affections, the less easy\nto satisfy, the readier are they to be damped and discouraged, yea\nquite blown aside; even the suspicion of a cold reception is enough to\nparalyze them. Such a cold wind blowing at the very gate of heaven--\nthank God, _outside_ the gate!--is the so-called doctrine of\n_Adoption_. When a heart hears--and believes, or half believes--that it\nis not the child of God by origin, from the first of its being, but may\npossibly be adopted into his family, its love sinks at once in a cold\nfaint: where is its own father, and who is this that would adopt it? To\nmyself, in the morning of childhood, the evil doctrine was a mist\nthrough which the light came struggling, a cloud-phantom of repellent\nmien--requiring maturer thought and truer knowledge to dissipate it.\nBut it requires neither much knowledge nor much insight to stand up\nagainst its hideousness; it needs but love that will not be denied, and\ncourage to question the phantom.\n\nA devout and honest scepticism on God's side, not to be put down by\nanything called authority, is absolutely necessary to him who would\nknow the liberty wherewith Christ maketh free. Whatever any company of\ngood men thinks or believes, is to be approached with respect; but\nnothing claimed or taught, be the claimers or the teachers who they\nmay, must come between the soul and the spirit of the father, who is\nhimself the teacher of his children. Nay, to accept authority may be to\nrefuse the very thing the 'authority' would teach; it may remain\naltogether misunderstood just for lack of that natural process of doubt\nand inquiry, which we were intended to go through by him who would have\nus understand.\n\nAs no scripture is of private interpretation, so is there no feeling in\nhuman heart which exists in that heart alone, which is not, in some\nform or degree, in every heart; and thence I conclude that many must\nhave groaned like myself under the supposed authority of this doctrine.\nThe refusal to look up to God as our Father is the one central wrong in\nthe whole human affair; the inability, the one central misery: whatever\nserves to clear any difficulty from the way of the recognition of the\nFather, will more or less undermine every difficulty in life.\n\n'Is God then not my Father,' cries the heart of the child, 'that I need\nto be adopted by him? Adoption! that can never satisfy me. Who is my\nfather? Am I not his to begin with? Is God not my very own Father? Is\nhe my Father only in a sort or fashion--by a legal contrivance? Truly,\nmuch love may lie in adoption, but if I accept it from any one, I allow\nmyself the child of another! The adoption of God would indeed be a\nblessed thing if another than he had given me being! but if he gave me\nbeing, then it means no reception, but a repudiation.--\"O Father, am I\nnot your child?\"'\n\n'No; but he will adopt you. He will not acknowledge you his child, but\nhe will call you his child, and be a father to you.'\n\n'Alas!' cries the child, 'if he be not my father, he cannot become my\nfather. A father is a father from the beginning. A primary relation\ncannot be superinduced. The consequence might be small where earthly\nfatherhood was concerned, but the very origin of my being--alas, if he\nbe only a maker and not a father! Then am I only a machine, and not a\nchild--not a man! It is false to say I was created in his image!\n\n'It avails nothing to answer that we lost our birthright by the fall. I\ndo not care to argue that _I_ did not fall when Adam fell; for I have\nfallen many a time, and there is a shadow on my soul which I or another\nmay call a curse; I cannot get rid of a something that always intrudes\nbetween my heart and the blue of every sky. But it avails nothing,\neither for my heart or their argument, to say I have fallen and been\ncast out: can any repudiation, even that of God, undo the facts of an\nexistent origin? Nor is it merely that he made me: by whose power do I\ngo on living? When he cast me out, as you say, did I then begin to draw\nmy being from myself--or from the devil? In whom do I live and move and\nhave my being? It cannot be that I am not the creature of God.'\n\n'But creation is not fatherhood.'\n\n'Creation in the image of God, is. And if I am not in the image of God,\nhow can the word of God be of any meaning to me? \"He called them gods\nto whom the word of God came,\" says the Master himself. To be fit to\nreceive his word implies being of his kind. No matter how his image may\nhave been defaced in me: the thing defaced is his image, remains his\ndefaced image--an image yet that can hear his word. What makes me evil\nand miserable is, that the thing spoiled in me is the image of the\nPerfect. Nothing can be evil but in virtue of a good hypostasis. No,\nno! nothing can make it that I am not the child of God. If one say,\n\"Look at the animals: God made them: you do not call them the children\nof God!\" I answer: \"But I am to blame; they are not to blame! I cling\nfast to my blame: it is the seal of my childhood.\" I have nothing to\nargue from in the animals, for I do not understand them. Two things\nonly I am sure of: that God is to them \"a faithful creator;\" and that\nthe sooner I put in force my claim to be a child of God, the better for\nthem; for they too are fallen, though without blame.'\n\n'But you are evil: how can you be a child of the Good?'\n\n'Just as many an evil son is the child of a good parent.'\n\n'But in him you call a good parent, there yet lay evil, and that\naccounts for the child being evil.'\n\n'I cannot explain. God let me be born through evil channels. But in\nwhatever manner I may have become an unworthy child, I cannot thereby\nhave ceased to be a child of God--his child in the way that a child\nmust ever be the child of the man of whom he comes. Is it not proof--\nthis complaint of my heart at the word _Adoption_? Is it not the spirit\nof the child, crying out, \"Abba, Father\"?'\n\n'Yes; but that is the spirit of adoption; the text says so.'\n\n'Away with your adoption! I could not even be adopted if I were not\nsuch as the adoption could reach--that is, of the nature of God. Much\nas he may love him, can a man adopt a dog? I must be of a nature for\nthe word of God to come to--yea, so far, of the divine nature, of the\nimage of God! Heartily do I grant that, had I been left to myself, had\nGod dropped me, held no communication with me, I could never have thus\ncried, never have cared when they told me I was not a child of God. But\nhe has never repudiated me, and does not now desire to adopt me. Pray,\nwhy should it grieve me to be told I am not a child of God, if I be not\na child of God? If you say--Because you have learned to love him, I\nanswer--Adoption would satisfy the love of one who was not but would be\na child; for me, I cannot do without a father, nor can any adoption\ngive me one.'\n\n'But what is the good of all you say, if the child is such that the\nfather cannot take him to his heart?'\n\n'Ah, indeed, I grant you, nothing!--so long as the child does not\ndesire to be taken to the father's heart; but the moment he does, then\nit is everything to the child's heart that he should be indeed the\nchild of him after whom his soul is thirsting. However bad I may be, I\nam the child of God, and therein lies my blame. Ah, I would not lose my\nblame! in my blame lies my hope. It is the pledge of what I am, and\nwhat I am not; the pledge of what I am meant to be, what I shall one\nday be, the child of God in spirit and in truth.'\n\n'Then you dare to say the apostle is wrong in what he so plainly\nteaches?'\n\n'By no means; what I do say is, that our English presentation of his\nteaching is in this point very misleading. It is not for me to judge\nthe learned and good men who have revised the translation of the New\nTestament--with so much gain to every one whose love of truth is\ngreater than his loving prejudice for accustomed form;--I can only say,\nI wonder what may have been their reasons for retaining this word\n_adoption_. In the New Testament the word is used only by the apostle\nPaul. Liddell and Scott give the meaning--\"Adoption as a son,\" which is\na mere submission to popular theology: they give no reference except to\nthe New Testament. The relation of the word [Greek: _niothesia_] to the\nform [Greek: _thetos_], which means \"taken,\" or rather, \"_placed_ as\none's child,\" is, I presume, the sole ground for the so translating of\nit: usage plentiful and invariable could not justify that translation\nhere, in the face of what St. Paul elsewhere shows he means by the\nword. The Greek word _might_ be variously meant--though I can find no\nuse of it earlier than St. Paul; the English can mean but one thing,\nand that is not what St. Paul means. \"The spirit of adoption\" Luther\ntranslates \"the spirit of a child;\" _adoption_ he translates\n_kindschaft_, or _childship_'\n\nOf two things I am sure--first, that by _niothesia_ St. Paul did not\nintend _adoption_; and second, that if the Revisers had gone through\nwhat I have gone through because of the word, if they had felt it come\nbetween God and their hearts as I have felt it, they could not have\nallowed it to remain in their version.\n\nOnce more I say, the word used by St Paul does not imply that God\nadopts children that are not his own, but rather that a second time he\nfathers his own; that a second time they are born--this time from\nabove; that he will make himself tenfold, yea, infinitely their father:\nhe will have them back into the very bosom whence they issued, issued\nthat they might learn they could live nowhere else; he will have them\none with himself. It was for the sake of this that, in his Son, he died\nfor them.\n\nLet us look at the passage where he reveals his use of the word. It is\nin another of his epistles--that to the Galatians: iv. I-7.\n\n'But I say that so long as the heir is a child, he differeth nothing\nfrom a bondservant, though he is lord of all; but is under guardians\nand stewards until the term appointed of the father. So we also, when\nwe were children, were held in bondage under the rudiments of the\nworld: but when the fulness of the time came, God sent forth his Son,\nborn of a woman, born under the law, that he might redeem them which\nwere under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons. And\nbecause ye are sons, God sent forth the Spirit of his Son into our\nhearts, crying, Abba, Father. So that thou art no longer a bondservant,\nbut a son; and if a son, then an heir through God.'\n\nHow could the Revisers choose this last reading, 'an heir through God,'\nand keep the word _adoption_? From the passage it is as plain as St.\nPaul could make it, that, by the word translated _adoption_, he means\nthe raising of a father's own child from the condition of tutelage and\nsubjection to others, a state which, he says, is no better than that of\na slave, to the position and rights of a son. None but a child could\nbecome a son; the idea is--a spiritual coming of age; _only when the\nchild is a man is he really and fully a son_. The thing holds in the\nearthly relation. How many children of good parents--good children in\nthe main too--never know those parents, never feel towards them as\nchildren might, until, grown up, they have left the house--until,\nperhaps, they are parents themselves, or are parted from them by death!\nTo be a child is not necessarily to be a son or daughter. The childship\nis the lower condition of the upward process towards the sonship, the\nsoil out of which the true sonship shall grow, the former without which\nthe latter were impossible. God can no more than an earthly parent be\ncontent to have only children: he must have sons and daughters--\nchildren of his soul, of his spirit, of his love--not merely in the\nsense that he loves them, or even that they love him, but in the sense\nthat they love like him, love as he loves. For this he does not adopt\nthem; he dies to give them himself, thereby to raise his own to his\nheart; he gives them a birth from above; they are born again out of\nhimself and into himself--for he is the one and the all. His children\nare not his real, true sons and daughters until they think like him,\nfeel with him, judge as he judges, are at home with him, and without\nfear before him because he and they mean the same thing, love the same\nthings, seek the same ends. For this are we created; it is the one end\nof our being, and includes all other ends whatever. It can come only of\nunbelief and not faith, to make men believe that God has cast them off,\nrepudiated them, said they are not, yea never were, his children--and\nhe all the time spending himself to make us the children he designed,\nforeordained--children who would take him for their Father! He is our\nfather all the time, for he is true; but until we respond with the\ntruth of children, he cannot let all the father out to us; there is no\nplace for the dove of his tenderness to alight. He is our father, but\nwe are not his children. Because we are his children, we must become\nhis sons and daughters. Nothing will satisfy him, or do for us, but\nthat we be one with our father! What else could serve! How else should\nlife ever be a good! Because we are the sons of God, we must become the\nsons of God.\n\nThere may be among my readers--alas for such!--to whom the word\n_Father_ brings no cheer, no dawn, in whose heart it rouses no tremble\nof even a vanished emotion. It is hardly likely to be their fault. For\nthough as children we seldom love up to the mark of reason; though we\noften offend; and although the conduct of some children is inexplicable\nto the parent who loves them; yet, if the parent has been but\nordinarily kind, even the son who has grown up a worthless man, will\nnow and then feel, in his better moments, some dim reflex of childship,\nsome faintly pleasant, some slightly sorrowful remembrance of the\nfather around whose neck his arms had sometimes clung. In my own\nchildhood and boyhood my father was the refuge from all the ills of\nlife, even sharp pain itself. Therefore I say to son or daughter who\nhas no pleasure in the name _Father_, 'You must interpret the word by\nall that you have missed in life. Every time a man might have been to\nyou a refuge from the wind, a covert from the tempest, the shadow of a\ngreat rock in a weary land, that was a time when a father might have\nbeen a father indeed. Happy you are yet, if you have found man or woman\nsuch a refuge; so far have you known a shadow of the perfect, seen the\nback of the only man, the perfect Son of the perfect Father. All that\nhuman tenderness can give or desire in the nearness and readiness of\nlove, all and infinitely more must be true of the perfect Father--of\nthe maker of fatherhood, the Father of all the fathers of the earth,\nspecially the Father of those who have specially shown a father-heart.'\n\nThis Father would make to himself sons and daughters indeed--that is,\nsuch sons and daughters as shall be his sons and daughters not merely\nby having come from his heart, but by having returned thither--children\nin virtue of being such as whence they came, such as choose to be what\nhe is. He will have them share in his being and nature--strong wherein\nhe cares for strength; tender and gracious as he is tender and\ngracious; angry where and as he is angry. Even in the small matter of\npower, he will have them able to do whatever his Son Jesus could on the\nearth, whose was the life of the perfect man, whose works were those of\nperfected humanity. Everything must at length be subject to man, as it\nwas to The Man. When God can do what he will with a man, the man may do\nwhat he will with the world; he may walk on the sea like his Lord; the\ndeadliest thing will not be able to hurt him:--'He that believeth on\nme, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater than these shall\nhe do.'\n\n             God, whose pleasure brought\n     Man into being, stands away\n     As it were, an handbreath off, to give\n     Boom for the newly-made to live.\n\n\nHe has made us, but we have to be. All things were made _through_ the\nWord, but that which was made _in_ the Word was life, and that life is\nthe light of men: they who live by this light, that is, live as Jesus\nlived--by obedience, namely, to the Father, have a share in their own\nmaking; the light becomes life in them; they are, in their lower way,\nalive with the life that was first born in Jesus, and through him has\nbeen born in them--by obedience they become one with the godhead: 'As\nmany as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God.'\nHe does not _make_ them the sons of God, but he gives them power to\nbecome the sons of God: in choosing and obeying the truth, man becomes\nthe true son of the Father of lights.\n\nIt is enough to read with understanding the passage I have quoted from\nhis epistle to the Galatians, to see that the word _adoption_ does not\nin the least fit St. Paul's idea, or suit the things he says. While we\nbut obey the law God has laid upon us, without knowing the heart of the\nFather whence comes the law, we are but slaves--not necessarily ignoble\nslaves, yet slaves; but when we come to think _with_ him, when the mind\nof the son is as the mind of the Father, the action of the son the same\nas that of the Father, then is the son _of_ the Father, then are we the\nsons of God. And in both passages--this, and that which, from his\nepistle to the Romans, I have placed at the head of this sermon--we\nfind the same phrase, _Abba, Father_, showing, if proof were needful,\nthat he uses the word [Greek: uiothesia] the same sense in both:\nnothing can well be plainer, that needs consideration at all, than what\nthat sense is. Let us glance at the other passages in which he uses the\nsame word: as he alone of the writers of the New Testament does use it,\nso, for aught I know, he may have made it for himsef. One of them is in\nthe same eighth chapter of the epistle to the Romans; this I will keep\nto the last. Another is in the following chapter, the fourth verse; in\nit he speaks of the [Greek: viothesia], literally the _son-placing_\n(that is, the placing of sons in the true place of sons), as belonging\nto the Jews. On this I have but to remark that 'whose is the [Greek:\nviothesia]' cannot mean either that they had already received it, or\nthat it belonged to the Jews more than to the Gentiles; it can only\nmean that, as the elder-brother-nation, they had a foremost claim to\nit, and would naturally first receive it; that, in their best men, they\nhad always been nearest to it. It must be wrought out first in such as\nhad received the preparation necessary; those were the Jews; of the\nJews was the Son, bringing the [Greek: viothesia], the sonship, to all.\nTherefore theirs was the [Greek: viothesia], just as theirs was the\ngospel. It was to the Jew first, then to the Gentile--though many a\nGentile would have it before many a Jew. Those and only those who out\nof a true heart cry '_Abba, Father_,' be they of what paltry little\nso-called church, other than the body of Christ, they may, or of no\notherat all, are the sons and daughters of God.\n\nSt. Paul uses the word also in his epistle to the Ephesians, the first\nchapter, the fifth verse. 'Having predestinated us unto the adoption of\nchildren by Jesus Christ to himself,' says the authorized version;\n'Having foreordained us unto adoption as sons through Jesus Christ unto\nhimself,' says the revised--and I see little to choose between them:\nneither gives the meaning of St. Paul. If there is anything gained by\nthe addition of the words 'of children' in the one case, and 'as sons'\nin the other, to translate the word for which 'adoption' alone is made\nto serve in the other passages, the advantage is only to the minus-side,\nto that of the wrong interpretation.\n\nChildren we were; true sons we could never be, save through The Son. He\nbrothers us. He takes us to the knees of the Father, beholding whose\nface we grow sons indeed. Never could we have known the heart of the\nFather, never felt it possible to love him as sons, but for him who\ncast himself into the gulf that yawned between us. In and through him\nwe were foreordained to the sonship: sonship, even had we never sinned,\nnever could we reach without him. We should have been little children\nloving the Father indeed, but children far from the sonhood that\nunderstands and adores. 'For as many as are led by the spirit of God,\nthese are sons of God;' 'If any man hath not the spirit of Christ, he\nis none of his;' yea, if we have not each other's spirits, we do not\nbelong to each other. There is no unity but having the same spirit.\nThere is but one spirit, that of truth.\n\nIt remains to note yet another passage.\n\nThat never in anything he wrote was it St. Paul's intention to\ncontribute towards a system of theology, it were easy to show: one sign\nof the fact is, that he does not hesitate to use this word he has\nperhaps himself made, in different, and apparently opposing, though by\nno means contradictory senses: his meanings always vivify each other.\nHis ideas are so large that they tax his utterance and make him strain\nthe use of words, but there is no danger to the honest heart, which\nalone he regards, of misunderstanding them, though 'the ignorant and\nunsteadfast wrest them' yet. At one time he speaks of the sonship as\nbeing the possession of the Israelite, at another as his who has\nlearned to cry _Abba, Father_; and here, in the passage I have now last\nto consider, that from the 18th to the 25th verse of this same eighth\nchapter of his epistle to the Romans, he speaks of the _niothesia_ as\nyet to come--and as if it had to do, not with our spiritual, but our\nbodily condition. This use of the word, however, though not the same\nuse as we find anywhere else, is nevertheless entirely consistent with\nhis other uses of it.\n\nThe 23rd verse says, 'And not only so, but ourselves also, which have\nthe first fruits of the spirit, even we ourselves groan within\nourselves, waiting for adoption, the redemption of our body.'\n\nIt is nowise difficult to discern that the ideas in this and the main\nuse are necessarily associated and more than consistent. The putting of\na son in his true, his foreordained place, has outward relations as\nwell as inward reality; the outward depends on the inward, arises from\nit, and reveals it. When the child whose condition under tutors had\npassed away, took his position as a son, he would naturally change his\ndress and modes of life: when God's children cease to be slaves doing\nright from law and duty, and become his sons doing right from the\nessential love of God and their neighbour, they too must change the\ngarments of their slavery for the robes of liberty, lay aside the body\nof this death, and appear in bodies like that of Christ, with whom they\ninherit of the Father. But many children who have learned to cry _Abba,\nFather_, are yet far from the liberty of the sons of God. Sons they are\nand no longer children, yet they groan as being still in bondage!--\nPlainly the apostle has no thought of working out an idea; with burning\nheart he is writing a letter: he gives, nevertheless, lines plentifully\nsufficient for us to work out his idea, and this is how it takes clear\nshape:--\n\nWe are the sons of God the moment we lift up our hearts, seeking to be\nsons--the moment we begin to cry _Father_. But as the world must be\nredeemed in a few men to begin with, so the soul is redeemed in a few\nof its thoughts and wants and ways, to begin with: it takes a long time\nto finish the new creation of this redemption. Shall it have taken\nmillions of years to bring the world up to the point where a few of its\ninhabitants shall desire God, and shall the creature of this new birth\nbe perfected in a day? The divine process may indeed now go on with\ntenfold rapidity, for the new factor of man's fellow-working, for the\nsake of which the whole previous array of means and forces existed, is\nnow developed; but its end is yet far below the horizon of man's\nvision:--\n\nThe apostle speaks at one time of the thing as to come, at another time\nas done--when it is but commenced: our ways of thought are such. A\nman's heart may leap for joy the moment when, amidst the sea-waves, a\nstrong hand has laid hold of the hair of his head; he may cry aloud, 'I\nam saved;'--and he may be safe, but he is not saved; this is far from a\nsalvation to suffice. So are we sons when we begin to cry Father, but\nwe are far from perfected sons. So long as there is in us the least\ntaint of distrust, the least lingering of hate or fear, we have not\nreceived the sonship; we have not such life in us as raised the body of\nJesus; we have not attained to the resurrection of the dead--by which\nword, in his epistle to the Philippians (iii. 2), St. Paul means, I\nthink, the same thing as here he means by the sonship which he puts in\napposition with the redemption of the body:--\n\nUntil our outward condition is that of sons royal, sons divine; so long\nas the garments of our souls, these mortal bodies, are mean--torn and\ndragged and stained; so long as we groan under sickness and weakness\nand weariness, old age, forgetfulness, and all heavy things; so long we\nhave not yet received the sonship in full--we are but getting ready one\nday to creep from our chrysalids, and spread the great heaven-storming\nwings of the psyches of God. We groan being burdened; we groan, waiting\nfor the sonship--to wit, the redemption of the body--the uplifting of\nthe body to be a fit house and revelation of the indwelling spirit--\nnay, like that of Christ, a fit temple and revelation of the deeper\nindwelling God. For we shall always need bodies to manifest and reveal\nus to each other--bodies, then, that fit the soul with absolute truth\nof presentment and revelation. Hence the revealing of the sons of God,\nspoken of in the 19th verse, is the same thing as the redemption of the\nbody; the body is redeemed when it is made fit for the sons of God;\nthen it is a revelation of them--the thing it was meant for, and\nalways, more or less imperfectly, was. Such it shall be, when truth is\nstrong enough in the sons of God to make it such--for it is the soul\nthat makes the body. When we are the sons of God in heart and soul,\nthen shall we be the sons of God in body too: 'we shall be like him,\nfor we shall see him as he is.'\n\nI care little to speculate on the kind of this body; two things only I\nwill say, as needful to be believed, concerning it: first, that it will\nbe a body to show the same self as before--but, second, a body to show\nthe being truly--without the defects, that is, and imperfections of the\nformer bodily revelation. Even through their corporeal presence shall\nwe then know our own infinitely better, and find in them endlessly more\ndelight, than before. These things we must believe, or distrust the\nFather of our spirits. Till this redemption of the body arrives, the\n[Greek: uiothesia] is not wrought out, is only upon the way. Nor can it\ncome but by our working out the salvation he is working in us.\n\nThis redemption of the body--its deliverance from all that is amiss,\nawry, unfinished, weak, worn out, all that prevents the revelation of\nthe sons of God, is called by the apostle, not certainly the\n_adoption_, but the [Greek: niothesia], the sonship in full\nmanifestation. It is the slave yet left in the sons and daughters of\nGod that has betrayed them into even permitting the word _adoption_ to\nmislead them!\n\nTo see how the whole utterance hangs together, read from the 18th verse\nto the 25th, especially noticing the 19th: 'For the earnest expectation\nof the creation waiteth for the revealing' (_the outshining_) 'of the\nsons of God.' When the sons of God show as they are, taking, with the\ncharacter, the appearance and the place that belong to their sonship;\nwhen the sons of God sit with _the_ Son of God on the throne of their\nFather; then shall they be in potency of fact the lords of the lower\ncreation, the bestowers of liberty and peace upon it; then shall the\ncreation, subjected to vanity for their sakes, find its freedom in\ntheir freedom, its gladness in their sonship. The animals will glory to\nserve them, will joy to come to them for help. Let the heartless scoff,\nthe unjust despise! the heart that cries _Abba, Father_, cries to the\nGod of the sparrow and the oxen; nor can hope go too far in hoping what\nthat God will do for the creation that now groaneth and travaileth in\npain because our higher birth is delayed. Shall not the judge of all\nthe earth do right? Shall my heart be more compassionate than his?\n\nIf to any reader my interpretation be unsatisfactory, I pray him not to\nspend his strength in disputing my faith, but in making sure his own\nprogress on the way to freedom and sonship. Only to the child of God is\ntrue judgment possible. Were it otherwise, what would it avail to prove\nthis one or that right or wrong? Right opinion on questions the most\nmomentous will deliver no man. Cure for any ill in me or about me there\nis none, but to become the son of God I was born to be. Until such I\nam, until Christ is born in me, until I am revealed a son of God, pain\nand trouble will endure--and God grant they may! Call this presumption,\nand I can only widen my assertion: until you yourself are the son of\nGod you were born to be, you will never find life a good thing. If I\npresume for myself, I presume for you also. But I do not presume. Thus\nhave both Jesus Christ and his love-slave Paul represented God--as a\nFather perfect in love, grand in self-forgetfulness, supreme in\nrighteousness, devoted to the lives he has uttered. I will not believe\nless of the Father than I can conceive of glory after the lines he has\ngiven me, after the radiation of his glory in the face of his Son. He\nis the express image of the Father, by which we, his imperfect images,\nare to read and understand him: imperfect, we have yet perfection\nenough to spell towards the perfect.\n\nIt comes to this then, after the grand theory of the apostle:--The\nworld exists for our education; it is the nursery of God's children,\nserved by troubled slaves, troubled because the children are themselves\nslaves--children, but not good children. Beyond its own will or\nknowledge, the whole creation works for the development of the children\nof God into the sons of God. When at last the children have arisen and\ngone to their Father; when they are clothed in the best robe, with a\nring on their hands and shoes on their feet, shining out at length in\ntheir natural, their predestined sonship; then shall the mountains and\nthe hills break forth before them into singing, and all the trees of\nthe field shall clap their hands. Then shall the wolf dwell with the\nlamb, and the leopard lie down with the kid and the calf, and the young\nlion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. Then\nshall the fables of a golden age, which faith invented, and unbelief\nthrew into the past, unfold their essential reality, and the tale of\nparadise prove itself a truth by becoming a fact. Then shall every\nideal show itself a necessity, aspiration although satisfied put forth\nyet longer wings, and the hunger after righteousness know itself\nblessed. Then first shall we know what was in the Shepherd's mind when\nhe said, '_I came that they may have life, and may have it\nabundantly_.'\n\n\n\n\n                                  LIFE.\n\n\n'_I came that they may have life, and may have it abundantly_.'--St.\nJohn x. 10.\n\nIn a word, He came to supply all our lack--from the root outward; for\nwhat is it we need but more life? What does the infant need but more\nlife? What does the bosom of his mother give him but life in abundance?\nWhat does the old man need, whose limbs are weak and whose pulse is\nlow, but more of the life which seems ebbing from him? Weary with\nfeebleness, he calls upon death, but in reality it is life he wants. It\nis but the encroaching death in him that desires death. He longs for\nrest, but death cannot rest; death would be as much an end to rest as\nto weariness: even weakness cannot rest; it takes strength as well as\nweariness to rest. How different is the weariness of the strong man\nafter labour unduly prolonged, from the weariness of the sick man who\nin the morning cries out, 'Would God it were evening!' and in the\nevening, 'Would God it were morning!' Low-sunk life imagines itself\nweary of life, but it is death, not life, it is weary of. Never a cry\nwent out after the opposite of life from any soul that knew what life\nis. Why does the poor, worn, out-worn suicide seek death? Is it not in\nreality to escape from death?--from the death of homelessness and\nhunger and cold; the death of failure, disappointment, and distraction;\nthe death of the exhaustion of passion; the death of madness--of a\nhousehold he cannot rule; the death of crime and fear of discovery? He\nseeks the darkness because it seems a refuge from the death which\npossesses him. He is a creature possessed by death; what he calls his\nlife is but a dream full of horrible phantasms.\n\n'More life!' is the unconscious prayer of all creation, groaning and\ntravailing for the redemption of its lord, the son who is not yet a\nson. Is not the dumb cry to be read in the faces of some of the\nanimals, in the look of some of the flowers, and in many an aspect of\nwhat we call Nature? All things are possible with God, but all things\nare not easy. It is easy for him _to be_, for there he has to do with\nhis own perfect will: it is not easy for him to create--that is, after\nthe grand fashion which alone will satisfy his glorious heart and will,\nthe fashion in which he is now creating us. In the very nature of\nbeing--that is, God--it must be hard--and divine history shows how\nhard--to create that which shall be not himself, yet like himself. The\nproblem is, so far to separate from himself that which must yet on him\nbe ever and always and utterly dependent, that it shall have the\nexistence of an individual, and be able to turn and regard him--choose\nhim, and say, 'I will arise and go to my Father,' and so develop in\nitself the highest _Divine_ of which it is capable--the will for the\ngood against the evil--the will to be one with the life whence it has\ncome, and in which it still is--the will to close the round of its\nprocession in its return, so working the perfection of reunion--to\nshape in its own life the ring of eternity--to live immediately,\nconsciously, and active-willingly from its source, from its own very\nlife--to restore to the beginning the end that comes of that\nbeginning--to be the thing the maker thought of when he willed, ere he\nbegan to work its being.\n\nI imagine the difficulty of doing this thing, of effecting this\ncreation, this separation from himself such that will in the creature\nshall be possible--I imagine, I say, the difficulty of such creation so\ngreat, that for it God must begin inconceivably far back in the\ninfinitesimal regions of beginnings--not to say before anything in the\nleast resembling man, but eternal miles beyond the last farthest-pushed\ndiscovery in _protoplasm_--to set in motion that division from himself\nwhich in its grand result should be individuality, consciousness,\nchoice, and conscious choice--choice at last pure, being the choice of\nthe right, the true, the divinely harmonious. Hence the final end of\nthe separation is not individuality; that is but a means to it; the\nfinal end is oneness--an impossibility without it. For there can be no\nunity, no delight of love, no harmony, no good in being, where there is\nbut one. Two at least are needed for oneness; and the greater the\nnumber of individuals, the greater, the lovelier, the richer, the\ndiviner is the possible unity.\n\nGod is life, and the will-source of life. In the outflowing of that\nlife, I know him; and when I am told that he is love, I see that if he\nwere not love he would not, could not create. I know nothing deeper in\nhim than love, nor believe there is in him anything deeper than love--\nnay, that there can be anything deeper than love. The being of God is\nlove, therefore creation. I imagine that from all eternity he has been\ncreating. As he saw it was not good for man to be alone, so has he\nnever been alone himself;--from all eternity the Father has had the\nSon, and the never-begun existence of that Son I imagine an easy\noutgoing of the Father's nature; while to make other beings--beings\nlike us, I imagine the labour of a God, an eternal labour. Speaking\nafter our poor human fashions of thought--the only fashions possible to\nus--I imagine that God has never been contented to be alone even with\nthe Son of his love, the prime and perfect idea of humanity, but that\nhe has from the first willed and laboured to give existence to other\ncreatures who should be blessed with his blessedness--creatures whom he\nis now and always has been developing into likeness with that Son--a\nlikeness for long to be distant and small, but a likeness to be for\never growing: perhaps never one of them yet, though unspeakably\nblessed, has had even an approximate idea of the blessedness in store\nfor him.\n\nLet no soul think that to say God undertook a hard labour in willing\nthat many sons and daughters should be sharers of the divine nature, is\nto abate his glory! The greater the difficulty, the greater is the\nglory of him who does the thing he has undertaken--without shadow of\ncompromise, with no half-success, but with a triumph of absolute\nsatisfaction to innumerable radiant souls! He knew what it would\ncost!--not energy of will alone, or merely that utterance and\nseparation from himself which is but the first of creation, though that\nmay well itself be pain--but sore suffering such as we cannot imagine,\nand could only be God's, in the bringing out, call it birth or\ndevelopment, of the God-life in the individual soul--a suffering still\nrenewed, a labour thwarted ever by that soul itself, compelling him to\ntake, still at the cost of suffering, the not absolutely best, only the\nbest possible means left him by the resistance of his creature. Man\nfinds it hard to get what he wants, because he does not want the best;\nGod finds it hard to give, because he would give the best, and man will\nnot take it. What Jesus did, was what the Father is always doing; the\nsuffering he endured was that of the Father from the foundation of the\nworld, reaching its climax in the person of his Son. God provides the\nsacrifice; the sacrifice is himself. He is always, and has ever been,\nsacrificing himself to and for his creatures. It lies in the very\nessence of his creation of them. The worst heresy, next to that of\ndividing religion and righteousness, is to divide the Father from the\nSon--in thought or feeling or action or intent; to represent the Son as\ndoing that which the Father does not himself do. Jesus did nothing but\nwhat the Father did and does. If Jesus suffered for men, it was because\nhis Father suffers for men; only he came close to men through his body\nand their senses, that he might bring their spirits close to his Father\nand their Father, so giving them life, and losing what could be lost of\nhis own. He is God our Saviour: it is because God is our Saviour that\nJesus is our Saviour. The God and Father of Jesus Christ could never\npossibly be satisfied with less than giving himself to his own! The\nunbeliever may easily imagine a better God than the common theology of\nthe country offers him; but not the lovingest heart that ever beat can\neven reflect the length and breadth and depth and height of that love\nof God which shows itself in his Son--one, and of one mind, with\nhimself. The whole history is a divine agony to give divine life to\ncreatures. The outcome of that agony, the victory of that creative and\nagain creative energy, will be radiant life, whereof joy unspeakable is\nthe flower. Every child will look in the eyes of the Father, and the\neyes of the Father will receive the child with an infinite embrace.\n\nThe life the Lord came to give us is a life exceeding that of the\nhighest undivine man, by far more than the life of that man exceeds the\nlife of the animal the least human. More and more of it is for each who\nwill receive it, and to eternity. The Father has given to the Son to\nhave life in himself; that life is our light. We know life only as\nlight; it is the life in us that makes us see. All the growth of the\nChristian is the more and more life he is receiving. At first his\nreligion may hardly be distinguishable from the mere prudent desire to\nsave his soul; but at last he loses that very soul in the glory of\nlove, and so saves it; self becomes but the cloud on which the white\nlight of God divides into harmonies unspeakable.\n\n'In the midst of life we are in death,' said one; it is more true that\nin the midst of death we are in life. Life is the only reality; what\nmen call death is but a shadow--a word for that which cannot be--a\nnegation, owing the very idea of itself to that which it would deny.\nBut for life there could be no death. If God were not, there would not\neven be nothing. Not even nothingness preceded life. Nothingness owes\nits very idea to existence.\n\nOne form of the question between matter and spirit is, which was first,\nand caused the other--things or thoughts; whether things without\nthought caused thought, or thought without things caused things. To\nthose who cannot doubt that thought was first, causally preceding the\nearliest material show, it is easily plain that death can be the cure\nfor nothing, that the cure for everything must be life--that the ills\nwhich come with existence, are from its imperfection, not of itself--\nthat what we need is more of it. We who _are_, have nothing to do with\ndeath; our relations are alone with life. The thing that can mourn can\nmourn only from lack; it cannot mourn because of being, but because of\nnot enough being. We are vessels of life, not yet full of the wine of\nlife; where the wine does not reach, there the clay cracks, and aches,\nand is distressed. Who would therefore pour out the wine that is there,\ninstead of filling to the brim with more wine! All the being must\npartake of essential being; life must be assisted, upheld, comforted,\nevery part, with life. Life is the law, the food, the necessity of\nlife. Life is everything. Many doubtless mistake the joy of life for\nlife itself; and, longing after the joy, languish with a thirst at once\npoor and inextinguishable; but even that thirst points to the one\nspring. These love self, not life, and self is but the shadow of life.\nWhen it is taken for life itself, and set as the man's centre, it\nbecomes a live death in the man, a devil he worships as his god; the\nworm of the death eternal he clasps to his bosom as his one joy!\n\nThe soul compact of harmonies has more life, a larger being, than the\nsoul consumed of cares; the sage is a larger life than the clown; the\npoet is more alive than the man whose life flows out that money may\ncome in; the man who loves his fellow is infinitely more alive than he\nwhose endeavour is to exalt himself above him; the man who strives to\nbe better, than he who longs for the praise of the many; but the man to\nwhom God is all in all, who feels his life-roots hid with Christ in\nGod, who knows himself the inheritor of all wealth and worlds and ages,\nyea, of power essential and in itself, that man has begun to be alive\nindeed.\n\nLet us in all the troubles of life remember--that our one lack is\nlife--that what we need is more life--more of the life-making presence\nin us making us more, and more largely, alive. When most oppressed,\nwhen most weary of life, as our unbelief would phrase it, let us\nbethink ourselves that it is in truth the inroad and presence of death\nwe are weary of. When most inclined to sleep, let us rouse ourselves to\nlive. Of all things let us avoid the false refuge of a weary collapse,\na hopeless yielding to things as they are. It is the life in us that is\ndiscontented; we need more of what is discontented, not more of the\ncause of its discontent. Discontent, I repeat, is the life in us that\nhas not enough of itself, is not enough to itself, so calls for more.\nHe has the victory who, in the midst of pain and weakness, cries out,\nnot for death, not for the repose of forgetfulness, but for strength to\nfight; for more power, more consciousness of being, more God in him;\nwho, when sorest wounded, says with Sir Andrew Barton in the old\nballad:--\n\n      Fight on my men, says Sir Andrew Barton,\n        I am hurt, but I am not slain;\n      I'll lay me down and bleed awhile,\n        And then I'll rise and fight again;\n\n\n--and that with no silly notion of playing the hero--what have\ncreatures like us to do with heroism who are not yet barely\nhonest!--but because so to fight is the truth, and the only way.\n\nIf, in the extreme of our exhaustion, there should come to us, as to\nElijah when he slept in the desert, an angel to rouse us, and show us\nthe waiting bread and water, how would we carry ourselves? Would we, in\nfaint unwillingness to rise and eat, answer, 'Lo I am weary unto death!\nThe battle is gone from me! It is lost, or unworth gaining! The world\nis too much for me! Its forces will not heed me! They have worn me out!\nI have wrought no salvation even for my own, and never should work any,\nwere I to live for ever! It is enough; let me now return whence I came;\nlet me be gathered to my fathers and be at rest!'? I should be loth to\nthink that, if the enemy, in recognizable shape, came roaring upon us,\nwe would not, like the red-cross knight, stagger, heavy sword in\nnerveless arm, to meet him; but, in the feebleness of foiled effort, it\nwants yet more faith to rise and partake of the food that shall bring\nback more effort, more travail, more weariness. The true man trusts in\na strength which is not his, and which he does not feel, does not even\nalways desire; believes in a power that seems far from him, which is\nyet at the root of his fatigue itself and his need of rest--rest as far\nfrom death as is labour. To trust in the strength of God in our\nweakness; to say, 'I am weak: so let me be: God is strong;' to seek\nfrom him who is our life, as the natural, simple cure of all that is\namiss with us, power to do, and be, and live, even when we are\nweary,--this is the victory that overcometh the world. To believe in\nGod our strength in the face of all seeming denial, to believe in him\nout of the heart of weakness and unbelief, in spite of numbness and\nweariness and lethargy; to believe in the wide-awake real, through all\nthe stupefying, enervating, distorting dream; to will to wake, when the\nvery being seems athirst for a godless repose;--these are the broken\nsteps up to the high fields where repose is but a form of strength,\nstrength but a form of joy, joy but a form of love. 'I am weak,' says\nthe true soul, 'but not so weak that I would not be strong; not so\nsleepy that I would not see the sun rise; not so lame but that I would\nwalk! Thanks be to him who perfects strength in weakness, and gives to\nhis beloved while they sleep!'\n\nIf we will but let our God and Father work his will with us, there can\nbe no limit to his enlargement of our existence, to the flood of life\nwith which he will overflow our consciousness. We have no conception of\nwhat life might be, of how vast the consciousness of which we could be\nmade capable. Many can recall some moment in which life seemed richer\nand fuller than ever before; to some, such moments arrive mostly in\ndreams: shall soul, awake or asleep, infold a bliss greater than its\nLife, the living God, can seal, perpetuate, enlarge? Can the human\ntwilight of a dream be capable of generating or holding a fuller life\nthan the morning of divine activity? Surely God could at any moment\ngive to a soul, by a word to that soul, by breathing afresh into the\nsecret caves of its being, a sense of life before which the most\nexultant ecstasy of earthly triumph would pale to ashes! If ever\nsunlit, sail-crowded sea, under blue heaven flecked with wind-chased\nwhite, filled your soul as with a new gift of life, think what sense of\nexistence must be yours, if he whose thought has but fringed its\ngarment with the outburst of such a show, take his abode with you, and\nwhile thinking the gladness of a God inside your being, let you know\nand feel that he is carrying you as a father in his bosom!\n\nI have been speaking as if life and the consciousness of it were one;\nbut the consciousness of life is not life; it is only the outcome of\nlife. The real life is that which is of and by itself--is life because\nit wills itself--which is, in the active, not the passive sense: this\ncan only be God. But in us there ought to be a life correspondent to\nthe life that is God's; in us also must be the life that wills\nitself--a life in so far resembling the self-existent life and\npartaking of its image, that it has a share in its own being. There is\nan original act possible to the man, which must initiate the reality of\nhis existence. He must live in and by willing to live. A tree lives; I\nhardly doubt it has some vague consciousness, known by but not to\nitself, only to the God who made it; I trust that life in its lowest\nforms is on the way to thought and blessedness, is in the process of\nthat separation, so to speak, from God, in which consists the creation\nof living souls; but the life of these lower forms is not life in the\nhigh sense--in the sense in which the word is used in the Bible: true\nlife knows and rules itself; the eternal life is life come awake. The\nlife of the most exalted of the animals is not such whatever it may\nbecome, and however I may refuse to believe their fate and being fixed\nas we see them. But as little as any man or woman would be inclined to\ncall the existence of the dog, looking strange lack out of his wistful\neyes, an existence to be satisfied with--his life an end sufficient in\nitself, as little could I, looking on the human pleasure, the human\nrefinement, the common human endeavour around me, consent to regard\nthem as worthy the name of life. What in them is true dwells amidst an\nunchallenged corruption, demanding repentance and labour and prayer for\nits destruction. The condition of most men and women seems to me a life\nin death, an abode in unwhited sepulchres, a possession of withering\nforms by spirits that slumber, and babble in their dreams. That they do\nnot feel it so, is nothing. The sow wallowing in the mire may rightly\nassert it her way of being clean, but theirs is not the life of the\nGod-born. The day must come when they will hide their faces with such\nshame as the good man yet feels at the memory of the time when he lived\nlike them. There is nothing for man worthy to be called life, but the\nlife eternal--God's life, that is, after his degree shared by the man\nmade to be eternal also. For he is in the image of God, intended to\npartake of the life of the most high, to be alive as he is alive. Of\nthis life the outcome and the light is righteousness, love, grace,\ntruth; but the life itself is a thing that will not be defined, even as\nGod will not be defined: it is a power, the formless cause of form. It\nhas no limits whereby to be defined. It shows itself to the soul that\nis hungering and thirsting after righteousness, but that soul cannot\nshow it to another, save in the shining of its own light. The ignorant\nsoul understands by this life eternal only an endless elongation of\nconsciousness; what God means by it is a being like his own, a being\nbeyond the attack of decay or death, a being so essential that it has\nno relation whatever to nothingness; a something which is, and can\nnever go to that which is not, for with that it never had to do, but\ncame out of the heart of Life, the heart of God, the fountain of being;\nan existence partaking of the divine nature, and having nothing in\ncommon, any more than the Eternal himself, with what can pass or cease:\nGod owes his being to no one, and his child has no lord but his Father.\n\nThis life, this eternal life, consists for man in absolute oneness with\nGod and all divine modes of being, oneness with every phase of right\nand harmony. It consists in a love as deep as it is universal, as\nconscious as it is unspeakable; a love that can no more be reasoned\nabout than life itself--a love whose presence is its all-sufficing\nproof and justification, whose absence is an annihilating defect: he\nwho has it not cannot believe in it: how should death believe in life,\nthough all the birds of God are singing jubilant over the empty tomb!\nThe delight of such a being, the splendour of a consciousness rushing\nfrom the wide open doors of the fountain of existence, the ecstasy of\nthe spiritual sense into which the surge of life essential, immortal,\nincreate, flows in silent fulness from the heart of hearts--what may\nit, what must it not be, in the great day of God and the individual\nsoul!\n\nWhat then is our practical relation to the life original? What have we\nto do towards the attaining to the resurrection from the dead? If we\ndid not make, could not have made ourselves, how can we, now we are\nmade, do anything at the unknown roots of our being? What relation of\nconscious unity can be betwixt the self-existent God, and beings who\nlive at the will of another, beings who could not refuse to be--cannot\neven cease to be, but must, at the will of that other, go on living,\nweary of what is not life, able to assert their relation to life only\nby refusing to be content with what is not life?\n\nThe self-existent God is that other by whose will we live; so the links\nof the unity must already exist, and can but require to be brought\ntogether. For the link in our being wherewith to close the circle of\nimmortal oneness with the Father, we must of course search the deepest\nof man's nature: there only, in all assurance, can it be found. And\nthere we do find it. For the _will_ is the deepest, the strongest, the\ndivinest thing in man; so, I presume, is it in God, for such we find it\nin Jesus Christ. Here, and here only, in the relation of the two wills,\nGod's and his own, can a man come into vital contact--on the eternal\nidea, in no one-sided unity of completest dependence, but in willed\nharmony of dual oneness--with the All-in-all. When a man can and does\nentirely say, 'Not my will, but thine be done'--when he so wills the\nwill of God as to do it, then is he one with God--one, as a true son\nwith a true father. When a man wills that his being be conformed to the\nbeing of his origin, which is the life in his life, causing and bearing\nhis life, therefore absolutely and only of its kind, one with it more\nand deeper than words or figures can say--to the life which is itself,\nonly more of itself, and more than itself, causing itself--when the man\nthus accepts his own causing life, _and sets himself to live the will\nof that causing life_, humbly eager after the privileges of his\norigin,--thus receiving God, he becomes, in the act, a partaker of the\ndivine nature, a true son of the living God, and an heir of all he\npossesses: by the obedience of a son, he receives into himself the very\nlife of the Father. Obedience is the joining of the links of the\neternal round. Obedience is but the other side of the creative will.\nWill is God's will, obedience is man's will; the two make one. The\nroot-life, knowing well the thousand troubles it would bring upon him,\nhas created, and goes on creating other lives, that, though incapable\nof self-being, they may, by willed obedience, share in the bliss of his\nessential self-ordained being. If we do the will of God, eternal life\nis ours--no mere continuity of existence, for that in itself is\nworthless as hell, but a being that is one with the essential Life, and\nso within his reach to fill with the abundant and endless out-goings of\nhis love. Our souls shall be vessels ever growing, and ever as they\ngrow, filled with the more and more life proceeding from the Father and\nthe Son, from God the ordaining, and God the obedient. What the delight\nof the being, what the abundance of the life he came that we might\nhave, we can never know until we have it. But even now to the holy\nfancy it may sometimes seem too glorious to support--as if we must die\nof very life--of more being than we could bear--to awake to a yet\nhigher life, and be filled with a wine which our souls were heretofore\ntoo weak to hold! To be for one moment aware of such pure simple love\ntowards but one of my fellows as I trust I shall one day have towards\neach, must of itself bring a sense of life such as the utmost effort of\nmy imagination can but feebly shadow now--a mighty glory of\nconsciousness!--not to be always present, indeed, for my love, and not\nmy glory in that love, is my life. There would be, even in that one\nlove, in the simple purity of a single affection such as we were\ncreated to generate, and intended to cherish, towards all, an expansion\nof life inexpressible, unutterable. For we are made for love, not for\nself. Our neighbour is our refuge; _self_ is our demon-foe. Every man\nis the image of God to every man, and in proportion as we love him, we\nshall know the sacred fact. The precious thing to human soul is, and\none day shall be known to be, every human soul. And if it be so between\nman and man, how will it not be betwixt the man and his maker, between\nthe child and his eternal Father, between the created and the creating\nLife? Must not the glory of existence be endlessly redoubled in the\ninfinite love of the creature--for all love is infinite--to the\ninfinite God, the great one life, than whom is no other--only shadows,\nlovely shadows of him!\n\nReader to whom my words seem those of inflation and foolish excitement,\nit can be nothing to thee to be told that I seem to myself to speak\nonly the words of truth and soberness; but what if the cause why they\nseem other to thy mind be--not merely that thou art not whole, but that\nthy being nowise thirsts after harmony, that thou art not of the truth,\nthat thou hast not yet begun to live? How should the reveller, issuing\nworn and wasted from the haunts where the violent seize joy by force to\nfind her perish in their arms--how should such reveller, I say, break\nforth and sing with the sons of the morning, when the ocean of light\nbursts from the fountain of the east? As little canst thou, with thy\nmind full of petty cares, or still more petty ambitions, understand the\ngroaning and travailing of the creation. It may indeed be that thou art\nhonestly desirous of saving thy own wretched soul, but as yet thou\ncanst know but little of thy need of him who is _the first and the last\nand the living one_.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE FEAR OF GOD.\n\n\n     _'And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as one dead. And he\n     laid his right hand upon me, saying, Fear not; I am the first\n     and the last and the Living one.'_--Rev. i. 17, 18.\n\nIt is not alone the first beginnings of religion that are full of fear.\nSo long as love is imperfect, there is room for torment. That lore only\nwhich fills the heart--and nothing but love can fill any heart--is able\nto cast out fear, leaving no room for its presence. What we find in the\nbeginnings of religion, will hold in varying degree, until the\nreligion, that is the love, be perfected.\n\nThe thing that is unknown, yet known to be, will always be more or less\nformidable. When it is known as immeasurably greater than we, and as\nhaving claims and making demands upon us, the more vaguely these are\napprehended, the more room is there for anxiety; and when the\nconscience is not clear, this anxiety may well mount to terror.\nAccording to the nature of the mind which occupies itself with the idea\nof the Supreme, whether regarded as maker or ruler, will be the kind\nand degree of the terror. To this terror need belong no exalted ideas\nof God; those fear him most who most imagine him like their own evil\nselves, only beyond them in power, easily able to work his arbitrary\nwill with them. That they hold him but a little higher than themselves,\ntends nowise to unity with him: who so far apart as those on the same\nlevel of hate and distrust? Power without love, dependence where is no\nrighteousness, wake a worship without devotion, a loathliness of\nservile flattery. Neither, where the notion of God is better, but the\nconscience is troubled, will his goodness do much to exclude\napprehension. The same consciousness of evil and of offence which gave\nrise to the bloody sacrifice, is still at work in the minds of most who\ncall themselves Christians. Naturally the first emotion of man towards\nthe being he calls God, but of whom he knows so little, is fear.\n\nWhere it is possible that fear should exist, it is well it should\nexist, cause continual uneasiness, and be cast out by nothing less than\nlove. In him who does not know God, and must be anything but satisfied\nwith himself, fear towards God is as reasonable as it is natural, and\nserves powerfully towards the development of his true humanity. Neither\nthe savage, nor the self-sufficient sage, is rightly human. It matters\nnothing whether we regard the one or the other as degenerate or as\nundeveloped--neither I say is human; the humanity is there, but has to\nbe born in each, and for this birth everything natural must do its\npart; fear is natural, and has a part to perform nothing but itself\ncould perform in the birth of the true humanity. Until love, which is\nthe truth towards God, is able to cast out fear, it is well that fear\nshould hold; it is a bond, however poor, between that which is and that\nwhich creates--a bond that must be broken, but a bond that can be\nbroken only by the tightening of an infinitely closer bond. Verily, God\nmust be terrible to those that are far from him; for they fear he will\ndo, yea, he is doing with them what they do not, cannot desire, and can\nill endure. Such as many men are, such as all without God would become,\nthey must prefer a devil, because of his supreme selfishness, to a God\nwho will die for his creatures, and insists upon giving himself to\nthem, insists upon their being unselfish and blessed like himself. That\nwhich is the power and worth of life they must be, or die; and the\nvague consciousness of this makes them afraid. They love their poor\nexistence as it is; God loves it as it must be--and they fear him.\n\nThe false notions of men of low, undeveloped nature both with regard to\nwhat is good and what the Power requires of them, are such that they\ncannot but fear, and devotion is lost in the sacrifices of\ningratiation: God takes them where they are, accepts whatever they\nhonestly offer, and so helps them to outgrow themselves, preparing them\nto offer the true offering, and to know him whom they ignorantly\nworship. He will not abolish their fear except with the truth of his\nown being. Till they apprehend that, and in order that they may come to\napprehend it, he receives their sacrifices of blood, the invention of\ntheir sore need, only influencing for the time the modes of them. He\nwill destroy the lie that is not all a lie only by the truth which is\nall true. Although he loves them utterly, he does not tell them there\nis nothing in him to make them afraid. That would be to drive them from\nhim for ever. While they are such as they are, there is much in him\nthat cannot but affright them; they ought, they do well to fear him. It\nis, while they remain what they are, the only true relation between\nthem. To remove that fear from their hearts, save by letting them know\nhis love with its purifying fire, a love which for ages, it may be,\nthey cannot know, would be to give them up utterly to the power of\nevil. Persuade men that fear is a vile thing, that it is an insult to\nGod, that he will none of it--while yet they are in love with their own\nwill, and slaves to every movement of passionate impulse, and what will\nthe consequence be? That they will insult God as a discarded idol, a\nsuperstition, a falsehood, as a thing under whose evil influence they\nhave too long groaned, a thing to be cast out and spit upon. After that\nhow much will they learn of him? Nor would it be long ere the old fear\nwould return--with this difference, perhaps, that instead of trembling\nbefore a live energy, they would tremble before powers which formerly\nthey regarded as inanimate, and have now endowed with souls after the\nimagination of their fears. Then would spiritual chaos with all its\nmonsters be come again. God being what he is, a God who loves\nrighteousness; a God who, rather than do an unfair thing, would lay\ndown his Godhead, and assert himself in ceasing to be; a God who, that\nhis creature might not die of ignorance, died as much as a God could\ndie, and that is divinely more than man can die, to give him himself;\nsuch a God, I say, may well look fearful from afar to the creature who\nrecognizes in himself no imperative good; who fears only suffering, and\nhas no aspiration--only wretched ambition! But in proportion as such a\ncreature comes nearer, grows towards him in and for whose likeness he\nwas begun; in proportion, that is, as the eternal right begins to\ndisclose itself to him; in proportion as he becomes capable of the idea\nthat his kind belongs to him as he could never belong to himself;\napproaches the capacity of seeing and understanding that his\nindividuality can be perfected only in the love of his neighbour, and\nthat his being can find its end only in oneness with the source from\nwhich it came; in proportion, I do not say as he sees these things, but\nas he nears the possibility of seeing them, will his terror at the God\nof his life abate; though far indeed from surmising the bliss that\nawaits him, he is drawing more nigh to the goal of his nature, the\ncentral secret joy of sonship to a God who loves righteousness and\nhates iniquity, does nothing he would not permit in his creature,\ndemands nothing of his creature he would not do himself.\n\nThe fire of God, which is his essential being, his love, his creative\npower, is a fire unlike its earthly symbol in this, that it is only at\na distance it burns--that the farther from him, it burns the worse, and\nthat when we turn and begin to approach him, the burning begins to\nchange to comfort, which comfort will grow to such bliss that the heart\nat length cries out with a gladness no other gladness can reach, 'Whom\nhave I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire\nbesides thee!' The glory of being, the essence of life and its joy,\nshining upon the corrupt and deathly, must needs, like the sun, consume\nthe dead, and send corruption down to the dust; that which it burns in\nthe soul is not of the soul, yea, is at utter variance with it; yet so\nclose to the soul is the foul fungous growth sprung from and subsisting\nupon it, that the burning of it is felt through every spiritual nerve:\nwhen the evil parasites are consumed away, that is when the man yields\nhis self and all that self's low world, and returns to his lord and\nGod, then that which, before, he was aware of only as burning, he will\nfeel as love, comfort, strength--an eternal, ever-growing life in him.\nFor now he lives, and life cannot hurt life; it can only hurt death,\nwhich needs and ought to be destroyed. God is life essential, eternal,\nand death cannot live in his sight; for death is corruption, and has no\nexistence in itself, living only in the decay of the things of life. If\nthen any child of the father finds that he is afraid before him, that\nthe thought of God is a discomfort to him, or even a terror, let him\nmake haste--let him not linger to put on any garment, but rush at once\nin his nakedness, a true child, for shelter from his own evil and God's\nterror, into the salvation of the Father's arms, the home whence he was\nsent that he might learn that it was home. What father being evil would\nit not win to see the child with whom he was vexed running to his\nembrace? how much more will not the Father of our spirits, who seeks\nnothing but his children themselves, receive him with open arms!\n\nSelf, accepted as the law of self, is the one demon-enemy of life; God\nis the only Saviour from it, and from all that is not God, for God is\nlife, and all that is not God is death. Life is the destruction of\ndeath, of all that kills, of all that is of death's kind.\n\nWhen John saw the glory of the Son of Man, he fell at his feet as one\ndead. In what way John saw him, whether in what we vaguely call a\nvision, or in as human a way as when he leaned back on his bosom and\nlooked up in his face, I do not now care to ask: it would take all\nglorious shapes of humanity to reveal Jesus, and he knew the right way\nto show himself to John. It seems to me that such words as were spoken\ncan have come from the mouth of no mere vision, can have been allowed\nto enter no merely tranced ear, that the mouth of the very Lord himself\nspoke them, and that none but the living present Jesus could have\nspoken or may be supposed to speak them; while plainly John received\nand felt them as a message he had to give again. There are also,\nstrangely as the whole may affect us, various points in his description\nof the Lord's appearance which commend themselves even to our ignorance\nby their grandeur and fitness. Why then was John overcome with terror?\nWe recall the fact that something akin to terror overwhelmed the minds\nof the three disciples who saw his glory on the mount; but since then\nJohn had leaned on the bosom of his Lord, had followed him to the\njudgment seat and had not denied his name, had borne witness to his\nresurrection and suffered for his sake--and was now 'in the isle that\nis called Patmos, for the word of God and the testimony of Jesus:' why,\nI say, was he, why should he be afraid? No glory even of God _should_\nbreed terror; when a child of God is afraid, it is a sign that the word\n_Father_ is not yet freely fashioned by the child's spiritual mouth.\nThe glory can breed terror only in him who is capable of being\nterrified by it; while he is such it is well the terror should be bred\nand maintained, until the man seek refuge from it in the only place\nwhere it is not--in the bosom of the glory.\n\nThere is one point not distinguishable in the Greek: whether is meant,\n'one like unto _the_ Son of Man,' or, 'one like unto _a_ son of Man:'\nthe authorized version has the former, the revised prefers the latter.\nI incline to the former, and think that John saw him like the man he\nhad known so well, and that it was the too much glory, dimming his\nvision, that made him unsure, not any perceived unlikeness mingling\nwith the likeness. Nothing blinds so much as light, and their very\nglory might well render him unable to distinguish plainly the familiar\nfeatures of _The_ Son of Man.\n\nBut the appearance of The Son of Man was not intended to breed terror\nin the son of man to whom he came. Why then was John afraid? why did\nthe servant of the Lord fall at his feet as one dead? Joy to us that he\ndid, for the words that follow--surely no phantasmic outcome of\nuncertain vision or blinding terror! They bear best sign of their\nsource: however given to his ears, they must be from the heart of our\ngreat Brother, the one Man, Christ Jesus, divinely human!\n\nIt was still and only the imperfection of the disciple, unfinished in\nfaith, so unfinished in everything a man needs, that was the cause of\nhis terror. This is surely implied in the words the Lord said to him\nwhen he fell! The thing that made John afraid, he speaks of as the\nthing that ought to have taken from him all fear. For the glory that he\nsaw, the head and hair pouring from it such a radiance of light that\nthey were white as white wool--snow-white, as his garments on mount\nHermon; in the midst of the radiance his eyes like a flame of fire, and\nhis countenance as the sun shineth in his strength; the darker glow of\nthe feet, yet as of fine brass burning in a furnace--as if they, in\nmemory of the twilight of his humiliation, touching the earth took a\nhumbler glory than his head high in the empyrean of undisturbed\nperfection; the girdle under his breast, golden between the snow and\nthe brass;--what were they all but the effulgence of his glory who was\nhimself the effulgence of the Father's, the poor expression of the\nunutterable verity which was itself the reason why John ought not to be\nafraid?--'He laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I\nam the first and the last, and the living one.'\n\nEndless must be our terror, until we come heart to heart with the\nfire-core of the universe, the first and the last and the living one!\n\nBut oh, the joy to be told, by Power himself, the first and the last,\nthe living one--told what we can indeed then see _must_ be true, but\nwhich we are so slow to believe--that the cure for trembling is the\npresence of Power; that fear cannot stand before Strength; that the\nvisible God is the destruction of death; that the one and only safety\nin the universe, is the perfect nearness of the Living One! God is\nbeing; death is nowhere! What a thing to be taught by the very mouth of\nhim who knows! He told his servant Paul that strength is made perfect\nin weakness; here he instructs his servant John that the thing to be\nafraid of is weakness, not strength. All appearances of strength, such\nas might rightly move terror, are but false appearances; the true\nStrong is the _One_, even as the true Good is the _One_. The Living One\nhas the power of life; the Evil One but the power of death--whose very\nnature is a self-necessity for being destroyed.\n\nBut the glory of the mildest show of the Living One is such, that even\nthe dearest of his apostles, the best of the children of men, is cowed\nat the sight. He has not yet learned that glory itself is a part of his\ninheritance, yea is of the natural condition of his being; that there\nis nothing in the man made in the image of God alien from the most\nglorious of heavenly shows: he has not learned this yet, and falls as\ndead before it--when lo, the voice of him that was and is and is for\nevermore, telling him not to be afraid--for the very reason, the one\nonly reason, that he is the first and the last, the living one! For\nwhat shall be the joy, the peace, the completion of him that lives, but\nclosest contact with his Life?--a contact close as ere he issued from\nthat Life, only in infinitely higher kind, inasmuch as it is now willed\non _both_ sides. He who has had a beginning, needs the indwelling power\nof that beginning to make his being complete--not merely complete to\nhis consciousness, but complete in itself--justified, rounded, ended\nwhere it began--with an 'endless ending.' Then is it complete even as\nGod's is complete, for it is one with the self-existent, blossoming in\nthe air of that world wherein it is rooted, wherein it lives and grows.\nFar indeed from trembling because he on whose bosom he had leaned when\nthe light of his love was all but shut in now stands with the glory of\nthat love streaming forth, John Boanerges ought to have felt the more\njoyful and safe as the strength of the living one was more manifested.\nIt was never because Jesus was clothed in the weakness of the flesh\nthat he was fit to be trusted, but because he was strong with a\nstrength able to take the weakness of the flesh for the garment wherein\nit could best work its work: that strength was now shining out with its\nown light, so lately pent within the revealing veil. Had John been as\nclose in spirit to the Son of Man as he had been in bodily presence, he\nwould have indeed fallen at his feet, but not as one dead--as one too\nfull of joy to stand before the life that was feeding his; he would\nhave fallen, but not to lie there senseless with awe the most holy; he\nwould have fallen to embrace and kiss the feet of him who had now a\nsecond time, as with a resurrection from above, arisen before him, in\nyet heavenlier plenitude of glory.\n\nIt is the man of evil, the man of self-seeking design, not he who would\nfain do right, not he who, even in his worst time, would at once submit\nto the word of the Master, who is reasonably afraid of power. When God\nis no longer the ruler of the world, and there is a stronger than he;\nwhen there is might inherent in evil, and making-energy in that whose\nnature is destruction; then will be the time to stand in dread of\npower. But even then the bad man would have no security against the\nchance of crossing some scheme of the lawless moment, where\ndisintegration is the sole unity of plan, and being ground up and\ndestroyed for some no-idea of the Power of darkness. And then would be\nthe time for the good--no, not to tremble, but to resolve with the Lord\nof light to endure all, to let every billow of evil dash and break upon\nhim, nor do the smallest ill, tell the whitest lie for God--knowing\nthat any territory so gained could belong to no kingdom of heaven,\ncould be but a province of the kingdom of darkness. If there were two\npowers, the one of evil, the other of good, as men have not unnaturally\nin ignorance imagined, his sense of duty would reveal the being born of\nthe good power, while he born of the evil could have no choice but be\nevil. But Good only can create; and if Evil were ever so much the\nstronger, the duty of men would remain the same--to hold by the Living\nOne, and defy Power to its worst--like Prometheus on his rock, defying\nJove, and for ever dying--thus for ever foiling the Evil. For Evil can\ndestroy only itself and its own; it could destroy no enemy--could at\nworst but cause a succession of deaths, from each of which the defiant\nsoul would rise to loftier defiance, to more victorious endurance--\nuntil at length it laughed Evil in the face, and the demon-god shrunk\nwithered before it. In those then who believe that good is the one\npower, and that evil exists only because for a time it subserves,\ncannot help subserving the good, what place can there be for fear? The\nstrong and the good are one; and if our hope coincides with that of\nGod, if it is rooted in his will, what should we do but rejoice in the\neffulgent glory of the First and the Last?\n\nThe First and the Last is the inclosing defence of the castle of our\nbeing; the Master is before and behind; he began, he will see that it\nbe endless. He garrisons the place; he is the living, the live-making\none.\n\nThe reason then for not fearing before God is, that he is all-glorious,\nall-perfect. Our being needs the all-glorious, all-perfect God. The\nchildren can do with nothing less than the Father; they need the\ninfinite one. Beyond all wherein the poor intellect can descry order;\nbeyond all that the rich imagination can devise; beyond all that\nhungriest heart could long, fullest heart thank for--beyond all these,\nas the heavens are higher than the earth, rise the thought, the\ncreation, the love of the God who is in Christ, his God and our God,\nhis Father and our Father.\n\nAges before the birth of Jesus, while, or at least where yet even Moses\nand his law were unknown, the suffering heart of humanity saw and was\npersuaded that nowhere else lay its peace than with the first, the\nlast, the living one:--\n\n _O that thou woudest hide me in the grave,... and remember me!...\n Thou shalt call, and I will answer thee: thou wilt have a desire to\n the work of thine hands_.\n\n\n\n\n\n                            THE VOICE OF JOB.\n\n\n '_O that thou wouldest hide me in the grave, that thou wouldest keep\nme secret, until thy wrath be past, that thou wouldest appoint me a set\ntime, and remember me! If a man die, shall he live again? all the days\nof my appointed time will I wait, till my change come. Thou shalt call,\nand I will answer thee: thou wilt have a desire to the work of thine\nhands_.'--Job xiv. 13-15.\n\nThe book of Job seems to me the most daring of poems: from a position\nof the most vantageless realism, it assaults the very citadel of the\nideal! Its hero is a man seated among the ashes, covered with loathsome\nboils from head to foot, scraping himself with a potsherd. Sore in\nbody, sore in mind, sore in heart, sore in spirit, he is the instance-type\nof humanity in the depths of its misery--all the waves and billows\nof a world of adverse circumstance rolling free over its head. I would\nnot be supposed to use the word _humanity_ either in the abstract, or\nof the mass concrete; I mean the humanity of the individual endlessly\nrepeated: Job, I say, is _the human being_--a centre to the sickening\nassaults of pain, the ghastly invasions of fear: these, one time or\nanother, I presume, threaten to overwhelm every man, reveal him to\nhimself as enslaved to the external, and stir him up to find some way\nout into the infinite, where alone he can rejoice in the liberty that\nbelongs to his nature. Seated in the heart of a leaden despair, Job\ncries aloud to the Might unseen, scarce known, which yet he regards as\nthe God of his life. But no more that of a slave is his cry, than the\ndefiance of Prometheus hurled at Jupiter from his rock. He is more\noverwhelmed than the Titan, for he is in infinite perplexity as well as\npain; but no more than in that of Prometheus is there a trace of the\ncowardly in his cry. Before the Judge he asserts his innocence, and\nwill not grovel--knowing indeed that to bear himself so would be to\ninsult the holy. He feels he has not deserved such suffering, and will\nneither tell nor listen to lies for God.\n\nPrometheus is more stonily patient than Job. Job is nothing of a Stoic,\nbut bemoans himself like a child--a brave child who seems to himself to\nsuffer wrong, and recoils with horror-struck bewilderment from the\nunreason of the thing. Prometheus has to do with a tyrant whom he\ndespises, before whom therefore he endures with unbewailing\nunsubmission, upheld by the consciousness that he is fighting the\nbattle of humanity against an all but all-powerful Selfishness:\nendurance is the only availing weapon against him, and he will endure\nto the ever-delayed end! Job, on the other hand, is the more troubled\nbecause it is He who is at the head and the heart, who is the beginning\nand the end of things, that has laid his hand upon him with such a\nheavy torture that he takes his flesh in his teeth for pain. He cannot,\nwill not believe _him_ a tyrant; but, while he pleads against his\ndealing with himself, loves him, and looks to him as the source of\nlife, the power and gladness of being. He dares not think God unjust,\nbut not therefore can he allow that he has done anything to merit the\ntreatment he is receiving at his hands. Hence is he of necessity in\nprofoundest perplexity, for how can the two things be reconciled? The\nthought has not yet come to him that that which it would be unfair to\nlay upon him as punishment, may yet be laid upon him as favour--by a\nlove supreme which would give him blessing beyond all possible prayer--\nblessing he would not dare to ask if he saw the means necessary to its\ngiving, but blessing for which, once known and understood, he would be\nwilling to endure yet again all that he had undergone. Therefore is he\nso sorely divided in himself. While he must not think of God as having\nmistaken him, the discrepancy that looks like mistake forces itself\nupon him through every channel of thought and feeling. He had nowise\nrelaxed his endeavour after a godly life, yet is the hand of the God he\nhad acknowledged in all his ways uplifted against him, as rarely\nagainst any transgressor!--nor against him alone, for his sons and\ndaughters have been swept away like a generation of vipers! The\npossessions, which made him the greatest of all the men of the east,\nhave been taken from him by fire and wind and the hand of the enemy! He\nis poor as the poorest, diseased as the vilest, bereft of the children\nwhich were his pride and his strength! The worst of all with which fear\ncould have dismayed him is come upon him; and worse now than all, death\nis denied him! His prayer that, as he came naked from the womb, so he\nmay return naked and sore to the bosom of the earth, is not heard; he\nis left to linger in self-loathing, to encounter at every turn of\nagonized thought the awful suggestion that God has cast him off! He\ndoes not deny that there is evil in him; for--'Dost thou open thine\neyes upon such an one,' he pleads, 'and bringest _me_ into judgment\nwith _thee_?' but he does deny that he has been a wicked man, a doer of\nthe thing he knew to be evil: he does deny that there is any guile in\nhim. And who, because he knows and laments the guile in himself, will\ndare deny that there was once a Nathanael in the world? Had Job been\nCalvinist or Lutheran, the book of Job would have been very different.\nHis perplexity would then have been--how God being just, could require\nof a man more than he could do, and punish him as if his sin were that\nof a perfect being who chose to do the evil of which he knew all the\nenormity. For me, I will call no one Master but Christ--and from him I\nlearn that his quarrel with us is that we will not do what we know,\nwill not come to him that we may have life. How endlessly more powerful\nwith men would be expostulation grounded, not on what they have done,\nbut on what they will not do!\n\nJob's child-like judgment of God had never been vitiated and perverted,\nto the dishonouring of the great Father, by any taint of such low\ntheories as, alas! we must call the popular: explanations of God's ways\nby such as did not understand _Him_, they are acceptable to such as do\nnot care to know him, such as are content to stand afar off and stare\nat the cloud whence issue the thunders and the voices; but a burden\nthreatening to sink them to Tophet, a burden grievous to be borne, to\nsuch as would arise and go to the Father. The contradiction between\nJob's idea of the justice of God and the things which had befallen him,\nis constantly haunting him; it has a sting in it far worse than all the\nother misery with which he is tormented; but it is not fixed in the\nhopelessness of hell by an accepted explanation more frightful than\nitself. Let the world-sphinx put as many riddles as she will, she can\ndevour no man while he waits an answer from the world-redeemer. Job\nrefused the explanation of his friends because he knew it false; to\nhave accepted such as would by many in the present day be given him,\nwould have been to be devoured at once of the monster. He simply holds\non to the skirt of God's garment--besieges his door--keeps putting his\nquestion again and again, ever haunting the one source of true answer\nand reconciliation. No answer will do for him but the answer that God\nonly can give; for who but God can justify God's ways to his creature?\n\nFrom a soul whose very consciousness is contradiction, we must not look\nfor logic; misery is rarely logical; it is itself a discord; yet is it\nnothing less than natural that, _feeling_ as if God wronged him, Job\nshould yet be ever yearning after a sight of God, straining into his\npresence, longing to stand face to face with him. He would confront the\nOne. He is convinced, or at least cherishes as his one hope the idea,\nthat, if he could but get God to listen to him, if he might but lay his\ncase clear before him, God would not fail to see how the thing was, and\nwould explain the matter to him--would certainly give him peace; the\nman in the ashes would know that the foundations of the world yet stand\nsure; that God has not closed his eyes, or--horror of all horrors--\nceased to be just! Therefore would he order his words before him, and\nhear what God had to say; surely the Just would set the mind of his\njustice-loving creature at rest!\n\nHis friends, good men, religious men, but of the pharisaic type--that\nis, men who would pay their court to God, instead of coming into his\npresence as children; men with traditional theories which have served\ntheir poor turn, satisfied their feeble intellectual demands, they\nthink others therefore must accept or perish; men anxious to appease\nGod rather than trust in him; men who would rather receive salvation\nfrom God, than God their salvation--these his friends would persuade\nJob to the confession that he was a hypocrite, insisting that such\nthings could not have come upon him but because of wickedness, and as\nthey knew of none open, it must be for some secret vileness. They grow\nangry with him when he refuses to be persuaded against his knowledge of\nhimself. They insist on his hypocrisy, he on his righteousness. Nor may\nwe forget that herein lies not any overweening on the part of Job, for\nthe poem prepares us for the right understanding of the man by telling\nus in the prologue, that God said thus to the accuser of men: 'Hast\nthou considered my servant Job, that there is none like him in the\nearth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth God, and\nescheweth evil?' God gives Job into Satan's hand with confidence in the\nresult; and at the end of the trial approves of what Job has said\nconcerning himself. But the very appearance of God is enough to make\nJob turn against himself: his part was to have trusted God altogether,\nin spite of every appearance, in spite of every reality! He will\njustify himself no more. He sees that though God has not been punishing\nhim for his sins, yet is he far from what he ought to be, and must\nbecome: 'Behold,' he says, 'I am vile; what shall I answer thee? I will\nlay mine hand upon my mouth.'\n\nBut let us look a little closer at Job's way of thinking and speaking\nabout God, and his manner of addressing him--so different from the\npharisaic in all ages, in none more than in our own.\n\nWaxing indignant at the idea that his nature required such treatment--\n'Am I a sea or a whale,' he cries out, 'that thou settest a watch over\nme?' _Thou knowest that I am not wicked_. 'Thou settest a print upon\nthe heels of my feet!'--_that the way I have gone may be known by my\nfootprints!_ To his friends he cries: 'Will ye speak wickedly for God?\nand talk deceitfully for him?' _Do you not know that I am the man I\nsay?_ 'Will ye accept His person?'--_siding with Him against me?_ 'Will\nye contend for God?'--_be special pleaders for him, his partisains_?\n'Is it good that He should search you out? or as one man mocketh\nanother, do ye so mock Him?'--_saying what you do not think_? 'He will\nsurely reprove you, if ye do secretly accept persons!'--_even the\nperson of God himself_!\n\nSuch words are pleasing in the ear of the father of spirits. He is not\na God to accept the flattery which declares him above obligation to his\ncreatures; a God to demand of them a righteousness different from his\nown; a God to deal ungenerously with his poverty-stricken children; a\nGod to make severest demands upon his little ones! Job is confident of\nreceiving justice. There is a strange but most natural conflict of\nfeeling in him. His faith is in truth profound, yet is he always\ncomplaining. It is but the form his faith takes in his trouble. Even\nwhile he declares the hardness and unfitness of the usage he is\nreceiving, he yet seems assured that, to get things set right, all he\nneeds is admission to the presence of God--an interview with the Most\nHigh. To be heard must be to have justice. He uses language which, used\nby any living man, would horrify the religious of the present day, in\nproportion to the lack of truth in them, just as it horrified his three\nfriends, the honest pharisees of the time, whose religion was\n'doctrine' and rebuke. God speaks not a word of rebuke to Job for the\nfreedom of his speech:--he has always been seeking such as Job to\nworship him. It is those who know only and respect the outsides of\nreligion, such as never speak or think of God but as the _Almighty_ or\n_Providence_, who will say of the man who would go close up to God, and\nspeak to him out of the deepest in the nature he has made, 'he is\nirreverent.' To utter the name of God in the drama--highest of human\narts, is with such men blasphemy. They pay court to God, not love him;\nthey treat him as one far away, not as the one whose bosom is the only\nhome. They accept God's person. 'Shall not his excellency'--another\nthing quite than that you admire--'make you afraid? Shall not his\ndread'--another thing quite than that to which you show your pagan\nrespect--'fall upon you?'\n\nIn the desolation of this man, the truth of God seems to him, yet more\nplainly than hitherto, the one thing that holds together the world\nwhich by the word of his mouth came first into being. If God be not\naccessible, nothing but despair and hell are left the man so lately the\ngreatest in the east. Like a child escaping from the dogs of the\nstreet, he flings the door to the wall, and rushes, nor looks behind\nhim, to seek the presence of the living one. Bearing with him the\nburden of his death, he cries, 'Look what thou hast laid upon me! Shall\nmortal man, the helpless creature thou hast made, bear cross like\nthis?' He would cast his load at the feet of his maker!--God is the God\nof comfort, known of man as the refuge, the life-giver, or not known at\nall. But alas! he cannot come to him! Nowhere can he see his face! He\nhas hid himself from him! 'Oh that I knew where I might find him! that\nI might come even to his seat! I would order my cause before him, and\nfill my mouth with arguments. I would know the words which he would\nanswer me, and understand what he would say unto me. Will he plead\nagainst me with his great power? No! but he would put strength in me.\nThere the righteous might dispute with him; so should I be delivered\nfor ever from my judge. Behold, I go forward, but he is not there; and\nbackward, but I cannot perceive him: on the left hand, where he doth\nwork, but I cannot behold him: he hideth himself on the right hand,\nthat I cannot see him: but he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath\ntried me, I shall come forth as gold.'\n\nHe cannot find him! Yet is he in his presence all the time, and his\nwords enter into the ear of God his Saviour.\n\nThe grandeur of the poem is that Job pleads his cause with God against\nall the remonstrance of religious authority, recognizing no one but\nGod, and justified therein. And the grandest of all is this, that he\nimplies, if he does not actually say, that God _owes_ something to his\ncreature. This is the beginning of the greatest discovery of all--that\nGod owes _himself_ to the creature he has made in his image, for so he\nhas made him incapable of living without him. This, his creatures'\nhighest claim upon him, is his divinest gift to them. For the\nfulfilling of this their claim he has sent his son, that he may\nhimself, the father of him and of us, follow into our hearts. Perhaps\nthe worst thing in a theology constructed out of man's dull _possible_,\nand not out of the being and deeds and words of Jesus Christ, is the\nimpression it conveys throughout that God acknowledges no such\nobligation. Are not we the clay, and he the potter? how can the clay\nclaim from the potter? We are the clay, it is true, but _his_ clay, but\nspiritual clay, live clay, with needs and desires--and _rights_; we are\nclay, but clay worth the Son of God's dying for, that it might learn to\nconsent to be shaped unto honour. We can have no merits--a _merit_ is a\nthing impossible; but God has given us rights. Out of him we have\nnothing; but, created by him, come forth from him, we have even rights\ntowards him--ah, never, never _against_ him! his whole desire and\nlabour is to make us capable of claiming, and induce us to claim of him\nthe things whose rights he bestowed in creating us. No claim had we to\nbe created: that involves an absurdity; but, being made, we have claims\non him who made us: our needs are our claims. A man who will not\nprovide for the hunger of his child, is condemned by the whole world.\n\n'Ah, but,' says the partisan of God, 'the Almighty stands in a relation\nvery different from that of an earthly father: there is no parallel.' I\ngrant it: there is no parallel. The man did not create the child, he\nonly yielded to an impulse created in himself: God is infinitely more\nbound to provide for _his_ child than any man is to provide for his.\nThe relation is infinitely, divinely closer. It is God to whom every\nhunger, every aspiration, every desire, every longing of our nature is\nto be referred; he made all our needs--made us the creatures of a\nthousand necessities--and have we no claim on him? Nay, we have claims\ninnumerable, infinite; and his one great claim on us is that we should\nclaim our claims of him.\n\nIt is terrible to represent God as unrelated to us in the way of appeal\nto his righteousness. How should he be righteous without owing us\nanything? How would there be any right for the judge of all the earth\nto do if he owed nothing? Verily he owes us nothing that he does not\npay like a God; but it is of the devil to imagine imperfection and\ndisgrace in obligation. So far is God from thinking so that in every\nact of his being he lays himself under obligation to his creatures. Oh,\nthe grandeur of his goodness, and righteousness, and fearless\nunselfishness! When doubt and dread invade, and the voice of love in\nthe soul is dumb, what can please the father of men better than to hear\nhis child cry to him from whom he came, 'Here I am, O God! Thou hast\nmade me: give me that which thou hast made me needing.' The child's\nnecessity, his weakness, his helplessness, are the strongest of all his\nclaims. If I am a whale, I can claim a sea; if I am a sea, I claim room\nto roll, and break in waves after my kind; if I am a lion, I seek my\nmeat from God; am I a child, this, beyond all other claims, I claim--\nthat, if any of my needs are denied me, it shall be by the love of a\nfather, who will let me see his face, and allow me to plead my cause\nbefore him. And this must be just what God desires! What would he have,\nbut that his children should claim their father? To what end are all\nhis dealings with them, all his sufferings with and for and in them,\nbut that they should claim their birthright? Is not their birthright\nwhat he made them for, made in them when he made them? Is it not what\nhe has been putting forth his energy to give them ever since first he\nbegan them to be--the divine nature, God himself? The child has, and\nmust have, a claim on the father, a claim which it is the joy of the\nfather's heart to acknowledge. A created need is a created claim. God\nis the origin of both need and supply, the father of our necessities,\nthe abundant giver of the good things. Right gloriously he meets the\nclaims of his child! The story of Jesus is the heart of his answer, not\nprimarily to the prayers, but to the divine necessities of the children\nhe has sent out into his universe.\n\nAway with the thought that God could have been a perfect, an adorable\ncreator, doing anything less than he has done for his children! that\nany other kind of being than Jesus Christ could have been worthy of\nall-glorifying worship! that his nature demanded less of him than he\nhas done! that his nature is not absolute love, absolute\nself-devotion--could have been without these highest splendours!\n\nIn the light of this truth, let us then look at the words at the head\nof this sermon: '_Oh that thou wouldest hide me in the grave_!' Job\nappeals to his creator, whom his sufferings compel him to regard as\ndispleased with him, though he knows not why. _We_ know he was not\ndispleased but Job had not read the preface to his own story. He prays\nhim to hide him, and forget him for a time, that the desire of the\nmaker to look again upon the creature he had made, to see once more the\nwork of his hands, may awake within him; that silence and absence and\nloss may speak for the buried one, and make the heart of the parent\nremember and long after the face of the child; then 'thou shalt call\nand I will answer thee: thou wilt have a desire to the work of thine\nhands;' then will he rise in joy, to plead with confidence the cause of\nhis righteousness. For God is nigher to the man than is anything God\nhas made: what can be closer than the making and the made? that which\nis, and that which is because the other is? that which wills, and that\nwhich answers, owing to the will, the heart, the desire of the other,\nits power to answer? What other relation imaginable could give claims\nto compare with those arising from such a relation? God must love his\ncreature that looks up to him with hungry eyes--hungry for life, for\nacknowledgment, for justice, for the possibilities of living that life\nwhich the making life has made him alive for the sake of living. The\nwhole existence of a creature is a unit, an entirety of claim upon his\ncreator:--just _therefore_, let him do with me as he will--even to\nseating me in the ashes, and seeing me scrape myself with a potsherd!--\nnot the less but ever the more will I bring forward my claim! assert\nit--insist on it--assail with it the ear and the heart of the father.\nIs it not the sweetest music ear of maker can hear?--except the word of\nperfect son, 'Lo, I come to do thy will, O God!' We, imperfect sons,\nshall learn to say the same words too: that we may grow capable and say\nthem, and so enter into our birthright, yea, become partakers of the\ndivine nature in its divinest element, that Son came to us--died for\nthe slaying of our selfishness, the destruction of our mean hollow\npride, the waking of our childhood. We are his father's debtors for our\nneeds, our rights, our claims, and he will have us pay the uttermost\nfarthing. Yes, so true is the Father, he will even compel us, through\nmisery if needful, to put in our claims, for he knows we have eternal\nneed of these things: without the essential rights of his being, who\ncan live?\n\nI protest, therefore, against all such teaching as, originating in and\nfostered by the faithlessness of the human heart, gives the impression\nthat the exceeding goodness of God towards man is not the natural and\nnecessary outcome of his being. The root of every heresy popular in the\nchurch draws its nourishment merely and only from the soil of unbelief.\nThe idea that God would be God all the same, as glorious as he needed\nto be, had he not taken upon himself the divine toil of bringing home\nhis wandered children, had he done nothing to seek and save the lost,\nis false as hell. Lying for God could go no farther. As if the idea of\nGod admitted of his being less than he is, less than perfect, less than\nall-in-all, less than Jesus Christ! less than Love absolute, less than\nentire unselfishness! As if the God revealed to us in the New Testament\nwere not his own perfect necessity of loving-kindness, but one who has\nmade himself better than, by his own nature, by his own love, by the\nlaws which he willed the laws of his existence, he needed to be! They\nwould have it that, being unbound, he deserves the greater homage! So\nit might be, if he were not our father. But to think of the living God\nnot as our father, but as one who has condescended greatly, being\nnowise, in his own willed grandeur of righteous nature, bound to do as\nhe has done, is killing to all but a slavish devotion. It is to think\nof him as nothing like the God we see in Jesus Christ.\n\nIt will be answered that we have fallen, and God is thereby freed from\nany obligation, if any ever were. It is but another lie. No amount of\nwrong-doing in a child can ever free a parent from the divine necessity\nof doing all he can to deliver his child; the bond between them cannot\nbe broken. It is the vulgar, slavish, worldly idea of freedom, that it\nconsists in being bound to nothing. Not such is God's idea of liberty!\nTo speak as a man--the more of vital obligation he lays on himself, the\nmore children he creates, with the more claims upon him, the freer is\nhe as creator and giver of life, which is the essence of his Godhead:\nto make scope for his essence is to be free. Our Lord teaches us that\nthe truth, known by obedience to him, will make us free: our freedom\nlies in living the truth of our relations to God and man. For a man to\nbe alone in the universe would be to be a slave to unspeakable longings\nand lonelinesses. And again to speak after the manner of men: God could\nnot be satisfied with himself without doing all that a God and Father\ncould do for the creatures he had made--that is, without doing just\nwhat he has done, what he is doing, what he will do, to deliver his\nsons and daughters, and bring them home with rejoicing. To answer the\ncry of the human heart, 'Would that I could see him! would that I might\ncome before him, and look upon him face to face!' he sent his son, the\nexpress image of his person. And again, that we might not be limited in\nour understanding of God by the constant presence to our weak and\ndullable spiritual sense of any embodiment whatever, he took him away.\nHaving seen him, in his absence we understand him better. That we might\nknow him he came; that we might go to him he went. If we dare, like\nJob, to plead with him in any of the heart-eating troubles that arise\nfrom the impossibility of loving such misrepresentation of him as is\nheld out to us to love by our would-be teachers; if we think and speak\nout before him that which seems to us to be right, will he not be\nheartily pleased with his children's love of righteousness--with the\ntruth that will not part him and his righteousness? Verily he will not\nplead against us with his great power, but will put strength in us, and\nwhere we are wrong will instruct us. For the heart that wants to do and\nthink aright, the heart that seeks to worship him as no tyrant, but as\nthe perfectly, absolutely righteous God, is the delight of the Father.\nTo the heart that will not call that righteousness which it feels to be\nunjust, but clings to the skirt of his garment, and lifts pleading eyes\nto his countenance--to that heart he will lay open the riches of his\nbeing--riches which it has not entered that heart to conceive. 'O Lord,\nthey tell me I have so offended against thy law that, as I am, thou\ncanst not look upon me, but threatenest me with eternal banishment from\nthy presence. But if thou look not upon me, how can I ever be other\nthan I am? Lord, remember I was born in sin: how then can I see sin as\nthou seest it? Remember, Lord, that I have never known myself clean:\nhow can I cleanse myself? Thou must needs take me as I am and cleanse\nme. Is it not impossible that I should behold the final goodness of\ngood, the final evilness of evil? how then can I deserve eternal\ntorment? Had I known good and evil, seeing them as thou seest them,\nthen chosen the evil, and turned away from the good, I know not what I\nshould not deserve; but thou knowest it has ever been something good in\nthe evil that has enticed my selfish heart--nor mine only, but that of\nall my kind. Thou requirest of us to forgive: surely thou forgivest\nfreely! Bound thou mayest be to destroy evil, but art thou bound to\nkeep the sinner alive that thou mayest punish him, even if it make him\nno better? Sin cannot be deep as life, for thou art the life; and\nsorrow and pain go deeper than sin, for they reach to the divine in us:\nthou canst suffer, though thou wilt not sin. To see men suffer might\nmake us shun evil, but it never could make us hate it. We might see\nthereby that thou hatest sin, but we never could see that thou lovest\nthe sinner. Chastise us, we pray thee, in loving kindness, and we shall\nnot faint. We have done much that is evil, yea, evil is very deep in\nus, but we are not all evil, for we love righteousness; and art not\nthou thyself, in thy Son, the sacrifice for our sins, the atonement of\nout breach? Thou hast made us subject to vanity, but hast thyself taken\nthy godlike share of the consequences. Could we ever have come to know\ngood as thou knowest it, save by passing through the sea of sin and the\nfire of cleansing? They tell me I must say _for Christ's sake_, or thou\nwilt not pardon: it takes the very heart out of my poor love to hear\nthat thou wilt not pardon me except because Christ has loved me; but I\ngive thee thanks that nowhere in the record of thy gospel, does one of\nthy servants say any such word. In spite of all our fears and\ngrovelling, our weakness, and our wrongs, thou wilt be to us what thou\nart--such a perfect Father as no most loving child-heart on earth could\ninvent the thought of! Thou wilt take our sins on thyself, giving us\nthy life to live withal. Thou bearest our griefs and carriest our\nsorrows; and surely thou wilt one day enable us to pay every debt we\nowe to each other! Thou wilt be to us a right generous, abundant\nfather! Then truly our hearts shall be jubilant, because thou art what\nthou art--infinitely beyond all we could imagine. Thou wilt humble and\nraise us up. Thou hast given thyself to us that, having thee, we may be\neternally alive with thy life. We run within the circle of what men\ncall thy wrath, and find ourselves clasped in the zone of thy love!'\n\nBut be it well understood that when I say _rights_, I do not mean\n_merits_--of any sort. We can deserve from him nothing at all, in the\nsense of any right proceeding from ourselves. All our rights are such\nas the bounty of love inconceivable has glorified our being with--\nbestowed for the one only purpose of giving the satisfaction, the\nfulfilment of the same--rights so deep, so high, so delicate, that\ntheir satisfaction cannot be given until we desire it--yea long for it\nwith our deepest desire. The giver of them came to men, lived with men,\nand died by the hands of men, that they might possess these rights\nabundantly: more not God could do to fulfil his part--save indeed what\nhe is doing still every hour, every moment, for every individual. Our\nrights are rights with God himself at the heart of them. He could\nrecall them if he pleased, but only by recalling us, by making us\ncease. While we exist, by the being that is ours, they are ours. If he\ncould not fulfil our rights to us--because we would not have them, that\nis--if he could not make us such as to care for these rights which he\nhas given us out of the very depth of his creative being, I think he\nwould have to uncreate us. But as to deserving, that is absurd: he had\nto die in the endeavour to make us listen and receive. 'When ye shall\nhave done all the things that are commanded you, say, We are\nunprofitable servants; we have done that which it was our duty to do.'\nDuty is a thing prepaid: it can never have desert. There is no claim on\nGod that springs from us: all is from him.\n\nBut, lest it should be possible that any unchildlike soul might, in\narrogance and ignorance, think to stand upon his rights _against_ God,\nand demand of him this or that after the will of the flesh, I will lay\nbefore such a possible one some of the things to which he has a right,\nyea, perhaps has first of all a right to, from the God of his life,\nbecause of the beginning he has given him--because of the divine germ\nthat is in him. He has a claim on God, then, a divine claim, for any\npain, want, disappointment, or misery, that would help to show him to\nhimself as the fool he is; he has a claim to be punished to the last\nscorpion of the whip, to be spared not one pang that may urge him\ntowards repentance; yea, he has a claim to be sent out into the outer\ndarkness, whether what we call hell, or something speechlessly worse,\nif nothing less will do. He has a claim to be compelled to repent; to\nbe hedged in on every side; to have one after another of the strong,\nsharp-toothed sheep-dogs of the great shepherd sent after him, to\nthwart him in any desire, foil him in any plan, frustrate him of any\nhope, until he come to see at length that nothing will ease his pain,\nnothing make life a thing worth having, but the presence of the living\nGod within him; that nothing is good but the will of God; nothing noble\nenough for the desire of the heart of man but oneness with the eternal.\nFor this God must make him yield his very being, that He may enter in\nand dwell with him.\n\nThat the man would enforce none of these claims, is nothing; for it is\nnot a man who owes them to him, but the eternal God, who by his own\nwill of right towards the creature he has made, is bound to discharge\nthem. God has to answer to himself for his idea; he has to do with the\nneed of the nature he made, not with the self-born choice of the\nself-ruined man. His candle yet burns dim in the man's soul; that candle\nmust shine as the sun. For what is the all-pervading dissatisfaction of\nhis wretched being but an unrecognized hunger after the righteousness\nof his father. The soul God made is thus hungering, though the selfish,\nusurping self, which is its consciousness, is hungering only after low\nand selfish things, ever trying, but in vain, to fill its mean, narrow\ncontent, with husks too poor for its poverty-stricken desires. For even\nthat most degraded chamber of the soul which is the temple of the\ndeified Self, cannot be filled with less than God; even the usurping\nSelf must be miserable until it cease to look at itself in the mirror\nof Satan, and open the door of its innermost closet to the God who\nmeans to dwell there, and make peace.\n\nHe that has looked on the face of God in Jesus Christ, whose heart\noverflows, if ever so little, with answering love, sees God standing\nwith full hands to give the abundance for which he created his\nchildren, and those children hanging back, refusing to take, doubting\nthe God-heart which knows itself absolute in truth and love.\n\nIt is not at first easy to see wherein God gives Job any answer; I\ncannot find that he offers him the least explanation of why he has so\nafflicted him. He justifies him in his words; he says Job has spoken\nwhat is right concerning him, and his friends have not; and he calls up\nbefore him, one after another, the works of his hands. The answer, like\nsome of our Lord's answers if not all of them, seems addressed to Job\nhimself, not to his intellect; to the revealing, God-like imagination\nin the man, and to no logical faculty whatever. It consists in a\nsetting forth of the power of God, as seen in his handywork, and\nwondered at by the men of the time; and all that is said concerning\nthem has to do with their show of themselves to the eyes of men. In\nwhat belongs to the deeper meanings of nature and her mediation between\nus and God, the appearances of nature are the truths of nature, far\ndeeper than any scientific discoveries in and concerning them. The show\nof things is that for which God cares _most_, for their show is the\nface of far deeper things than they; we see in them, in a distant way,\nas in a glass darkly, the face of the unseen. It is through their show,\nnot through their analysis, that we enter into their deepest truths.\nWhat they say to the childlike soul is the truest thing to be gathered\nof them. To know a primrose is a higher thing than to know all the\nbotany of it--just as to know Christ is an infinitely higher thing than\nto know all theology, all that is said about his person, or babbled\nabout his work. The body of man does not exist for the sake of its\nhidden secrets; its hidden secrets exist for the sake of its\noutside--for the face and the form in which dwells revelation: its\noutside is the deepest of it. So Nature as well exists primarily for\nher face, her look, her appeals to the heart and the imagination, her\nsimple service to human need, and not for the secrets to be discovered\nin her and turned to man's farther use. What in the name of God is our\nknowledge of the elements of the atmosphere to our knowledge of the\nelements of Nature? What are its oxygen, its hydrogen, its nitrogen,\nits carbonic acid, its ozone, and all the possible rest, to the blowing\nof the wind on our faces? What is the analysis of water to the babble\nof a running stream? What is any knowledge of things to the heart,\nbeside its child-play with the Eternal! And by an infinite\ndecomposition we should know nothing more of what a thing really is,\nfor, the moment we decompose it, it ceases to be, and all its meaning\nis vanished. Infinitely more than astronomy even, which destroys\nnothing, can do for us, is done by the mere aspect and changes of the\nvault over our heads. Think for a moment what would be our idea of\ngreatness, of God, of infinitude, of aspiration, if, instead of a blue,\nfar withdrawn, light-spangled firmament, we were born and reared under\na flat white ceiling! I would not be supposed to depreciate the labours\nof science, but I say its discoveries are unspeakably less precious\nthan the merest gifts of Nature, those which, from morning to night, we\ntake unthinking from her hands. One day, I trust, we shall be able to\nenter into their secrets from within them--by natural contact between\nour heart and theirs. When we are one with God we may well understand\nin an hour things that no man of science, prosecuting his\ninvestigations from the surface with all the aids that keenest human\nintellect can supply, would reach in the longest lifetime. Whether such\npower will ever come to any man in this world, or can come only in some\nstate of existence beyond it, matters nothing to me: the question does\nnot interest me; life is one, and things will be then what they are\nnow; for God is one and the same there and here; and I shall be the\nsame there I am here, however larger the life with which it may please\nthe Father of my being to endow me.\n\nThe argument implied, not expressed, in the poem, seems to be this--\nthat Job, seeing God so far before him in power, and his works so far\nbeyond his understanding that they filled him with wonder and\nadmiration--the vast might of the creation, the times and the seasons,\nthe marvels of the heavens, the springs of the sea, and the gates of\ndeath; the animals, their generations and providing, their beauties and\ninstincts; the strange and awful beasts excelling the rest, behemoth on\nthe land, leviathan in the sea, creatures, perhaps, now vanished from\nthe living world;--that Job, beholding these things, ought to have\nreasoned that he who could work so grandly beyond his understanding,\nmust certainly use wisdom in things that touched him nearer, though\nthey came no nearer his understanding: 'shall he that contendeth with\nthe Almighty instruct him? he that reproveth God, let him answer it.'\n'Wilt thou also disannul my judgment? wilt thou condemn me that thou\nmayest be righteous?' In this world power is no _proof_ of\nrighteousness; but was it likely that he who could create should be\nunrighteous? Did not all he made move the delight of the beholding man?\nDid such things foreshadow injustice towards the creature he had made\nin his image? If Job could not search his understanding in these\nthings, why should he conclude his own case wrapt in the gloom of\ninjustice? Did he understand his own being, history, and destiny?\nShould not God's ways in these also be beyond his understanding? Might\nhe not trust him to do him justice? In such high affairs as the rights\nof a live soul, might not matters be involved too high for Job? The\nmaker of Job was so much greater than Job, that his ways with him might\nwell be beyond his comprehension! God's thoughts were higher than his\nthoughts, as the heavens were higher than the earth!\n\nThe true child, the righteous man, will trust absolutely, against all\nappearances, the God who has created in him the love of righteousness.\n\nGod does not, I say, tell Job why he had afflicted him: he rouses his\nchild-heart to trust. All the rest of Job's life on earth, I imagine,\nhis slowly vanishing perplexities would yield him ever fresh\nmeditations concerning God and his ways, new opportunities of trusting\nhim, light upon many things concerning which he had not as yet begun to\ndoubt, added means of growing in all directions into the knowledge of\nGod. His perplexities would thus prove of divinest gift. Everything, in\ntruth, which we cannot understand, is a closed book of larger knowledge\nand blessedness, whose clasps the blessed perplexity urges us to open.\nThere is, there can be, nothing which is not in itself a righteous\nintelligibility--whether an intelligibility for us, matters nothing.\nThe awful thing would be, that anything should be in its nature\nunintelligible: that would be the same as _no God_. That God knows is\nenough for me; I shall know, if I can know. It would be death to think\nGod did not know; it would be as much as to conclude there was no God\nto know.\n\nHow much more than Job are we bound, who know him in his Son as Love,\nto trust God in all the troubling questions that force themselves upon\nus concerning the motions and results of things! With all those about\nthe lower animals, with all those about such souls as seem never to\nwake from, or seem again to fall into the sleep of death, we will trust\nhim.\n\nIn the confusion of Job's thoughts--how could they be other than\nconfused, in the presence of the awful contradiction of two such facts\nstaring each other in the face, that God was just, yet _punishing_ a\nrighteous man as if he were wicked?--while he was not yet able to\ngenerate, or to receive the thought, that approving love itself might\nbe inflicting or allowing the torture--that such suffering as his was\ngranted only to a righteous man, that he might be made perfect--I can\nwell imagine that at times, as the one moment he doubted God's\nrighteousness, and the next cried aloud, 'Though he slay me, yet will I\ntrust in him,' there must in the chaos have mingled some element of\ndoubt as to the existence of God. Let not such doubt be supposed a yet\nfurther stage in unbelief. To deny the existence of God may,\nparadoxical as the statement will at first seem to some, involve less\nunbelief than the smallest yielding to doubt of his goodness. I say\n_yielding_; for a man may be haunted with doubts, and only grow thereby\nin faith. Doubts are the messengers of the Living One to rouse the\nhonest. They are the first knock at our door of things that are not\nyet, but have to be, understood; and theirs in general is the\ninhospitable reception of angels that do not come in their own\nlikeness. Doubt must precede every deeper assurance; for uncertainties\nare what we first see when we look into a region hitherto unknown,\nunexplored, unannexed. In all Job's begging and longing to see God,\nthen, may well be supposed to mingle the mighty desire to be assured of\nGod's being. To acknowledge is not to be sure of God. One great point\nin the poem is--that when Job hears the voice of God, though it utters\nno word of explanation, it is enough to him to hear it: he knows that\nGod is, and that he hears the cry of his creature. That he is there,\nknowing all about him, and what had befallen him, is enough; he needs\nno more to reconcile seeming contradictions, and the worst ills of\nouter life become endurable. Even if Job could not at first follow his\nargument of divine probability, God settled everything for him when, by\nanswering him out of the whirlwind, he showed him that he had not\nforsaken him. It is true that nothing but a far closer divine presence\ncan ever make life a thing fit for a son of man--and that for the\nsimplest of all reasons, that he is made in the image of God, and it is\nfor him absolutely imperative that he should have in him the reality of\nwhich his being is the image: while he has it not in him, his being,\nhis conscious self, is but a mask, a spiritual emptiness; but for the\npresent, Job, yielding to God, was calmed and satisfied. Perhaps he\ncame at length to see that, if anything God could do to him would\ntrouble him so as to make him doubt God--if he knew him so imperfectly\nwho could do nothing ill, then it was time that he should be so\ntroubled, that the imperfection of his knowledge of God and his lack of\nfaith in him should be revealed to him--that an earthquake of his being\nshould disclose its hollowness, and at the same time bring to the\nsurface the gold of God that was in him. To know that our faith is weak\nis the first step towards its strengthening; to be capable of\ndistrusting is death; to know that we are, and cry out, is to begin to\nlive--to begin to be made such that we cannot distrust--such that God\nmay do anything with us and we shall never doubt him. Until doubt is\nimpossible, we are lacking in the true, the childlike knowledge of God;\nfor either God is such that one _may_ distrust him, or he is such that\nto distrust him is the greatest injustice of which a man can be guilty.\nIf then we are able to distrust him, either we know God imperfect, or\nwe do not know him. Perhaps Job learned something like this; anyhow,\nthe result of what he had had to endure was a greater nearness to God.\nBut all that he was required to receive at the moment was the argument\nfrom God's loving wisdom in his power, to his loving wisdom in\neverything else. For power is a real and a good thing, giving an\nimmediate impression that it proceeds from goodness. Nor, however long\nit may last after goodness is gone, was it ever born of anything but\ngoodness. In a very deep sense, power and goodness are one. In the\ndeepest fact they are one.\n\nSeeing God, Job forgets all he wanted to say, all he thought he would\nsay if he could but see him. The close of the poem is grandly abrupt.\nHe had meant to order his cause before him; he had longed to see him\nthat he might speak and defend himself, imagining God as well as his\nrighteous friends wrongfully accusing him; but his speech is gone from\nhim; he has not a word to say. To justify himself in the presence of\nHim who is Righteousness, seems to him what it is--foolishness and\nworthless labour. If God do not see him righteous, he is not righteous,\nand may hold his peace. If he is righteous, God knows it better than he\ndoes himself. Nay, if God do not care to justify him, Job has lost his\ninterest in justifying himself. All the evils and imperfections of his\nnature rise up before him in the presence of the one pure, the one who\nis right, and has no selfishness in him. 'Behold,' he cries, 'I am\nvile; what shall I answer thee? I will lay mine hand upon my mouth.\nOnce have I spoken; but I will not answer: yea, twice; but I will\nproceed no further.' Then again, after God has called to witness for\nhim behemoth and leviathan, he replies, 'I know that thou canst do\neverything, and that no thought can be withholden from thee. Who is he\nthat hideth counsel without knowledge?' This question was the word with\nwhich first God made his presence known to him; and in the mouth of Job\nnow repeating the question, it is the humble confession, '_I am that\nfoolish man_.'--'Therefore,' he goes on, 'have I uttered that I\nunderstood not; things too wonderful for me, which I knew not.' He had\nnot knowledge enough to have a right to speak. 'Hear, I beseech thee,\nand I will speak:'--In the time to come, he will yet cry--to be taught,\nnot to justify himself. 'I will demand of thee, and declare thou unto\nme.'--The more diligently yet will he seek to know the counsel of God.\nThat he cannot understand will no longer distress him; it will only\nurge him to fresh endeavour after the knowledge of him who in all his\ndoings is perfect. 'I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but\nnow mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust\nand ashes.'\n\nJob had his desire: he saw the face of God--and abhorred himself in\ndust and ashes. He sought justification; he found self-abhorrence. Was\nthis punishment? The farthest from it possible. It was the best\nthing--to begin with--that the face of God could do for him. Blessedest\ngift is self-contempt, when the giver of it is the visible glory of the\nLiving One. For there to see is to partake; to be able to behold that\nglory is to live; to turn from and against self is to begin to be pure\nof heart. Job was in the right when he said that he did not deserve to\nbe in such wise punished for his sins: neither did he deserve to see\nthe face of God, yet had he that crown of all gifts given him--and it\nwas to see himself vile, and abhor himself. By very means of the\nsufferings against which he had cried out, the living one came near to\nhim, and he was silent. Oh the divine generosity that will grant us to\nbe abashed and self-condemned before the Holy!--to come so nigh him as\nto see ourselves dark spots against his brightness! Verily we must be\nof his kind, else no show of him could make us feel small and ugly and\nunclean! Oh the love of the Father, that he should give us to compare\nourselves with him, and be buried in humility and shame! To be rebuked\nbefore him is to be his. Good man as Job was, he had never yet been\nright near to God; now God has come near to him, has become very real\nto him; he knows now in very deed that God is he with whom he has to\ndo. He had laid all these troubles upon him that He might through them\ndraw nigh to him, and enable him to know him.\n\nTwo things are clearly contained in, and manifest from this poem:--that\nnot every man deserves for his sins to be punished everlastingly from\nthe presence of the Lord; and that the best of men, when he sees the\nface of God, will know himself vile. God is just, and will never deal\nwith the sinner as if he were capable of sinning the pure sin; yet if\nthe best man be not delivered from himself, that self will sink him\ninto Tophet.\n\nAny man may, like Job, plead his cause with God--though possibly it may\nnot be to like justification: he gives us liberty to speak, and will\nhear with absolute fairness. But, blessed be God, the one result for\nall who so draw nigh to him will be--to see him plainly, surely right,\nthe perfect Saviour, the profoundest refuge even from the wrongs of\ntheir own being, yea, nearer to them always than any wrong they could\ncommit; so seeing him, they will abhor themselves, and rejoice in him.\nAnd, as the poem indicates, when we turn from ourselves to him,\nbecoming true, that is, being to God and to ourselves what we are, he\nwill turn again our captivity; they that have sown in tears shall reap\nin joy; they shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing their\nsheaves with them. Then will the waters that rise from God's fountains,\nrun in God's channels.\n\nFor the prosperity that follows upon Job's submission, is the\nembodiment of a great truth. Although a man must do right if it send\nhim to Hades, yea, even were it to send him for ever to hell itself,\nyet, while the Lord liveth, we need not fear: _all_ good things must\ngrow out of and hang upon the one central good, the one law of life--\nthe Will, the One Good. To submit absolutely to him is the only reason:\ncircumstance as well as all being must then bud and blossom as the\nrose. And it will!--what matter whether in this world or the next, if\none day I know my life as a perfect bliss, having neither limitation\nnor hindrance nor pain nor sorrow more than it can dominate in peace\nand perfect assurance?\n\nI care not whether the book of Job be a history or a poem. I think it\nis both--I do not care how much relatively of each. It was probably, in\nthe childlike days of the world, a well-known story in the east, which\nsome man, whom God had made wise to understand his will and his ways,\ntook up, and told after the fashion of a poet. What its age may be, who\ncan certainly tell!--it must have been before Moses. I would gladly\nthrow out the part of Elihu as an interpolation. One in whom, of all\nmen I have known, I put the greatest trust, said to me once what\namounted to this: 'There is as much difference between the language of\nthe rest of the poem and that of Elihu, as between the language of\nChaucer and that of Shakspere.'\n\nThe poem is for many reasons difficult, and in the original to me\ninaccessible; but, through all the evident inadequacy of our\ntranslation, who can fail to hear two souls, that of the poet and that\nof Job, crying aloud with an agonized hope that, let the evil shows\naround them be what they may, truth and righteousness are yet the heart\nof things. The faith, even the hope of Job seems at times on the point\nof giving way; he struggles like a drowning man when the billow goes\nover him, but with the rising of his head his courage revives.\nChristians we call ourselves!--what would not our faith be, were it as\nmuch greater than Job's as the word from the mouth of Jesus is mightier\nthan that he heard out of the whirlwind! Here is a book of faith\nindeed, ere the law was given by Moses: Grace and Truth have visited\nus--but where is our faith?\n\nFriends, our cross may be heavy, and the _via dolorosa_ rough; but we\nhave claims on God, yea the right to cry to him for help. He has spent,\nand is spending himself to give us our birthright, which is\nrighteousness. Though we shall not be condemned for our sins, we cannot\nbe saved but by leaving them; though we shall not be condemned for the\nsins that are past, we shall be condemned if we love the darkness\nrather than the light, and refuse to come to him that we may have life.\nGod is offering us the one thing we cannot live without--his own self:\nwe must make room for him; we must cleanse our hearts that he may come\nin; we must do as the Master tells us, who knew all about the Father\nand the way to him--_we must deny ourselves, and take up our cross\ndaily, and follow him_.\n\n\n\n\n                              SELF-DENIAL.\n\n\n_'And he said unto all, If any man would come after me, let him deny\nhimself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me. For whosoever\nwould save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life\nfor my sake, the same shall save it.'_--St. Luke ix. 23, 24.\n\nChrist is the way out, and the way in; the way from slavery, conscious\nor unconscious, into liberty; the way from the unhomeliness of things\nto the home we desire but do not know; the way from the stormy skirts\nof the Father's garments to the peace of his bosom. To picture him, we\nneed not only endless figures, but sometimes quite opposing figures: he\nis not only the door of the sheepfold, but the shepherd of the sheep;\nhe is not only the way, but the leader in the way, the rock that\nfollowed, and the captain of our salvation. We must become as little\nchildren, and Christ must be born in us; we must learn of him, and the\none lesson he has to give is himself: he does first all he wants us to\ndo; he is first all he wants us to be. We must not merely do as he did;\nwe must see things as he saw them, regard them as he regarded them; we\nmust take the will of God as the very life of our being; we must\nneither try to get our own way, nor trouble ourselves as to what may be\nthought or said of us. The world must be to us as nothing.\n\nI would not be misunderstood if I may avoid it: when I say _the world_,\nI do not mean the world God makes and means, yet less the human hearts\nthat live therein; but the world man makes by choosing the perversion\nof his own nature--a world apart from and opposed to God's world. By\n_the world_ I mean all ways of judging, regarding, and thinking,\nwhether political, economical, ecclesiastical, social, or individual,\nwhich are not divine, which are not God's ways of thinking, regarding,\nor judging; which do not take God into account, do not set his will\nsupreme, as the one only law of life; which do not care for the truth\nof things, but the customs of society, or the practice of the trade;\nwhich heed not what is right, but the usage of the time. From\neverything that is against the teaching and thinking of Jesus, from the\nworld in the heart of the best man in it, specially from the world in\nhis own heart, the disciple must turn to follow him. The first thing in\nall progress is to leave something behind; to follow him is to leave\none's self behind. 'If any man would come after me, let him deny\nhimself.'\n\nSome seem to take this to mean that the disciple must go against his\nlikings because they are his likings; must be unresponsive to the\ntendencies and directions and inclinations that are his, because they\nare such, and his; they seem to think something is gained by abstinence\nfrom what is pleasant, or by the doing of what is disagreeable--that to\nthwart the lower nature is in itself a good. Now I will not dare say\nwhat a man may not get good from, if the thing be done in simplicity\nand honesty. I believe that when a man, for the sake of doing the thing\nthat is right, does in mistake that which is not right, God will take\ncare that he be shown the better way--will perhaps use the very thing\nwhich is his mistake to reveal to him the mistake it is. I will allow\nthat the mere effort of will, arbitrary and uninformed of duty,\npartaking of the character of tyranny and even schism, may add to the\nman's power over his lower nature; but in that very nature it is God\nwho must rule and not the man, however well he may mean. From a man's\nrule of himself, in smallest opposition, however devout, to the law of\nhis being, arises the huge danger of nourishing, by the pride of\nself-conquest, a far worse than even the unchained animal self--the\ndemoniac self. True victory over self is the victory of God in the man,\nnot of the man alone. It is not subjugation that is enough, but\nsubjugation by God. In whatever man does without God, he must fail\nmiserably--or succeed more miserably. No portion of a man can rule\nanother portion, for God, not the man, created it, and the part is\ngreater than the whole. In effecting what God does not mean, a man but\nfalls into fresh ill conditions. In crossing his natural, therefore in\nthemselves right inclinations, a man may develop a self-satisfaction which\nin its very nature is a root of all sin. Doing the thing God does not\nrequire of him, he puts himself in the place of God, becoming not a law\nbut a law-giver to himself, one who commands, not one who obeys. The\ndiseased satisfaction which some minds feel in laying burdens on themselves,\nis a pampering, little as they may suspect it, of the most dangerous\nappetite of that self which they think they are mortifying. All the\ncreatures of God are good, received with thanksgiving; then only can\nany one of them become evil, when it is used in relations in which a\nhigher law forbids it, or when it is refused for the sake of\nself-discipline, in relations in which no higher law forbids, and God\ntherefore allows it. For a man to be his own schoolmaster, is a right\ndangerous position; the pupil cannot be expected to make\nprogress--except, indeed, in the wrong direction. To enjoy heartily and\nthankfully, and do cheerfully without, when God wills we should, is the\nway to live in regard to things of the lower nature; these must nowise\nbe confounded with the things of _the world_. If any one say this is\ndangerous doctrine, I answer, 'The law of God is enough for me, and for\nlaws invented by man, I will none of them. They are false, and come all\nof rebellion. God and not man is our judge.'\n\nVerily it is not to thwart or tease the poor self Jesus tells us. That\nwas not the purpose for which God gave it to us I He tells us we must\nleave it altogether--yield it, deny it, refuse it, lose it: thus only\nshall we save it, thus only have a share in our own being. The self is\ngiven to us that we may sacrifice it; it is ours that we like Christ\nmay have somewhat to offer--not that we should torment it, but that we\nshould deny it; not that we should cross it, but that we should abandon\nit utterly: then it can no more be vexed.\n\n'What can this mean?--we are not to thwart, but to abandon? How\nabandon, without thwarting?'\n\nIt means this:--we must refuse, abandon, deny self altogether as a\nruling, or determining, or originating element in us. It is to be no\nlonger the regent of our action. We are no more to think, 'What should\nI like to do?' but 'What would the Living One have me do?' It is not\nselfish to take that which God has made us to desire; neither are we\nvery good to yield it--we should only be very bad not to do so, when he\nwould take it from us; but to yield it heartily, without a struggle or\nregret, is not merely to deny the Self a thing it would like, but to\ndeny the Self itself, to refuse and abandon it. The Self is God's\nmaking--only it must be the 'slave of Christ,' that the Son may make it\nalso the free son of the same Father; it must receive all from him--not\nas from nowhere; as well as the deeper soul, it must follow him, not\nits own desires. It must not be its own law; Christ must be its law.\nThe time will come when it shall be so possessed, so enlarged, so\nidealized, by the indwelling God, who is its deeper, its deepest self,\nthat there will be no longer any enforced denial of it needful; it has\nbeen finally denied and refused and sent into its own obedient place;\nit has learned to receive with thankfulness, to demand nothing; to turn\nno more upon its own centre, or any more think to minister to its own\ngood. God's eternal denial of himself, revealed in him who for our\nsakes in the flesh took up his cross daily, will have been developed in\nthe man; his eternal rejoicing will be in God--and in his fellows,\nbefore whom he will cast his glad self to be a carpet for their walk, a\nfootstool for their rest, a stair for their climbing.\n\nTo deny oneself then, is to act no more from the standing-ground of\nself; to allow no private communication, no passing influence between\nthe self and the will; not to let the right hand know what the left\nhand doeth. No grasping or seeking, no hungering of the individual,\nshall give motion to the will; no desire to be conscious of worthiness\nshall order the life; no ambition whatever shall be a motive of action;\nno wish to surpass another be allowed a moment's respite from death; no\nlonging after the praise of men influence a single throb of the heart.\nTo deny the self is to shrink from no dispraise or condemnation or\ncontempt of the community, or circle, or country, which is against the\nmind of the Living one; for no love or entreaty of father or mother,\nwife or child, friend or lover, to turn aside from following him, but\nforsake them all as any ruling or ordering power in our lives; we must\ndo nothing to please them that would not first be pleasing to him.\nBight deeds, and not the judgment thereupon; true words, and not what\nreception they may have, shall be our care. Not merely shall we not\nlove money, or trust in it, or seek it as the business of life, but,\nwhether we have it or have it not, we must never think of it as a\nwindfall from the tree of event or the cloud of circumstance, but as\nthe gift of God. We must draw our life, by the uplooking, acknowledging\nwill, every moment fresh from the living one, the causing life, not\nglory in the mere consciousness of health and being. It is God feeds\nus, warms us, quenches our thirst. The will of God must be to us all in\nall; to our whole nature the life of the Father must be the joy of the\nchild; we must know our very understanding his--that we live and feed\non him every hour in the closest, veriest way: to know these things in\nthe depth of our knowing, is to deny ourselves, and take God instead.\nTo try after them is to begin the denial, to follow him who never\nsought his own. So must we deny all anxieties and fears. When young we\nmust not mind what the world calls failure; as we grow old, we must not\nbe vexed that we cannot remember, must not regret that we cannot do,\nmust not be miserable because we grow weak or ill: we must not mind\nanything. We have to do with God who can, not with ourselves where we\ncannot; we have to do with the Will, with the Eternal Life of the\nFather of our spirits, and not with the being which we could not make,\nand which is his care. He is our care; we are his; our care is to will\nhis will; his care, to give us all things. This is to deny ourselves.\n'Self, I have not to consult you, but him whose idea is the soul of\nyou, and of which as yet you are all unworthy. I have to do, not with\nyou, but with the source of you, by whom it is that any moment you\nexist--the Causing of you, not the caused you. You may be my\nconsciousness, but you are not my being. If you were, what a poor,\nmiserable, dingy, weak wretch I should be! but my life is hid with\nChrist in God, whence it came, and whither it is returning--with you\ncertainly, but as an obedient servant, not a master. Submit, or I will\ncast you from me, and pray to have another consciousness given me. For\nGod is more to me than my consciousness of myself. He is my life; you\nare only so much of it as my poor half-made being can grasp--as much of\nit as I can now know at once. Because I have fooled and spoiled you,\ntreated you as if you were indeed my own self, you have dwindled\nyourself and have lessened me, till I am ashamed of myself. If I were\nto mind what you say, I should soon be sick of you; even now I am ever\nand anon disgusted with your paltry, mean face, which I meet at every\nturn. No! let me have the company of the Perfect One, not of you! of my\nelder brother, the Living One! I will not make a friend of the mere\nshadow of my own being! Good-bye, Self! I deny you, and will do my best\nevery day to leave you behind me.'\n\nAnd in this regard we must not fail to see, or seeing ever forget,\nthat, when Jesus tells us we must follow him, we must come to him, we\nmust believe in him, he speaks first and always as _the Son_ of the\nFather--and that in the active sense, as the obedient God, not merely\nas one who claims the sonship for the ground of being and so of further\nclaim. He is the Son of the Father as the Son who obeys the Father, as\nthe Son who came expressly and only to do the will of the Father, as\nthe messenger whose delight it is to do the will of him that sent him.\nAt the moment he says _Follow me_, he is following the Father; his face\nis set homeward. He would have us follow him because he is bent on the\nwill of the Blessed. It is nothing even thus to think of him, except\nthus we _believe_ in him--that is, so do. To believe in him is to do as\nhe does, to follow him where he goes. We must believe in him\n_practically_--altogether practically, as he believed in his Father;\nnot as one concerning whom we have to hold something, but as one whom\nwe have to follow out of the body of this death into life eternal. It\nis not to follow him to take him in any way theoretically, to hold this\nor that theory about why he died, or wherein lay his atonement: such\nthings can be revealed only to those who follow him in his active being\nand the principle of his life--who do as he did, live as he lived.\nThere is no other following. He is all for the Father; we must be all\nfor the Father too, else are we not following him. To follow him is to\nbe learning of him, to think his thoughts, to use his judgments, to see\nthings as he saw them, to feel things as he felt them, to be hearted,\nsouled, minded, as he was--that so also we may be of the same mind with\nhis Father. This it is to deny self and go after him; nothing less,\neven if it be working miracles and casting out devils, is to be his\ndisciple. Busy from morning to night doing great things for him on any\nother road, we should but earn the reception, 'I never knew you.' When\nhe says, 'Take my yoke upon you,' he does not mean a yoke which he\nwould lay upon our shoulders; it is his own yoke he tells us to take,\nand to learn of him--it is the yoke he is himself carrying, the yoke\nhis perfect Father had given him to carry. The will of the Father is\nthe yoke he would have us take, and bear also with him. It is of this\nyoke that he says, _It is easy_, of this burden, _It is light_. He is\nnot saying, 'The yoke I lay upon you is easy, the burden light;' what\nhe says is, 'The yoke I carry is easy, the burden on my shoulders is\nlight.' With the garden of Gethsemane before him, with the hour and the\npower of darkness waiting for him, he declares his yoke easy, his\nburden light. There is no magnifying of himself. _He first_ denies\nhimself, and takes up his cross--then tells us to do the same. The\nFather magnifies the Son, not the Son himself; the Son magnifies the\nFather.\n\nWe must be jealous for God against ourselves, and look well to the\ncunning and deceitful Self--ever cunning and deceitful until it is\ninformed of God--until it is thoroughly and utterly denied, and God is\nto it also All-in-all--till we have left it quite empty of our will and\nour regard, and God has come into it, and made it--not indeed an\n_adytum_, but a _pylon_ for himself. Until then, its very denials, its\nvery turnings from things dear to it for the sake of Christ, will tend\nto foster its self-regard, and generate in it a yet deeper self-worship.\nWhile it is not denied, only thwarted, we may through\nsatisfaction with conquered difficulty and supposed victory, minister\nyet more to its self-gratulation. The Self, when it finds it cannot\nhave honour because of its gifts, because of the love lavished upon it,\nbecause of its conquests, and the 'golden opinions bought from all\nsorts of people,' will please itself with the thought of its\nabnegations, of its unselfishness, of its devotion to God, of its\nforsakings for his sake. It may not _call_ itself, but it will soon\n_feel_ itself a saint, a superior creature, looking down upon the\nfoolish world and its ways, walking on high 'above the smoke and stir\nof this dim spot;'--all the time dreaming a dream of utter folly,\nworshipping itself with the more concentration that it has yielded the\napprobation of the world, and dismissed the regard of others: even they\nare no longer necessary to its assurance of its own worths and merits!\nIn a thousand ways will Self delude itself, in a thousand ways befool\nits own slavish being. Christ sought not his own, sought not anything\nbut the will of his Father: we have to grow diamond-clear, true as the\nwhite light of the morning. Hopeless task!--were it not that he offers\nto come himself, and dwell in us.\n\nI have wondered whether the word of the Lord, 'take up his cross,' was\na phrase in use at the time: when he used it first he had not yet told\nthem that he would himself be crucified. I can hardly believe this form\nof execution such a common thing that the figure of bearing the cross\nhad come into ordinary speech. As the Lord's idea was new to men, so I\nthink was the image in which he embodied it. I grant it _might_, being\nsuch a hateful thing in the eyes of the Jews, have come to represent\nthe worst misery of a human being; but would they be ready to use as a\nfigure a fact which so sorely manifested their slavery? I hardly think\nit. Certainly it had not come to represent the thing he was now\nteaching, that self-abnegation which he had but newly brought to\nlight--nay, hardly to the light yet--only the twilight; and nothing\nless, it seems to me, can have suggested the terrible symbol!\n\nBut we must note that, although the idea of the denial of self is an\nentire and absolute one, yet the thing has to be done _daily_: we must\nkeep on denying. It is a deeper and harder thing than any sole effort\nof most herculean will may finally effect. For indeed the will itself\nis not pure, is not free, until the Self is absolutely denied. It takes\nlong for the water of life that flows from the well within us, to\npermeate every outlying portion of our spiritual frame, subduing\neverything to itself, making it all of the one kind, until at last,\nreaching the outermost folds of our personality, it casts out disease,\nour bodies by indwelling righteousness are redeemed, and the creation\ndelivered from the bondage of corruption into the liberty of the glory\nof the children of God. Every day till then we have to take up our\ncross; every hour to see that we are carrying it. A birthright may be\nlost for a mess of pottage, and what Satan calls a trifle must be a\nthing of eternal significance.\n\nIs there not many a Christian who, having begun to deny himself, yet\nspends much strength in the vain and evil endeavour to accommodate\nmatters between Christ and the dear Self--seeking to save that which so\nhe must certainly lose--in how different a way from that in which the\nMaster would have him lose it! It is one thing to have the loved self\ndevoured of hell in hate and horror and disappointment; another to\nyield it to conscious possession by the living God himself, who will\nraise it then first and only to its true individuality, freedom, and\nlife. With its cause within it, then, indeed, it shall be saved!--how\nthen should it but live! Here is the promise to those who will leave\nall and follow him: '_Whosoever shall lose his life, for my sake, the\nsame shall save it_,'--in St. Matthew, '_find it_.' What speech of men\nor angels will serve to shadow the dimly glorious hope! To lose\nourselves in the salvation of God's heart! to be no longer any care to\nourselves, but know God taking divinest care of us, his own! to be and\nfeel just a resting-place for the divine love--a branch of the tree of\nlife for the dove to alight upon and fold its wings! to be an open air\nof love, a thoroughfare for the thoughts of God and all holy creatures!\nto know one's self by the reflex action of endless brotherly\npresence--yearning after nothing from any, but ever pouring out love by\nthe natural motion of the spirit! to revel in the hundredfold of\neverything good we may have had to leave for his sake--above all, in\nthe unsought love of those who love us as we love them--circling us\nround, bathing us in bliss--never reached after, ever received, ever\nwelcomed, altogether and divinely precious! to know that God and we\nmean the same thing, that we are in the secret, the child's secret of\nexistence, that we are pleasing in the eyes and to the heart of the\nFather! to live nestling at his knee, climbing to his bosom, blessed in\nthe mere and simple being which is one with God, and is the outgoing of\nhis will, justifying the being by the very facts of the being, by its\nawareness of itself as bliss!--what a self is this to receive again\nfrom him for that we left, forsook, refused! We left it paltry, low,\nmean; he took up the poor cinder of a consciousness, carried it back to\nthe workshop of his spirit, made it a true thing, radiant, clear, fit\nfor eternal companying and indwelling, and restored it to our having\nand holding for ever!\n\nAll high things can be spoken only in figures; these figures, having to\ndo with matters too high for them, cannot _fit_ intellectually; they\ncan be interpreted truly, understood aright, only by such as have the\nspiritual fact in themselves. When we speak of a man and his soul, we\nimply a self and a self, reacting on each other: we cannot divide\nourselves so; the figure suits but imperfectly. It was never the design\nof the Lord to explain things to our understanding--nor would that in\nthe least have helped our necessity; what we require is a means, a\nword, whereby to think with ourselves of high things: that is what a\ntrue figure, for a figure may be true while far from perfect, will\nalways be to us. But the imperfection of his figures cannot lie in\nexcess. Be sure that, in dealing with any truth, its symbol, however\nhigh, must come short of the glorious meaning itself holds. It is the\nlow stupidity of an unspiritual nature that would interpret the Lord's\nmeaning as less than his symbols. The true soul sees, or will come to\nsee, that his words, his figures always represent more than they are\nable to present; for, as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are\nthe heavenly things higher than the earthly signs of them, let the\nsigns be good as ever sign may be. There is no joy belonging to human\nnature, as God made it, that shall not be enhanced a hundredfold to the\nman who gives up himself--though, in so doing, he may seem to be\nyielding the very essence of life. To yield self is to give up grasping\nat things in their second causes, as men call them, but which are\nmerely God's means, and to receive them direct from their source--to\ntake them seeing whence they come, and not as if they came from\nnowhere, because no one appears presenting them. The careless soul\nreceives the Father's gifts as if it were a way things had of dropping\ninto his hand. He thus grants himself a slave, dependent on chance and\nhis own blundering endeavour--yet is he ever complaining, as if some\none were accountable for the checks which meet him at every turn. For\nthe good that comes to him, he gives no thanks--who is there to thank?\nat the disappointments that befall him he grumbles--there must be some\none to blame! He does not think to what Power it could be of any\nconsequence, nay, what power would not be worse than squandered, to\nsustain him after his own fashion, in his paltry, low-aimed existence!\nHow could a God pour out his being to uphold the merest waste of his\ncreatures? No world could ever be built or sustained on such an idea.\nIt is the children who shall inherit the earth; such as will not be\nchildren, cannot possess. The hour is coming when all that art, all\nthat science, all that nature, all that animal nature, in ennobling\nsubjugation to the higher even as man is subject to the Father, can\nafford, shall be the possession, to the endless delight, of the sons\nand daughters of God: to him to whom he is all in all, God is able to\ngive these things; to another he cannot give them, for he is unable to\nreceive them who is outside the truth of them. Assuredly we are not to\nlove God for the sake of what he can give us; nay, it is impossible to\nlove him save because he is our God, and altogether good and beautiful;\nbut neither may we forget what the Lord does not forget, that, in the\nend, when the truth is victorious, God will answer his creature in the\njoy of his heart. For what is joy but the harmony of the spirit! The\ngood Father made his children to be joyful; only, ere they can enter\ninto his joy, they must be like himself, ready to sacrifice joy to\ntruth. No promise of such joy is an appeal to selfishness. Every reward\nheld out by Christ is a pure thing; nor can it enter the soul save as a\ndeath to selfishness. The heaven of Christ is a loving of all, a\nforgetting of self, a dwelling of each in all, and all in each. Even in\nour nurseries, a joyful child is rarely selfish, generally righteous.\nIt is not selfish to be joyful. What power could prevent him who sees\nthe face of God from being joyful?--that bliss is his which lies behind\nall other bliss, without which no other bliss could ripen or last. The\none bliss of the universe is the presence of God--which is simply God\nbeing to the man, and felt by the man as being, that which in his own\nnature he is--the indwelling power of his life. God must be to his\ncreature what he is in himself, for it is by his essential being alone,\nthat by which he is, that he can create. His presence is the\nunintermittent call and response of the creative to the created, of the\nfather to the child. Where can be the selfishness in being so made\nhappy? It may be deep selfishness to refuse to be happy. Is there\nselfishness in the Lord's seeing of the travail of his soul and being\nsatisfied? Selfishness consists in taking the bliss from another; to\nfind one's bliss in the bliss of another is not selfishness. Joy is not\nselfishness; and the greater the joy thus reaped, the farther is that\njoy removed from selfishness. The one bliss, next to the love of God,\nis the love of our neighbour. If any say, 'You love because it makes\nyou blessed,' I deny it: 'We are blessed, I say, because we love.' No\none could attain to the bliss of loving his neighbour who was selfish\nand sought that bliss from love of himself. Love is unselfishness. In\nthe main we love because we cannot help it. There is no merit in it:\nhow should there be in any love?--but neither is it selfish. There are\nmany who confound righteousness with merit, and think there is nothing\nrighteous where there is nothing meritorious. 'If it makes you happy to\nlove,' they say, 'where is your merit? It is only selfishness!' There\nis no merit, I reply, yet the love that is born in us is our salvation\nfrom selfishness. It is of the very essence of righteousness. Because a\nthing is joyful, it does not follow that I do it for the joy of it; yet\nwhen the joy is in others, the joy is pure. That _certain_ joys should\nbe joys, is the very denial of selfishness. The man would be a\ndemoniacally selfish man, whom love itself did not make joyful. It is\nselfish to enjoy in content beholding others lack; even in the highest\nspiritual bliss, to sit careless of others would be selfishness, and\nthe higher the bliss, the worse the selfishness; but surely that bliss\nis right altogether of which a great part consists in labour that\nothers may share it. Such, I will not doubt--the labour to bring others\nin to share with us, will be a great part of our heavenly content and\ngladness. The making, the redeeming Father will find plenty of like\nwork for his children to do. Dull are those, little at least can they\nhave of Christian imagination, who think that where all are good,\nthings must be dull. It is because there is so little good yet in them,\nthat they know so little of the power or beauty of merest life divine.\nLet such make haste to be true. Interest will there be and variety\nenough, not without pain, in the ministration of help to those yet\nwearily toiling up the heights of truth--perhaps yet unwilling to part\nwith miserable self, which cherishing they are not yet worth being, or\ncapable of having.\n\nSome of the things a man may have to forsake in following Christ, he\nhas not to forsake because of what they are in themselves. Neither\nnature, art, science, nor fit society, is of those things a man will\nlose in forsaking himself: they are God's, and have no part in the\nworld of evil, the false judgments, low wishes, and unrealities\ngenerally, that make up the conscious life of the self which has to be\ndenied: such will never be restored to the man. But in forsaking\nhimself to do what God requires of him--his true work in the world,\nthat is, a man may find he has to leave some of God's things--not to\nrepudiate them, but for the time to forsake them, because they draw his\nmind from the absolute necessities of the true life in himself or in\nothers. He may have to deny himself in leaving them--not as bad things,\nbut as things for which there is not room until those of paramount\nclaim have been so heeded, that these will no longer impede but further\nthem. Then he who knows God, will find that knowledge open the door of\nhis understanding to all things else. He will become able to behold\nthem from within, instead of having to search wearily into them from\nwithout. This gave to king David more understanding than had all his\nteachers. Then will the things he has had to leave, be restored to him\na hundred fold. So will it be in the forsaking of friends. To forsake\nthem for Christ, is not to forsake them as evil. It is not to cease to\nlove them, 'for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how\ncan he love God whom he hath not seen?' it is--not to allow their love\nto cast even a shadow between us and our Master; to be content to lose\ntheir approval, their intercourse, even their affection, where the\nMaster says one thing and they another. It is to learn to love them in\na far higher, deeper, tenderer, truer way than before--a way which\nkeeps all that was genuine in the former way, and loses all that was\nfalse. We shall love _their_ selves, and disregard our own.\n\nI do not forget the word of the Lord about _hating father and mother_:\nI have a glimpse of the meaning of it, but dare not attempt explaining\nit now. It is all against the self--not against the father and mother.\n\nThere is another kind of forsaking that may fall to the lot of some,\nand which they may find very difficult: the forsaking of such notions\nof God and his Christ as they were taught in their youth--which they\nheld, nor could help holding, at such time as they began to believe--of\nwhich they have begun to doubt the truth, but to cast which away seems\nlike parting with every assurance of safety.\n\nThere are so-called doctrines long accepted of good people, which how\nany man can love God and hold, except indeed by fast closing of the\nspiritual eyes, I find it hard to understand. If a man care more for\nopinion than for life, it is not worth any other man's while to\npersuade him to renounce the opinions he happens to entertain; he would\nbut put other opinions in the same place of honour--a place which can\n_belong_ to no opinion whatever: it matters nothing what such a man may\nor may not believe, for he is not a true man. By holding with a school\nhe supposes to be right, he but bolsters himself up with the worst of\nall unbelief--opinion calling itself faith--unbelief calling itself\nreligion. But for him who is in earnest about the will of God, it is of\nendless consequence that he should think rightly of God. He cannot come\nclose to him, cannot truly know his will, while his notion of him is in\nany point that of a false god. The thing shows itself absurd. If such a\nman seem to himself to be giving up even his former assurance of\nsalvation, in yielding such ideas of God as are unworthy of God, he\nmust none the less, if he will be true, if he would enter into life,\ntake up that cross also. He will come to see that he must follow _no_\ndoctrine, be it true as word of man could state it, but the living\nTruth, the Master himself.\n\nGood souls many will one day be horrified at the things they now\nbelieve of God. If they have not thought about them, but given\nthemselves to obedience, they may not have done them much harm as yet;\nbut they can make little progress in the knowledge of God, while, if\nbut passively, holding evil things true of him. If, on the other hand,\nthey do think about them, and find in them no obstruction, they must\nindeed be far from anything to be called a true knowledge of God. But\nthere are those who find them a terrible obstruction, and yet imagine,\nor at least fear them true: such must take courage to forsake the false\nin _any_ shape, to deny their old selves in the most seemingly sacred\nof prejudices, and follow Jesus, not as he is presented in the\ntradition of the elders, but as he is presented by himself, his\napostles, and the spirit of truth. There are 'traditions of men' after\nChrist as well as before him, and far worse, as 'making of none effect'\nhigher and better things; and we have to look to it, _how we have\nlearned Christ_.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE TRUTH IN JESUS.\n\n\n'_But ye did not so learn Christ; if so be that ye heard him, and were\ntaught in him, even as truth is in Jesus: that ye put away, as\nconcerning your former manner of life, the old man, which waxeth\ncorrupt after the lusts of deceit._' [Footnote: That is, 'which is\nstill going to ruin through the love of the lie.']--Eph. iv. 20-22.\n\nHow have we learned Christ? It ought to be a startling thought, that we\nmay have learned him wrong. That must be far worse than not to have\nlearned him at all: his place is occupied by a false Christ, hard to\nexorcise! The point is, whether we have learned Christ as he taught\nhimself, or as men have taught him who thought they understood, but did\nnot understand him. Do we think we know him--with notions fleshly,\nafter low, mean human fancies and explanations, or do we indeed know\nhim--after the spirit, in our measure as God knows him? The Christian\nreligion, throughout its history, has been open to more corrupt\nmisrepresentation than ever the Jewish could be, for as it is higher\nand wider, so must it yield larger scope to corruption:--have we\nlearned Christ in false statements and corrupted lessons about him, or\nhave we learned _himself_? Nay, true or false, is only our brain full\nof things concerning him, or does he dwell himself in our hearts, a\nlearnt, and ever being learnt lesson, the power of our life?\n\nI have been led to what I am about to say, by a certain utterance of\none in the front rank of those who assert that we can know nothing of\nthe 'Infinite and Eternal energy from which all things proceed;' and\nthe utterance is this:--\n\n'The visiting on Adam's descendants through hundreds of generations\ndreadful penalties for a small transgression which they did not commit;\nthe damning of all men who do not avail themselves of an alleged mode\nof obtaining forgiveness, which most men have never heard of; and the\neffecting a reconciliation by sacrificing a son who was perfectly\ninnocent, to satisfy the assumed necessity for a propitiatory victim;\nare modes of action which, ascribed to a human ruler, would call forth\nexpressions of abhorrence; and the ascription of them to the Ultimate\nCause of things, even not felt to be full of difficulties, must become\nimpossible.'\n\nI do not quote the passage with the design of opposing either clause of\nits statement, for I entirely agree with it: almost it feels an\nabsurdity to say so. Neither do I propose addressing a word to the\nwriter of it, or to any who hold with him. The passage bears out what I\nhave often said--that I never yet heard a word from one of that way of\nthinking, which even touched anything I hold. One of my earliest\nrecollections is of beginning to be at strife with the false system\nhere assailed. Such paganism I scorn as heartily in the name of Christ,\nas I scorn it in the name of righteousness. Rather than believe a\nsingle point involving its spirit, even with the assurance thereby of\nsuch salvation as the system offers, I would join the ranks of those\nwho 'know nothing,' and set myself with hopeless heart to what I am now\ntrying with an infinite hope in the help of the pure originating One--\nto get rid of my miserable mean self, comforted only by the chance that\ndeath would either leave me without thought more, or reveal something\nof the Ultimate Cause which it would not be an insult to him, or a\ndishonour to his creature, to hold concerning him. Even such a chance\nalone might enable one to live.\n\nI will not now enquire how it comes that the writer of the passage\nquoted seems to put forward these so-called beliefs as representing\nChristianity, or even the creed of those who call themselves\nChristians, seeing so many, and some of them of higher rank in\nliterature than himself, believing in Christ with true hearts, believe\nnot one of such things as he has set down, but hold them in at least as\ngreat abhorrence as he: his answer would probably be, that, even had he\nbeen aware of such being the fact, what he had to deal with was the\nforming and ruling notions of religious society;--and that such are the\nthings held by the bulk of both educated and uneducated calling\nthemselves Christians, however many of them may vainly think by an\nexplanatory clause here and there to turn away the opprobrium of their\nfalsehood, while they remain virtually the same--that such are the\nthings so held, I am, alas! unable to deny. It helps nothing, I repeat,\nthat many, thinking little on the matter, use _quasi_ mitigated forms\nto express their tenets, and imagine that so they indicate a different\nclass of ideas: it would require but a brief examination to be\nconvinced that they are not merely analogous--they are ultimately\nidentical.\n\nBut had I to do with the writer, I should ask how it comes that,\nrefusing these dogmas as abominable, and in themselves plainly false,\nyet knowing that they are attributed to men whose teaching has done\nmore to civilize the world than that of any men besides--how it comes\nthat, seeing such teaching as this could not have done so, he has not\ntaken such pains of enquiry as must surely have satisfied a man of his\nfaculty that such was not their teaching; that it was indeed so\ndifferent, and so good, that even the forced companionship of such\nhorrible lies as those he has recounted, has been unable to destroy its\nregenerative power. I suppose he will allow that there was a man named\nJesus, who died for the truth he taught: can he believe he died for\nsuch alleged truth as that? Would it not be well, I would ask him, to\nenquire what he did really teach, according to the primary sources of\nour knowledge of him? If he answered that the question was\nuninteresting to him, I should have no more to say; nor did I now start\nto speak of him save with the object of making my position plain to\nthose to whom I would speak--those, namely, who call themselves\nChristians.\n\nIf of them I should ask, 'How comes it that such opinions are held\nconcerning the Holy One, whose ways you take upon you to set forth?' I\nshould be met by most with the answer, 'Those are the things he tells\nus himself in his word; we have learned them from the Scriptures;' by\nmany with explanations which seem to them so to explain the things that\nthey are no longer to be reprobated; and by others with the remark that\nbetter ideas, though largely held, had not yet had time to show\nthemselves as the belief of the thinkers of the nation. Of those whose\npresentation of Christian doctrine is represented in the quotation\nabove, there are two classes--such as are content it should be so, and\nsuch to whom those things are grievous, but who do not see how to get\nrid of them. To the latter it may be some little comfort to have one\nwho has studied the New Testament for many years and loves it beyond\nthe power of speech to express, declare to them his conviction that\nthere is not an atom of such teaching in the whole lovely, divine\nutterance; that such things are all and altogether the invention of\nmen--honest invention, in part at least, I grant, but yet not true.\nThank God, we are nowise bound to accept any man's explanation of God's\nways and God's doings, however good the man may be, if it do not\ncommend itself to our conscience. The man's conscience may be a better\nconscience than ours, and his judgment clearer; nothing the more can we\naccept while we cannot see good: to do so would be to sin.\n\nBut it is by no means my object to set forth what I believe or do not\nbelieve; a time may come for that; my design is now very different\nindeed. I desire to address those who call themselves Christians, and\nexpostulate with them thus:--\n\nWhatever be your _opinions_ on the greatest of all subjects, is it well\nthat the impression with regard to Christianity made upon your\ngeneration, should be that of your opinions, and not of something\nbeyond opinion? Is Christianity capable of being represented by\nopinion, even the best? If it were, how many of us are such as God\nwould choose to represent his thoughts and intents by our opinions\nconcerning them? Who is there of his friends whom any thoughtful man\nwould depute to represent his thoughts to his fellows? If you answer,\n'The opinions I hold and by which I represent Christianity, are those\nof the Bible,' I reply, that none can understand, still less represent,\nthe opinions of another, but such as are of the same mind with him--\ncertainly none who mistake his whole scope and intent so far as in\nsupposing _opinion_ to be the object of any writer in the Bible. Is\nChristianity a system of articles of belief, let them be correct as\nlanguage can give them? Never. So far am I from believing it, that I\nwould rather have a man holding, as numbers of you do, what seem to me\nthe most obnoxious untruths, opinions the most irreverent and gross, if\nat the same time he _lived_ in the faith of the Son of God, that is,\ntrusted in God as the Son of God trusted in him, than I would have a\nman with every one of whose formulas of belief I utterly coincided, but\nwho knew nothing of a daily life and walk with God. The one, holding\ndoctrines of devils, is yet a child of God; the other, holding the\ndoctrines of Christ and his Apostles, is of the world, yea, of the\ndevil.\n\n'How! a man hold the doctrine of devils, and yet be of God?'\n\nYes; for to hold a thing with the intellect, is not to believe it. A\nman's real belief is that which he lives by; and that which the man I\nmean lives by, is the love of God, and obedience to his law, so far as\nhe has recognized it. Those hideous doctrines are outside of him; he\n_thinks_ they are inside, but no matter; they are not true, and they\ncannot really be inside any good man. They are sadly against him; for\nhe cannot love to dwell upon any of those supposed characteristics of\nhis God; he acts and lives nevertheless in a measure like the true God.\nWhat a man believes, is the thing he does. This man would shrink with\nloathing from actions such as he thinks God justified in doing; like\nGod, he loves and helps and saves. Will the living God let such a man's\nopinions damn him? No more than he will let the correct opinions of\nanother, who lives for himself, save him. The best salvation even the\nlatter could give would be but damnation. What I come to and insist\nupon is, that, supposing your theories right, and containing all that\nis to be believed, yet those theories are not what makes you\nChristians, if Christians indeed you are. On the contrary, they are,\nwith not a few of you, just what keeps you from being Christians. For\nwhen you say that, to be saved, a man must hold this or that, then are\nyou leaving the living God and his will, and putting trust in some\nnotion about him or his will. To make my meaning clearer,--some of you\nsay we must trust in the finished work of Christ; or again, our faith\nmust be in the merits of Christ--in the atonement he has made--in the\nblood he has shed: all these statements are a simple repudiation of the\nliving Lord, _in whom_ we are told to believe, who, by his presence\nwith and in us, and our obedience to him, lifts us out of darkness into\nlight, leads us from the kingdom of Satan into the glorious liberty of\nthe sons of God. No manner or amount of belief _about him_ is the faith\nof the New Testament. With such teaching I have had a lifelong\nacquaintance, and declare it most miserably false. But I do not now\nmean to dispute against it; except the light of the knowledge of the\nglory of God in the face of Christ Jesus make a man sick of his\nopinions, he may hold them to doomsday for me; for no opinion, I\nrepeat, is Christianity, and no preaching of any plan of salvation is\nthe preaching of the glorious gospel of the living God. Even if your\nplan, your theories, were absolutely true, the holding of them with\nsincerity, the trusting in this or that about Christ, or in anything he\ndid or could do, the trusting in anything but himself, his own living\nself, is a delusion. Many will grant this heartily, and yet the moment\nyou come to talk with them, you find they insist that to believe in\nChrist is to believe in the atonement, meaning by that only and\naltogether their special theory about the atonement; and when you say\nwe must believe in the atoning Christ, and cannot possibly believe in\nany theory concerning the atonement, they go away and denounce you,\nsaying, 'He does not believe in the atonement!' If I explain the\natonement otherwise than they explain it, they assert that I deny the\natonement; nor count it of any consequence that I say I believe in the\natoner with my whole heart, and soul, and strength, and mind. This they\ncall _contending for the truth_! Because I refuse an explanation which\nis not in the New Testament, though they believe it is, because they\ncan think of no other, one which seems to me as false in logic as\ndetestable in morals, not to say that there is no spirituality in it\nwhatever, therefore I am not a Christian! What wonder men such as I\nhave quoted refuse the Christianity they suppose such 'believers' to\nrepresent! I do not say that with this sad folly may not mingle a\npotent faith in the Lord himself; but I do say that the importance they\nplace on theory is even more sadly obstructive to true faith than such\ntheories themselves: while the mind is occupied in enquiring,\n\n'Do I believe or feel this thing right?'--the true question is\nforgotten: 'Have I left all to follow him?' To the man who gives\nhimself to the living Lord, every belief will necessarily come right;\nthe Lord himself will see that his disciple believe aright concerning\nhim. If a man cannot trust him for this, what claim can he make to\nfaith in him? It is because he has little or no faith, that he is left\nclinging to preposterous and dishonouring ideas, the traditions of men\nconcerning his Father, and neither his teaching nor that of his\napostles. The living Christ is to them but a shadow; the all but\nobliterated Christ of their theories no soul can thoroughly believe in:\nthe disciple of such a Christ rests on his work, or his merits, or his\natonement!\n\nWhat I insist upon is, that a man's faith shall be in the living,\nloving, ruling, helping Christ, devoted to us as much as ever he was,\nand with all the powers of the Godhead for the salvation of his\nbrethren. It is not faith that he did this, that his work wrought\nthat--it is faith in the man who did and is doing everything for us\nthat will save him: without this he cannot work to heal spiritually,\nany more than he would heal physically, when he was present to the eyes\nof men. Do you ask, 'What is faith in him?' I answer, The leaving of\nyour way, your objects, your self, and the taking of his and him; the\nleaving of your trust in men, in money, in opinion, in character, in\natonement itself, _and doing as he tells you_. I can find no words\nstrong enough to serve for the weight of this necessity--this\nobedience. It is the one terrible heresy of the church, that it has\nalways been presenting something else than obedience as faith in\nChrist. The work of Christ is not the Working Christ, any more than the\nclothing of Christ is the body of Christ. If the woman who touched the\nhem of his garment had trusted in the garment and not in him who wore\nit, would she have been healed? And the reason that so many who believe\n_about_ Christ rather than in him, get the comfort they do, is that,\ntouching thus the mere hem of his garment, they cannot help believing a\nlittle in the live man inside the garment. It is not wonderful that\nsuch believers should so often be miserable; they lay themselves down\nto sleep with nothing but the skirt of his robe in their hand--a robe\ntoo, I say, that never was his, only by them is supposed his--when they\nmight sleep in peace with the living Lord in their hearts. Instead of\nso knowing Christ that they have him in them saving them, they lie\nwasting themselves in soul-sickening self-examination as to whether\nthey are believers, whether they are really trusting in the atonement,\nwhether they are truly sorry for their sins--the way to madness of the\nbrain, and despair of the heart. Some even ponder the imponderable--\nwhether they are of the elect, whether they have an interest in the\nblood shed for sin, whether theirs is a saving faith--when all the time\nthe man who died for them is waiting to begin to save them from every\nevil--and first from this self which is consuming them with trouble\nabout its salvation; he will set them free, and take them home to the\nbosom of the Father--if only they will mind what he says to them--which\nis the beginning, middle, and end of faith. If, instead of searching\ninto the mysteries of corruption in their own charnel-houses, they\nwould but awake and arise from the dead, and come out into the light\nwhich Christ is waiting to give them, he would begin at once to fill\nthem with the fulness of God.\n\n'But I do not know how to awake and arise!'\n\nI will tell you:--Get up, and do something the master tells you; so\nmake yourself his disciple at once. Instead of asking yourself whether\nyou believe or not, ask yourself whether you have this day done one\nthing because he said, Do it, or once abstained because he said, Do not\ndo it. It is simply absurd to say you believe, or even want to believe\nin him, if you do not anything he tells you. If you can think of\nnothing he ever said as having had an atom of influence on your doing\nor not doing, you have too good ground to consider yourself no disciple\nof his. Do not, I pray you, worse than waste your time in trying to\nconvince yourself that you are his disciple notwithstanding--that for\nthis reason or that you still have cause to think you believe in him.\nWhat though you should succeed in persuading yourself to absolute\ncertainty that you are his disciple, if, after all, he say to you, 'Why\ndid you not do the things I told you? Depart from me; I do not know\nyou!' Instead of trying to persuade yourself, if the thing be true you\ncan make it truer; if it be not true, you can begin at once to make it\ntrue, to _be_ a disciple of the Living One--by obeying him in the first\nthing you can think of in which you are not obeying him. We must learn\nto obey him in everything, and so must begin somewhere: let it be at\nonce, and in the very next thing that lies at the door of our\nconscience! Oh fools and slow of heart, if you think of nothing but\nChrist, and do not set yourselves to do his words! you but build your\nhouses on the sand. What have such teachers not to answer for who have\nturned your regard away from the direct words of the Lord himself,\nwhich are spirit and life, to contemplate plans of salvation tortured\nout of the words of his apostles, even were those plans as true as they\nare false! There is but one plan of salvation, and that is to believe\nin the Lord Jesus Christ; that is, to take him for what he is--our\nmaster, and his words as if he meant them, which assuredly he did. To\ndo his words is to enter into vital relation with him, to obey him is\nthe only way to be one with him. The relation between him and us is an\nabsolute one; it can nohow begin to _live_ but in obedience: it is\nobedience. There can be no truth, no reality, in any initiation of\natonement with him, that is not obedience. What! have I the poorest\nnotion of a God, and dare think of entering into relations with him,\nthe very first of which is not that what he saith, I will do? The thing\nis eternally absurd, and comes of the father of lies. I know what he\nwhispers to those to whom such teaching as this is distasteful: 'It is\nthe doctrine of works!' But one word of the Lord humbly heard and\nreceived will suffice to send all the demons of false theology into the\nabyss. He says the man that does not do the things he tells him, builds\nhis house to fall in utter ruin. He instructs his messengers to go and\nbaptize all nations, 'teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I\nhave commanded you.' Tell me it is faith he requires: do I not know it?\nand is not faith the highest act of which the human mind is capable?\nBut faith in what? Faith in what he is, in what he says--a faith which\ncan have no existence except in obedience--a faith which is obedience.\nTo do what he wishes is to put forth faith in him. For this the\nteaching of men has substituted this or that belief _about_ him, faith\nin this or that supposed design of his manifestation in the flesh. It\nwas himself, and God in him that he manifested; but faith in him and\nhis father thus manifested, they make altogether secondary to\nacceptance of the paltry contrivance of a juggling morality, which they\nattribute to God and his Christ, imagining it the atonement, and 'the\nplan of salvation.' 'Do you put faith in _him_,' I ask, 'or in the\ndoctrines and commandments of men?' If you say 'In him,'--'Is it then\npossible,' I return, 'that you do not see that, above all things and\nall thoughts, you are bound to obey him?' Do you not mourn that you\ncannot trust in him as you would, that you find it too hard? Too hard\nit is for you, and too hard it will remain, while the things he tells\nyou to do--the things you can do--even those you will not try! How\nshould you be capable of trusting in the true one while you are nowise\ntrue to him? How are you to believe he will do his part by you, while\nyou are not such as to do your part by him? How are you to believe\nwhile you are not faithful? How, I say, should you be capable of\ntrusting in him? The very thing to make you able to trust in him, and\nso receive all things from him, you turn your back upon: obedience you\ndecline, or at least neglect. You say you do not refuse to obey him? I\ncare not whether you refuse or not, while you do not obey. Remember the\nparable: 'I go, sir, and went not.' What have you done this day because\nit was the will of Christ? Have you dismissed, once dismissed, an\nanxious thought for the morrow? Have you ministered to any needy soul\nor body, and kept your right hand from knowing what your left hand did?\nHave you begun to leave all and follow him? Did you set yourself to\njudge righteous judgment? Are you being ware of covetousness? Have you\nforgiven your enemy? Are you seeking the kingdom of God and his\nrighteousness before all other things? Are you hungering and thirsting\nafter righteousness? Have you given to some one that asked of you? Tell\nme something that you have done, are doing, or are trying to do because\nhe told you. If you do nothing that he says, it is no wonder that you\ncannot trust in him, and are therefore driven to seek refuge in the\natonement, as if something he had done, and not he himself in his doing\nwere the atonement. _That is not as you understand it?_ What does it\nmatter how you understand, or what you understand, so long as you are\nnot of one mind with the Truth, so long as you and God are not _at\none_, do not atone together? How should you understand? Knowing that\nyou do not heed his word, why should I heed your explanation of it? You\ndo not his will, and so you cannot understand him; you do not know him,\nthat is why you cannot trust in him. You think your common sense enough\nto let you know what he means? Your common sense ought to be enough to\nknow itself unequal to the task. It is the heart of the child that\nalone can understand the Father. Would you have me think you guilty of\nthe sin against the Holy Ghost--that you _understand_ Jesus Christ and\nyet will not obey him? That were too dreadful. I believe you do not\nunderstand him. No man can do yet what he tells him aright--but are you\ntrying? Obedience is not perfection, but trying. You count him a hard\nmaster, and will not stir. Do you suppose he ever gave a commandment\nknowing it was of no use for it could not be done? He tells us a thing\nknowing that we must do it, or be lost; that not his Father himself\ncould save us but by getting us at length to do everything he commands,\nfor not otherwise can we know life, can we learn the holy secret of\ndivine being. He knows that you can try, and that in your trying and\nfailing he will be able to help you, until at length you shall do the\nwill of God even as he does it himself. He takes the will in the\nimperfect deed, and makes the deed at last perfect. Correctest notions\nwithout obedience are worthless. The doing of the will of God is the\nway to oneness with God, which alone is salvation. Sitting at the gate\nof heaven, sitting on the footstool of the throne itself, yea, clasping\nthe knees of the Father, you could not be at peace, except in their\nevery vital movement, in every their smallest point of consciousness,\nyour heart, your soul, your mind, your brain, your body, were one with\nthe living God. If you had one brooding thought that was not a joy in\nhim, you would not be at peace; if you had one desire you could not\nleave absolutely to his will you would not be at peace; you would not\nbe saved, therefore could not feel saved. God, all and in all, ours to\nthe fulfilling of our very being, is the religion of the perfect,\nson-hearted Lord Christ.\n\nWell do I know it is faith that saves us--but not faith in any work of\nGod--it is faith in God himself. If I did not believe God as good as\nthe tenderest human heart, the fairest, the purest, the most unselfish\nhuman heart could imagine him, yea, an infinitude better, higher than\nwe as the heavens are higher than the earth--believe it, not as a\nproposition, or even as a thing I was convinced of, but with the\nresponsive condition and being of my whole nature; if I did not feel\nevery fibre of heart and brain and body safe with him because he is the\nFather who made me that I am--I would not be saved, for this faith is\nsalvation; it is God and the man one. God and man together, the vital\nenergy flowing unchecked from the creator into his creature--that is\nthe salvation of the creature. But the poorest faith in the living God,\nthe God revealed in Christ Jesus, if it be vital, true, that is\nobedient, is the beginning of the way to know him, and to know him is\neternal life. If you mean by faith anything of a different kind, that\nfaith will not save you. A faith, for instance, that God does not\nforgive me because he loves me, but because he loves Jesus Christ,\ncannot save me, because it is a falsehood against God: if the thing\nwere true, such a gospel would be the preaching of a God that was not\nlove, therefore in whom was no salvation, a God to know whom could not\nbe eternal life. Such a faith would damn, not save a man; for it would\nbind him to a God who was anything but perfect. Such assertions going\nby the name of Christianity, are nothing but the poor remnants of\npaganism; and it is only with that part of our nature not yet Christian\nthat we are able to believe them--so far indeed as it is possible a lie\nshould be believed. We must forsake all our fears and distrusts for\nChrist. We must receive his teaching heartily, nor let the\ninterpretation of it attributed to his apostles make us turn aside from\nit. I say interpretation attributed to them; for what they teach is\nnever against what Christ taught, though very often the exposition of\nit is--and that from no fault in the apostles, but from the grievous\nfault of those who would understand, and even explain, rather than\nobey. We may be sure of this, that no man will be condemned for any sin\nthat is past; that, if he be condemned, it will be because he would not\ncome to the light when the light came to him; because he would not\ncease to do evil and learn to do well; because he hid his unbelief in\nthe garment of a false faith, and would not obey; because he imputed to\nhimself a righteousness that was not his; because he preferred\nimagining himself a worthy person, to confessing himself everywhere in\nthe wrong, and repenting. We may be sure also of this, that, if a man\nbecomes the disciple of Christ, he will not leave him in ignorance as\nto what he has to believe; he shall know the truth of everything it is\nneedful for him to understand. If we do what he tells us, his light\nwill go up in our hearts. Till then we could not understand even if he\nexplained to us. If you cannot trust him to let you know what is right,\nbut think you must hold this or that before you can come to him, then I\njustify your doubts in what you call your worst times, but which I\nsuspect are your best times in which you come nearest to the\ntruth--those, namely, in which you fear you have no faith.\n\nSo long as a man will not set himself to obey the word spoken, the word\nwritten, the word printed, the word read, of the Lord Christ, I would\nnot take the trouble to convince him concerning the most obnoxious\ndoctrines that they were false as hell. It is those who would fain\nbelieve, but who by such doctrines are hindered, whom I would help.\nDisputation about things but hides the living Christ who alone can\nteach the truth, who is the truth, and the knowledge of whom is life; I\nwrite for the sake of those whom the false teaching that claims before\nall to be true has driven away from God--as well it might, for the God\nso taught is not a God worthy to be believed in. A stick, or a stone,\nor a devil, is all that some of our brethren of mankind have to believe\nin: he who believes in a God not altogether unselfish and good, a God\nwho does not do all he can for his creatures, belongs to the same\nclass; his is not the God who made the heaven and the earth and the sea\nand the fountains of water--not the God revealed in Christ. If a man\nsee in God any darkness at all, and especially if he defend that\ndarkness, attempting to justify it as one who respects the person of\nGod, I cannot but think his blindness must have followed his mockery of\n'_Lord! Lord!_' Surely, if he had been strenuously obeying Jesus, he\nwould ere now have received the truth that God is light, and in him is\nno darkness--a truth which is not acknowledged by calling the darkness\nattributed to him light, and the candle of the Lord in the soul of man\ndarkness. It is one thing to believe that God can do nothing wrong,\nquite another to call whatever presumption may attribute to him right.\n\nThe whole secret of progress is the doing of the thing we know. There\nis no other way of progress in the spiritual life; no other way of\nprogress in the understanding of that life: only as we do, can we know.\n\nIs there then anything you will not leave for Christ? You cannot know\nhim--and yet he is the Truth, the one thing alone that can be known! Do\nyou not care to be imperfect? would you rather keep this or that, with\nimperfection, than part with it to be perfect? You cannot know Christ,\nfor the very principle of his life was the simple absolute relation of\nrealities; his one idea was to be a perfect child to his Father. He who\nwill not part with all for Christ, is not worthy of him, and cannot\nknow him; and the Lord is true, and cannot acknowledge him: how could\nhe receive to his house, as one of his kind, a man who prefers\nsomething to his Father; a man who is not for God; a man who will\nstrike a bargain with God, and say, 'I will give up so much, if thou\nwilt spare me'! To yield all to him who has only made us and given us\neverything, yea his very self by life and by death, such a man counts\ntoo much. His conduct says, 'I never asked thee to do so much for me,\nand I cannot make the return thou demandest.' The man will have to be\nleft to himself. He must find what it is to be without God! Those who\nknow God, or have but begun to catch a far-off glimmer of his\ngloriousness, of what he is, regard life as insupportable save God be\nthe All in all, the first and the last.\n\nTo let their light shine, not to force on them their interpretations of\nGod's designs, is the duty of Christians towards their fellows. If you\nwho set yourselves to explain the theory of Christianity, had set\nyourselves instead to do the will of the Master, the one object for\nwhich the Gospel was preached to you, how different would now be the\ncondition of that portion of the world with which you come into\ncontact! Had you given yourselves to the understanding of his word that\nyou might do it, and not to the quarrying from it of material wherewith\nto buttress your systems, in many a heart by this time would the name\nof the Lord be loved where now it remains unknown. The word of life\nwould then by you have been held out indeed. Men, undeterred by your\nexplanations of Christianity, for you would not be forcing them on\ntheir acceptance, and attracted by your behaviour, would be saying to\neach other, as Moses said to himself when he saw the bush that burned\nwith fire and was not consumed, 'I will now turn aside and see this\ngreat sight!' they would be drawing nigh to behold how these Christians\nloved one another, and how just and fair they were to every one that\nhad to do with them! to note that their goods were the best, their\nweight surest, their prices most _reasonable_, their word most certain!\nthat in their families was neither jealousy nor emulation! that mammon\nwas not there worshipped! that in their homes selfishness was neither\nthe hidden nor the openly ruling principle; that their children were as\ndiligently taught to share, as some are to save, or to lay out only\nupon self--their mothers more anxious lest a child should hoard than\nlest he should squander; that in no house of theirs was religion one\nthing, and the daily life another; that the ecclesiastic did not think\nfirst of his church, nor the peer of his privileges.\n\nWhat do I hear you say?--'_How then shall the world go on_?' The Lord's\nworld will go on, and that without you; the devil's world will go on,\nand that with you. The objection is but another and overwhelming proof\nof your unbelief. Either you do not believe the word the Lord spake--\nthat, if we seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, all\nthings needful will be added to us; or what he undertakes does not\nsatisfy you; it is not enough; you want more; you prefer the offers of\nMammon. You are nowise anxious to be saved from the too-much that is a\nsnare; you want what you call a fortune--the freedom of the world. You\nwould not live under such restrictions as the Lord might choose to lay\nupon you if he saw that something might be made of you precious in his\nsight! You would inherit the earth, and not by meekness; you would have\nthe life of this world sweet, come of the life eternal, the life that\nGod shares with you, what may: so much as that comes to, you would\ngladly leave God to look after, if only you might be sure of not sharing\nwith the rich man when you die. But you find that, unable to trust him\nfor this world, neither can you trust him for the world to come.\nRefusing to obey him in your life, how can you trust him for your life?\nHence the various substitutes you seek for faith in him: you would hold\nhim to his word, bind him by his promises, appeal to the atonement, to\nthe satisfaction made to his justice, as you call it--while you will\ntake no trouble to fulfil the absolutely reasonable and necessary\ncondition, yea, morally and spiritually imperative condition--condition\nand means in one--on which he offers, and through which alone he can\noffer you deliverance from the burden of life into the strength and\nglory of life--that you shall be true, and to him obedient children. You\nsay 'Christ has satisfied the law,' but you will not satisfy him! He\nsays, 'Come unto me,' and you will not rise and go to him. You say,\n'Lord I believe; help mine unbelief,' but when he says, 'Leave\neverything behind you, and be as I am towards God, and you shall have\npeace and rest,' you turn away, muttering about _figurative language_.\nIf you had been true, had been living _the_ life, had been Christians\nindeed, you would, however little, have drawn the world after you. In\nyour churches you would be receiving truest nourishment, yea strength to\nlive--thinking far less of serving God on the Sunday, and far more of\nserving your neighbour in the week. The sociable vile, the masterful\nrich, the deceitful trader, the ambitious poor, whom you have attracted\nto your communities with the offer of a salvation other than deliverance\nfrom sin, would not be lording it over them and dragging them down; they\nwould be the cleaner and the stronger for their absence; while the\npublicans and the sinners would have been drawn instead, and turned into\ntrue men and women; and the Israelite indeed, who is yet more repelled\nby your general worldliness than by your misrepresentations of God,\nshowing him selfish like yourselves who is the purity of the creation--\nthe Israelite in whom is no guile would have hastened to the company of\nthe loving men and true, eager to learn what it was that made them so\ngood, so happy, so unselfish, so free of care, so ready to die, so\nwilling to live, so hopeful, so helpful, so careless to possess, so\nundeferential to possession. Finding you to hold, from the traditional\nforce of false teaching, such things as you do, he would have said, 'No!\nsuch beliefs can never account for such mighty results!' You would have\nanswered, 'Search the Scriptures and see.' He would have searched, and\nfound--not indeed the things you imagine there, but things infinitely\nbetter and higher, things that indeed account for the result he wondered\nat; he would have found such truth as he who has found will hold for\never as the only gladness of his being. There you would have had your\nreward for being true Christians in spite of the evil doctrines you had\nbeen taught and teaching: you would have been taught in return the truth\nof the matter by him whom your true Christianity had enticed to itself,\nand sent to the fountainhead free of the prejudices that disabled your\njudgment. Thus delivered from the false notions which could not fail to\nhave stunted your growth hitherto, how rapid would it not have become!\n\nIf any of you tell me my doctrine is presumptuous, that it is contrary\nto what is taught in the New Testament, and what the best of men have\nalways believed, I will not therefore proceed to defend even my\nbeliefs, the principles on which I try to live--how much less my\nopinions! I appeal to you instead, whether or not I have spoken the\ntruth concerning our paramount obligation to do the word of Christ. If\nyou answer that I have not, I have nothing more to say; there is no\nother ground on which we can meet. But if you allow that it is a prime,\neven if you do not allow it _the_ prime duty, then what I insist upon\nis, that you should do it, so and not otherwise recommending the\nknowledge of him. I do not attempt to change your opinions; if they are\nwrong, the obedience alone on which I insist can enable you to set them\nright; I only pray you to obey, and assert that thus only can you fit\nyourselves for understanding the mind of Christ. I say none but he who\ndoes right, can think right; you cannot _know_ Christ to be right until\nyou do as he does, as he tells you to do; neither can you set him\nforth, until you know him as he means himself to be known, that is, as\nhe is. If you are serving and trusting in Mammon, how can you know the\nliving God who, the source of life, is alone to be trusted in! If you\ndo not admit that it is the duty of a man to do the word of Christ, or\nif, admitting the duty, you yet do not care to perform it, why should I\ncare to convince you that my doctrine is right? What is it to any true\nman what you think of his doctrine? What does it matter what you think\nof any doctrine? If I could convince your judgment, your hearts\nremaining as they are, I should but add to your condemnation. The true\nheart must see at once, that, however wrong I may or may not be in\nother things, at least I am right in this, that Jesus must be obeyed,\nand at once obeyed, in the things he did say: it will not long imagine\nto obey him in things he did not say. If a man do what is unpleasing to\nChrist, believing it his will, he shall yet gain thereby, for it gives\nthe Lord a hold of him, which he will use; but before he can reach\nliberty, he must be delivered from that falsehood. For him who does not\nchoose to see that Christ must be obeyed, he must be left to the\nteaching of the Father, who brings all that hear and learn of him to\nChrist, that they may learn what he is who has taught them and brought\nthem. He will leave no man to his own way, however much he may prefer\nit. The Lord did not die to provide a man with the wretched heaven he\nmay invent for himself, or accept invented for him by others; he died\nto give him life, and bring him to the heaven of the Father's peace;\nthe children must share in the essential bliss of the Father and the\nSon. This is and has been the Father's work from the beginning--to\nbring us into the home of his heart, where he shares the glories of\nlife with the Living One, in whom was born life to light men back to\nthe original life. This is our destiny; and however a man may refuse,\nhe will find it hard to fight with God--useless to kick against the\ngoads of his love. For the Father is goading him, or will goad him, if\nneedful, into life by unrest and trouble; hell-fire will have its turn\nif less will not do: can any need it more than such as will neither\nenter the kingdom of heaven themselves, nor suffer them to enter it\nthat would? The old race of the Pharisees is by no means extinct; they\nwere St Paul's great trouble, and are yet to be found in every\nreligious community under the sun.\n\nThe one only thing truly to reconcile all differences is, to walk in\nthe light. So St Paul teaches us in his epistle to the Philippians, the\nthird chapter and sixteenth verse. After setting forth the loftiest\nidea of human endeavour in declaring the summit of his own aspiration,\nhe says--not, 'This must be your endeavour also, or you cannot be\nsaved;' but, 'If in anything ye be otherwise minded, God shall reveal\neven this unto you. Nevertheless whereto we have already attained, let\nus walk by that same.' Observe what widest conceivable scope is given\nby the apostle to honest opinion, even in things of grandest\nimport!--the one only essential point with him is, that whereto we have\nattained, what we have seen to be true, _we walk by that_. In such\nwalking, and in such walking only, love will grow, truth will grow; the\nsoul, then first in its genuine element and true relation towards God,\nwill see into reality that was before but a blank to it; and he who has\npromised to teach, will teach abundantly. Faster and faster will the\nglory of the Lord dawn upon the hearts and minds of his people so\nwalking--then his people indeed; fast and far will the knowledge of him\nspread, for truth of action, both preceding and following truth of\nword, will prepare the way before him. The man walking in that whereto\nhe has attained, will be able to think aright; the man who does not\nthink right, is unable because he has not been walking right; only when\nhe begins to do the thing he knows, does he begin to be able to think\naright; then God comes to him in a new and higher way, and works along\nwith the spirit he has created. The soul, without its heaven above its\nhead, without its life-breath around it, without its love-treasure in\nits heart, without its origin one with it and bound up in it, without\nits true self and originating life, cannot think to any real purpose--\nnor ever would to all eternity. When man joins with God, then is all\nimpotence and discord cast out. Until then, there can be but jar; God\nis in contest with the gates of hell that open in the man, and can but\nhold his own; when the man joins him, then is Satan foiled. For then\nfirst nature receives her necessity: no such necessity has she as this\nlaw of all laws--that God and man are one. Until they begin to be one\nin the reality as in the divine idea, in the flower as in the root, in\nthe finishing as in the issuing creation, nothing can go right with the\nman, and God can have no rest from his labour in him. As the greatest\norbs in heaven are drawn by the least, God himself must be held in\ndivine disquiet until every one of his family be brought home to his\nheart, to be one with him in a unity too absolute, profound,\nfar-reaching, fine, and intense, to be understood by any but the God from\nwhom it comes, yet to be guessed at by the soul from the\nunspeakableness of its delight when at length it is with the _only_\nthat can be its own, the one that it can possess, the one that can\npossess it. For God is the heritage of the soul in the ownness of\norigin; man is the offspring of his making will, of his life; God\nhimself is his birth-place; God is the self that makes the soul able to\nsay _I too, I myself_. This absolute unspeakable bliss of the creature\nis that for which the Son died, for which the Father suffered with him.\nThen only is life itself; then only is it right, is it one; then only\nis it as designed and necessitated by the eternal life-outgiving Life.\n\nWhereto then we have attained let us walk by that same!\n\n\n                     END OF THE SECOND SERIES.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                     UNSPOKEN SERMONS SERIES THREE\n\n\n\n\n                              _TO MY WIFE_\n\n\n                    Sun and wind and rain, the Lord\n                        Is to seed his Father buried\n                    For he is the living Word,\n                        And the quickening Spirit.\n\n\n                               BORDIGHERA:\n                                   _May_ 3, 1889.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE CREATION IN CHRIST.\n\n\n   _All things were made by him, and without him was not anything\n   made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the\n   light of men_.--John i. 3, 4.\n\nIt seems to me that any lover of the gospel given to thinking, and\nespecially one accustomed to the effort of uttering thought, can hardly\nhave failed to feel dissatisfaction, more or less definite, with the\nclose of the third verse, as here presented to English readers. It\nseems to me in its feebleness, unlike, and rhetorically unworthy of the\nrest. That it is no worse than pleonastic, that is, redundant,\ntherefore only unnecessary, can be no satisfaction to the man who would\nfind perfection, if he may, in the words of him who was nearer the Lord\nthan any other. The phrase 'that was made' seems, from its uselessness,\nweak even to foolishness after what precedes: 'All things were made by\nhim, and without him was not anything made _that was made_.'\n\nMy hope was therefore great when I saw, in reading the Greek, that the\nshifting of a period would rid me of the pleonasm. If thereupon any\nprecious result of meaning should follow, the change would not merely\nbe justifiable--seeing  that points are of no authority with anyone\naccustomed to the vagaries of scribes, editors, and printers--but one\nfor which to give thanks to God. And I found the change did unfold such\na truth as showed the rhetoric itself in accordance with the highest\nthought of the apostle. So glad was I, that it added little to my\nsatisfaction to find the change supported by the best manuscripts and\nversions. It could add none to learn that the passage had been, in\nrespect of the two readings, a cause of much disputation: the ground of\nargument on the side of the common reading, seemed to me worse than\nworthless.\n\nLet us then look at the passage as I think it ought to be translated,\nand after that, seek the meaning for the sake of which it was written.\nIt is a meaning indeed by no means dependent for its revelation on this\npassage, belonging as it does to the very truth as it is in Jesus; but\nit is therein magnificently expressed by the apostle, and differently\nfrom anywhere else--that is, if I am right in the interpretation which\nsuggested itself the moment I saw the probable rhetorical relation of\nthe words.\n\n'All things were made through him, and without him was made not one\nthing. That which was made in him was life, and the life was the light\nof men.'\n\nNote the antithesis of the _through_ and the _in_.\n\nIn this grand assertion seems to me to lie, more than shadowed, the\ngerm of creation and redemption--of all the divine in its relation to\nall the human.\n\nIn attempting to set forth what I find in it, I write with no desire to\nprovoke controversy, which I loathe, but with some hope of presenting\nto the minds of such as have become capable of seeing it, the glory of\nthe truth of the Father and the Son, as uttered by this first of seers,\nafter the grandest fashion of his insight. I am as indifferent to a\nreputation for orthodoxy as I despise the championship of novelty. To\nthe untrue, the truth itself must seem unsound, for the light that is\nin them is darkness.\n\nI believe, then, that Jesus Christ is the eternal son of the eternal\nfather; that from the first of firstness Jesus is the son, because God\nis the father--a statement imperfect and unfit because an attempt of\nhuman thought to represent that which it cannot grasp, yet which it so\nbelieves that it must try to utter it even in speech that cannot be\nright. I believe therefore that the Father is the greater, that if the\nFather had not been, the Son could not have been. I will not apply\nlogic to the thesis, nor would I state it now but for the sake of what\nis to follow. The true heart will remember the inadequacy of our\nspeech, and our thought also, to the things that lie near the unknown\nroots of our existence. In saying what I do, I only say what Paul\nimplies when he speaks of the Lord giving up the kingdom to his father,\nthat God may be all in all. I worship the Son as the human God, the\ndivine, the only Man, deriving his being and power from the Father,\nequal with him as a son is the equal at once and the subject of his\nfather--but _making himself the equal of his father in what is most\nprecious in Godhead, namely, Love_--which is, indeed, the essence of\nthat statement of the evangelist with which I have now to do--a higher\nthing than the making of the worlds and the things in them, which he\ndid by the power of the Father, not by a self-existent power in\nhimself, whence the apostle, to whom the Lord must have said things he\ndid not say to the rest, or who was better able to receive what he said\nto all, says, 'All things were made' not _by_, but '_through_ him.'\n\nWe must not wonder things away into nonentity, but try to present them\nto ourselves after what fashion we are able--our shadows of the\nheavenly. For our very beings and understandings and consciousnesses,\nthough but shadows in regard to any perfection either of outline or\noperation, are yet shadows of his being, his understanding, his\nconsciousness, and he has cast those shadows; they are no more causally\nour own than his power of creation is ours. In our shadow-speech then,\nand following with my shadow-understanding as best I can the words of\nthe evangelist, I say, The Father, in bringing out of the unseen the\nthings that are seen, made essential use of the Son, so that all that\nexists was created _through_ him. What the difference between the part\nin creation of the Father and the part of the Son may be, who can\nunderstand?--but perhaps we may one day come to see into it a little;\nfor I dare hope that, through our willed sonship, we shall come far\nnearer ourselves to creating. The word _creation_ applied to the\nloftiest success of human genius, seems to me a mockery of humanity,\nitself in process of creation.\n\nLet us read the text again: 'All things were made _through_ him, and\nwithout him was made not one thing. That which was made _in_ him was\nlife.' You begin to see it? The power by which he created the worlds\nwas given him by his father; he had in himself a greater power than\nthat by which he made the worlds. There was something made, not\n_through_ but _in_ him; something brought into being by himself. Here\nhe creates in his grand way, in himself, as did the Father. 'That which\nwas made _in_ him was _life_'\n\nWhat does this mean? What is the _life_ the apostle intends? Many forms\nof life have come to being through the Son, but those were results, not\nforms of the life that was brought to existence _in_ him. He could not\nhave been employed by the Father in creating, save in virtue of the\nlife that was _in_ him.\n\nAs to what the life of God is to himself, we can only know that we\ncannot know it--even that not being absolute ignorance, for no one can\nsee that, from its very nature, he cannot understand a thing without\ntherein approaching that thing in a most genuine manner. As to what the\nlife of God is in relation to us, we know that it is the causing life\nof everything that we call life--of everything that is; and in knowing\nthis, we know something of that life, by the very forms of its force.\nBut the one interminable mystery, for I presume the two make but one\nmystery--a mystery that must be a mystery to us for ever, not because\nGod will not explain it, but because God himself could not make us\nunderstand it--is first, how he can be self-existent, and next, how he\ncan make other beings exist: self-existence and creation no man will\never understand. Again, regarding the matter from the side of the\ncreature--the cause of his being is antecedent to that being; he can\ntherefore have no knowledge of his own creation; neither could he\nunderstand that which he can do nothing like. If we could make\nourselves, we should understand our creation, but to do that we must be\nGod. And of all ideas this--that,  with the self-dissatisfied,\npainfully circumscribed consciousness I possess, I could in any way\nhave caused myself, is the most dismal and hopeless. Nevertheless, if I\nbe a child of God, I must be _like_ him, like him even in the matter of\nthis creative energy. There must be something in me that corresponds in\nits childish way to the eternal might in him. But I am forestalling.\nThe question now is: What was that life, the thing made _in_ the\nSon--made by him inside himself, not outside him--made not _through_\nbut _in him_--the life that was his own, as God's is his own?\n\nIt was, I answer, that act in him that corresponded in him, as the son,\nto the self-existence of his father. Now what is the deepest in God?\nHis power? No, for power could not make him what we mean when we say\n_God._ Evil could, of course, never create one atom; but let us\nunderstand very plainly, that a being whose essence was only power\nwould be such a negation of the divine that no righteous worship could\nbe offered him: his service must be fear, and fear only. Such a being,\neven were he righteous in judgment, yet could not be God. The God\nhimself whom we love could not be righteous were he not something\ndeeper and better still than we generally mean by the word--but, alas,\nhow little can language say without seeming to say something wrong! In\none word, God is Love. Love is the deepest depth, the essence of his\nnature, at the root of all his being. It is not merely that he could\nnot be God, if he had made no creatures to whom to be God; but love is\nthe heart and hand of his creation; it is his right to create, and his\npower to create as well. The love that foresees creation is itself the\npower to create. Neither could he be righteous--that is, fair to his\ncreatures--but that his love created them. His perfection is his love.\nAll his divine rights rest upon his love. Ah, he is not the great\nmonarch! The simplest peasant loving his cow, is more divine than any\nmonarch whose monarchy is his glory. If God would not punish sin, or if\nhe did it for anything but love, he would not be the father of Jesus\nChrist, the God who works as Jesus wrought.  What then, I say once\nmore, is in Christ correspondent to the creative power of God? It must\nbe something that comes also of love; and in the Son the love must be\nto the already existent. Because of that eternal love which has no\nbeginning, the Father must have the Son. God could not love, could not\nbe love, without making things to love: Jesus has God to love; the love\nof the Son is responsive to the love of the Father. The response to\nself-existent love is self-abnegating love. The refusal of himself is\nthat in Jesus which corresponds to the creation of God. His love takes\naction, creates, in self-abjuration, in the death of self as motive; in\nthe drowning of self in the life of God, where it lives only as love.\nWhat is life in a child? Is it not perfect response to his parents?\nthorough oneness with them? A child at strife with his parents, one in\nwhom their will is not his, is no child; as a child he is dead, and his\ndeath is manifest in rigidity and contortion. His spiritual order is on\nthe way to chaos. Disintegration has begun. Death is at work in him.\nSee the same child yielding to the will that is righteously above his\nown; see the life begin to flow from the heart through the members; see\nthe relaxing limbs; see the light rise like a fountain in his eyes, and\nflash from his face! Life has again its lordship!\n\nThe life of Christ is this--negatively, that he does nothing, cares for\nnothing for his own sake; positively, that he cares with his whole soul\nfor the will, the pleasure of his father. Because his father is his\nfather, therefore he will be his child. The truth in Jesus is his\nrelation to his father; the righteousness of Jesus is his fulfilment of\nthat relation. Meeting this relation, loving his father with his whole\nbeing, he is not merely alive as born of God; but, giving himself with\nperfect will to God, choosing to die to himself and live to God, he\ntherein creates in himself a new and higher life; and, standing upon\nhimself, has gained the power to awake life, the divine shadow of his\nown, in the hearts of us his brothers and sisters, who have come from\nthe same birth-home as himself, namely, the heart of his God and our\nGod, his father and our father, but who, without our elder brother to\ndo it first, would never have chosen that self-abjuration which is\nlife, never have become alive like him. To will, not from self, but\nwith the Eternal, is to live.\n\nThis choice of his own being, in the full knowledge of what he did;\nthis active willing to be the Son of the Father, perfect in\nobedience--is that in Jesus which responds and corresponds to the\nself-existence of God. Jesus rose at once to the height of his being,\nset himself down on the throne of his nature, in the act of subjecting\nhimself to the will of the Father as his only good, the only _reason_\nof his existence. When he died on the cross, he did that, in the wild\nweather of his outlying provinces in the torture of the body of his\nrevelation, which he had done at home in glory and gladness. From the\ninfinite beginning--for here I can speak only by contradictions-he\ncompleted and held fast the eternal circle of his existence in saying,\n'Thy will, not mine, be done!' He made himself what he is by _deathing_\nhimself into the will of the eternal Father, through which will he was\nthe eternal Son--thus plunging into the fountain of his own life, the\neverlasting Fatherhood, and taking the Godhead of the Son. This is the\nlife that was made _in_ Jesus: 'That which was made in him was life.'\nThis life, self-willed in Jesus, is the one thing that makes such\nlife--the eternal life, the true life, possible--nay, imperative,\nessential, to every man, woman, and child, whom the Father has sent\ninto the outer, that he may go back into the inner world, his heart. As\nthe self-existent life of the Father has given us being, so the willed\ndevotion of Jesus is his power to give us eternal life like his own--to\nenable us to do the same. There is no life for any man, other than the\nsame kind that Jesus has; his disciple must live by the same absolute\ndevotion of his will to the Father's; then is his life one with the\nlife of the Father.\n\nBecause we are come out of the divine nature, which chooses to be\ndivine, we must _choose_ to be divine, to be of God, to be one with\nGod, loving and living as he loves and lives, and so be partakers of\nthe divine nature, or we perish. Man cannot originate this life; it\nmust be shown him, and he must choose it. God is the father of Jesus\nand of us--of every possibility of our being; but while God is the\nfather of his children, Jesus is the father of their sonship; for in\nhim is made the life which is sonship to the Father--the recognition,\nnamely, in fact and life, that the Father has his claim upon his sons\nand daughters. We are not and cannot become true sons without our will\nwilling his will, our doing following his making. It was the will of\nJesus to be the thing God willed and meant him, that made him the true\nson of God. He was not the son of God because he could not help it, but\nbecause he willed to be in himself the son that he was in the divine\nidea. So with us: we must _be_ the sons we are. We are not made to be\nwhat we cannot help being; sons and daughters are not after such\nfashion! We are sons and daughters in God's claim; we must be sons and\ndaughters in our will. And we can be sons and daughters, saved into the\noriginal necessity and bliss of our being, only by choosing God for the\nfather he is, and doing his will--yielding ourselves true sons to the\nabsolute Father. Therein lies human bliss--only and essential. The\nworking out of this our salvation must be pain, and the handing of it\ndown to them that are below must ever be in pain; but the eternal form\nof the will of God in and for us, is intensity of bliss.\n\n'And the life was the light of men.'\n\nThe life of which I have now spoken became light to men in the\nappearing of him in whom it came into being. The life became light that\nmen might see it, and themselves live by choosing that life also, by\nchoosing so to live, such to be.\n\nThere is always something deeper than anything said--something  of\nwhich all human, all divine words, figures, pictures, motion-forms, are\nbut the outer laminar spheres through which the central reality shines\nmore or less plainly. Light itself is but the poor outside form of a\ndeeper, better thing, namely, life. The life is Christ. The light too\nis Christ, but only the body of Christ. The life is Christ himself. The\nlight is what we _see_ and shall see in him; the life is what we may\n_be_ in him. The life 'is a light by abundant clarity invisible;' it is\nthe unspeakable unknown; it must become light such as men can see\nbefore men can know it. Therefore the obedient human God appeared as\nthe obedient divine man, doing the works of his father--the things,\nthat is, which his father did--doing them humbly before unfriendly\nbrethren. The Son of the Father must take his own form in the substance\nof flesh, that he may be seen of men, and so become the light of\nmen--not that men may have light, but that men may have life;--that,\nseeing what they could not originate, they may, through the life that\nis in them, begin to hunger after the life of which they are capable,\nand which is essential to their being;--that the life in them may long\nfor him who is their life, and thirst for its own perfection, even as\nroot and stem may thirst for the flower for whose sake, and through\nwhose presence in them, they exist. That the child of God may become\nthe son of God by beholding _the_ Son, the life revealed in light; that\nthe radiant heart of the Son of God may be the sunlight to his fellows;\nthat the idea may be drawn out by the presence and drawing of the\nIdeal--that Ideal, the perfect Son of the Father, was sent to his\nbrethren.\n\nLet us not forget that the devotion of the Son could never have been\nbut for the devotion of the Father, who never seeks his own glory one\natom more than does the Son; who is devoted to the Son, and to all his\nsons and daughters, with a devotion perfect and eternal, with\nfathomless unselfishness. The whole being and doing of Jesus on earth\nis the same as his being and doing from all eternity, that whereby he\nis the blessed son-God of the father-God; it is the shining out of that\nlife that men might see it. It is a being like God, a doing of the will\nof God, a working of the works of God, therefore an unveiling of the\nFather in the Son, that men may know him. It is the prayer of the Son\nto the rest of the sons to come back to the Father, to be reconciled to\nthe Father, to behave to the Father as he does. He seems to me to say:\n'I know your father, for he is my father; I know him because I have\nbeen with him from eternity. You do not know him; I have come to you to\ntell you that as I am, such is he; that he is just like me, only\ngreater and better. He only is the true, original good; I am true\nbecause I seek nothing but his will. He only is all in all; I am not\nall in all, but he is my father, and I am the son in whom his heart of\nlove is satisfied. Come home with me, and sit with me on the throne of\nmy obedience. Together we will do his will, and be glad with him, for\nhis will is the only good. You may do with me as you please; I will not\ndefend myself. Because I speak true, my witness is unswerving; I stand\nto it, come what may. If I held my face to my testimony only till\ndanger came close, and then prayed the Father for twelve legions of\nangels to deliver me, that would be to say the Father would do anything\nfor his children until it began to hurt him. I bear witness that my\nfather is such as I. In the face of death I assert it, and dare death\nto disprove it. Kill me; do what you will and can against me; my father\nis true, and I am true in saying that he is true. Danger or hurt cannot\nturn me aside from this my witness. Death can only kill my body; he\ncannot make me his captive. Father, thy will be done! The pain will\npass; it will be but for a time! Gladly will I suffer that men may know\nthat I live, and that thou art my life. Be with me, father, that it may\nnot be more than I can bear.'\n\nFriends, if you think anything less than this could redeem the world,\nor make blessed any child that God has created, you know neither the\nSon nor the Father.\n\nThe bond of the universe, the chain that holds it together, the one\nactive unity, the harmony of things, the negation of difference, the\nreconciliation of all forms, all shows, all wandering desires, all\nreturning loves; the fact at the root of every vision, revealing that\n'love is the only good in the world,' and selfishness the one thing\nhateful, in the city of the living God unutterable, is the devotion of\nthe Son to the Father. It is the life of the universe. It is not the\nfact that God created all things, that makes the universe a whole; but\nthat he through whom he created them loves him perfectly, is eternally\ncontent in his father, is satisfied to be because his father is with\nhim. It is not the fact that God is all in all, that unites the\nuniverse; it is the love of the Son to the Father. For of no onehood\ncomes unity; there can be no oneness where there is only one. For the\nvery beginnings of unity there must be two. Without Christ, therefore,\nthere could be no universe. The reconciliation wrought by Jesus is not\nthe primary source of unity, of safety to the world; that\nreconciliation was the necessary working out of the eternal antecedent\nfact, the fact making itself potent upon the rest of the family--that\nGod and Christ are one, are father and son, the Father loving the Son\nas only the Father can love, the Son loving the Father as only the Son\ncan love. The prayer of the Lord for unity between men and the Father\nand himself, springs from the eternal need of love. The more I regard\nit, the more I am lost in the wonder and glory of the thing. But for\nthe Father and the Son, no two would care a jot the one for the other.\nIt might be the right way for creatures to love because of mere\nexistence, but what two creatures would ever have originated the\nloving? I cannot for a moment believe it would have been I. Even had I\ncome into being as now with an inclination to love, selfishness would\nsoon have overborne it. But if the Father loves the Son, if the very\nmusic that makes the harmony of life lies, not in the theory of love in\nthe heart of the Father, but in the fact of it, in the burning love in\nthe hearts of Father and Son, then glory be to the Father and to the\nSon, and to the spirit of both, the fatherhood of the Father meeting\nand blending with the sonhood of the Son, and drawing us up into the\nglory of their joy, to share in the thoughts of love that pass between\nthem, in their thoughts of delight and rest in each other, in their\nthoughts of joy in all the little ones. The life of Jesus is the light\nof men, revealing to them the Father.\n\nBut light is not enough; light is for the sake of life. We too must\nhave life in ourselves. We too must, like the Life himself, live. We\ncan live in no way but that in which Jesus lived, in which life was\nmade in him. That way is, to give up our life. This is the one supreme\naction of life possible to us for the making of life in ourselves.\nChrist did it of himself, and so became light to us, that we might be\nable to do it in ourselves, after him, and through his originating act.\nWe must do it ourselves, I say. The help that he has given and gives,\nthe light and the spirit-working of the Lord, the spirit, in our\nhearts, is all in order that we may, as we must, do it ourselves. Till\nthen we are not alive; life is not made in us. The whole strife and\nlabour and agony of the Son with every man, is to get him to die as he\ndied. All preaching that aims not at this, is a building with wood and\nhay and stubble. If I say not with whole heart, 'My father, do with me\nas thou wilt, only help me against myself and for thee;' if I cannot\nsay, 'I am thy child, the inheritor of thy spirit, thy being, a part of\nthyself, glorious in thee, but grown poor in me: let me be thy dog, thy\nhorse, thy anything thou willest; let me be thine in any shape the love\nthat is my Father may please to have me; let me be thine in any way,\nand my own or another's in no way but thine;'--if we cannot, fully as\nthis, give ourselves to the Father, then we have not yet laid hold upon\nthat for which Christ has laid hold upon us. The faith that a man may,\nnay, must put in God, reaches above earth and sky, stretches beyond the\nfarthest outlying star of the creatable universe. The question is not\nat present, however, of removing mountains, a thing that will one day\nbe simple to us, but of waking and rising from the dead now.\n\nWhen a man truly and perfectly says with Jesus, and as Jesus said it,\n'Thy will be done,' he closes the everlasting life-circle; the life of\nthe Father and the Son flows through him; he is a part of the divine\norganism. Then is the prayer of the Lord in him fulfilled: 'I in them\nand thou in me, that they made be made perfect in one.' The Christ in\nus, is the spirit of the perfect child toward the perfect father. The\nChrist in us is our own true nature made blossom in us by the Lord,\nwhose life is the light of men that it may become the life of men; for\nour true nature is childhood to the Father.\n\nFriends, those of you who know, or suspect, that these things are true,\nlet us arise and live--arise even in the darkest moments of spiritual\nstupidity, when hope itself sees nothing to hope for. Let us not\ntrouble ourselves about the cause of our earthliness, except we know it\nto be some unrighteousness in us, but go at once to the Life. Never,\nnever let us accept as consolation the poor suggestion, that the cause\nof our deadness is physical. Can it be comfort to know that this body\nof ours, because of the death in it, is too much for the spirit--which\nought not merely to triumph over it, but to inspire it with subjection\nand obedience? Let us comfort ourselves in the thought of the Father\nand the Son. So long as there dwells harmony, so long as the Son loves\nthe Father with all the love the Father can welcome, all is well with\nthe little ones. God is all right--why should we mind standing in the\ndark for a minute outside his window? Of course we miss the _inness_,\nbut there is a bliss of its own in waiting. What if the rain be\nfalling, and the wind blowing; what if we stand alone, or, more painful\nstill, have some dear one beside us, sharing our _outness_; what even\nif the window be not shining, because of the curtains of good\ninscrutable drawn across it; let us think to ourselves, or say to our\nfriend, 'God is; Jesus is not dead; nothing can be going wrong, however\nit may look so to hearts unfinished in childness.' Let us say to the\nLord, 'Jesus, art thou loving the Father in there? Then we out here\nwill do his will, patiently waiting till he open the door. We shall not\nmind the wind or the rain much. Perhaps thou art saying to the Father,\n\"Thy little ones need some wind and rain: their buds are hard; the\nflowers do not come out. I cannot get them made blessed without a\nlittle more winter-weather.\" Then perhaps the Father will say, \"Comfort\nthem, my son Jesus, with the memory of thy patience when thou wast\nmissing me. Comfort them that thou wast sure of me when everything\nabout thee seemed so unlike me, so unlike the place thou hadst left.\"'\nIn a word, let us be at peace, because peace is at the heart of\nthings--peace and utter satisfaction between the Father and the Son--in\nwhich peace they call us to share; in which peace they promise that at\nlength, when they have their good way with us, we shall share.\n\nBefore us, then, lies a bliss unspeakable, a bliss beyond the thought\nor invention of man, to every child who will fall in with the perfect\nimagination of the Father. His imagination is one with his creative\nwill. The thing that God imagines, that thing exists. When the created\nfalls in with the will of him who 'loved him into being,' then all is\nwell; thenceforward the mighty creation goes on in him upon higher and\nyet higher levels, in more and yet more divine airs. Thy will, O God,\nbe done! Nought else is other than loss, than decay, than corruption.\nThere is no life but that born of the life that the Word made in\nhimself by doing thy will, which life is the light of men. Through that\nlight is born the life of men--the same life in them that came first\ninto being in Jesus. As he laid down his life, so must men lay down\ntheir lives, that as he liveth they may live also. That which was made\nin him was life, and the life is the light of men; and yet his own, to\nwhom he was sent, _did not believe him_.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE KNOWING OF THE SON.\n\n\n_Ye have neither heard his voice at any time, nor seen his shape. And\nye have not his word abiding in you; for whom he hath sent, him ye\nbelieve not_.--John v. 37, 38.\n\nWe shall know one day just how near we come in the New Testament to the\nvery words of the Lord. That we have them with a difference, I cannot\ndoubt. For one thing, I do not believe he spoke in Greek. He was sent\nto the lost sheep of the house of Israel, and would speak their natural\nlanguage, not that which, at best, they knew in secondary fashion. That\nthe thoughts of God would come out of the heart of Jesus in anything\nbut the mother-tongue of the simple men to whom he spoke, I cannot\nthink. He may perhaps have spoken to the Jews of Jerusalem in Greek,\nfor they were less simple; but at present I do not see ground to\nbelieve he did.\n\nAgain, are we bound to believe that John Boanerges, who indeed best,\nand in some things alone, understood him, was able, after such a lapse\nof years, to give us in his gospel, supposing the Lord to have spoken\nto his disciples in Greek, the _very_ words in which he uttered the\nsimplest profundities ever heard in the human world? I do not say he\nwas not able; I say--Are we bound to believe he was able? When the\ndisciples became, by the divine presence in their hearts, capable of\nunderstanding the Lord, they remembered things he had said which they\nhad forgotten; possibly the very words in which he said them returned\nto their memories; but must we believe the evangelists always precisely\nrecorded his words? The little differences between their records is\nanswer enough. The gospel of John is the outcome of years and years of\nremembering, recalling, and pondering the words of the Master, one\nthing understood recalling another. We cannot tell of how much the\nmemory, in best condition--that is, with God in the man--may not be\ncapable; but I do not believe that John would have always given us the\nvery words of the Lord, even if, as I do not think he did, he had\nspoken them in Greek. God has not cared that we should anywhere have\nassurance of his very words; and that not merely, perhaps, because of\nthe tendency in his children to word-worship, false logic, and\ncorruption of the truth, but because he would not have them oppressed\nby words, seeing that words, being human, therefore but partially\ncapable, could not absolutely contain or express what the Lord meant,\nand that even he must depend for being understood upon the spirit of\nhis disciple. Seeing it could not give life, the letter should not be\nthroned with power to kill; it should be but the handmaid to open the\ndoor of the truth to the mind that was _of_ the truth.\n\n'Then you believe in an individual inspiration to anyone who chooses to\nlay claim to it!'\n\nYes--to everyone who claims it from God; not to everyone who claims\nfrom men the recognition of his possessing it. He who has a thing, does\nnot need to have it recognized. If I did not believe in a special\ninspiration to every man who asks for the holy spirit, the good thing\nof God, I should have to throw aside the whole tale as an imposture;\nfor the Lord has, according to that tale, promised such inspiration to\nthose who ask it. If an objector has not this spirit, is not inspired\nwith the truth, he knows nothing of the words that are spirit and life;\nand his objection is less worth heeding than that of a savage to the\nassertion of a chemist. His assent equally is but the blowing of an\nidle horn.\n\n'But how is one to tell whether it be in truth the spirit of God that\nis speaking in a man?'\n\nYou are not called upon to tell. The question for you is whether you\nhave the spirit of Christ yourself. The question is for you to put to\nyourself, the question is for you to answer to yourself: Am I alive\nwith the life of Christ? Is his spirit dwelling in me? Everyone who\ndesires to follow the Master has the spirit of the Master, and will\nreceive more, that he may follow closer, nearer, in his very footsteps.\nHe is not called upon to prove to this or that or any man that he has\nthe light of Jesus; he has to let his light shine. It does not follow\nthat his work is to teach others, or that he is able to speak large\ntruths in true forms. When the strength or the joy or the pity of the\ntruth urges him, let him speak it out and not be afraid--content to be\ncondemned for it; comforted that if he mistake, the Lord himself will\ncondemn him, and save him 'as by fire.' The condemnation of his fellow\nmen will not hurt him, nor a whit the more that it be spoken in the\nname of Christ. If he speak true, the Lord will say 'I sent him.' For\nall truth is of him; no man can see a true thing to be true but by the\nLord, the spirit.\n\n'How am I to know that a thing is true?'\n\nBy _doing_ what you know to be true, and calling nothing true until you\nsee it to be true; by shutting your mouth until the truth opens it. Are\nyou meant to be silent? Then woe to you if you speak.\n\n'But if I do not take the words attributed to him by the evangelists,\nfor the certain, absolute, very words of the Master, how am I to know\nthat they represent his truth?'\n\nBy seeing in them what corresponds to the plainest truth he speaks, and\ncommends itself to the power that is working in you to make of you a\ntrue man; by their appeal to your power of judging what is true; by\ntheir rousing of your conscience. If they do not seem to you true,\neither they are not the words of the Master, or you are not true enough\nto understand them. Be certain of this, that, if any words that are his\ndo not show their truth to you, you have not received his message in\nthem; they are not yet to you the word of God, for they are not in you\nspirit and life. They may be the nearest to the truth that words can\ncome; they may have served to bring many into contact with the heart of\nGod; but for you they remain as yet sealed. If yours be a true heart,\nit will revere them because of the probability that they are words with\nthe meaning of the Master behind them; to you they are the rock in the\ndesert before Moses spoke to it. If you wait, your ignorance will not\nhurt you; if you presume to reason from them, you are a blind man\ndisputing of that you never saw. To reason from a thing not understood,\nis to walk straight into the mire. To dare to reason of truth from\nwords that do not show to us that they are true, is the presumption of\nPharisaical _hypocrisy_. Only they who are not true, are capable of\ndoing it. Humble mistake will not hurt us: the truth is there, and the\nLord will see that we come to know it. We may think we know it when we\nhave scarce a glimpse of it; but the error of a true heart will not be\nallowed to ruin it. Certainly that heart would not have mistaken the\ntruth except for the untruth yet remaining in it; but he who casts out\ndevils will cast out that devil.\n\nIn the saying before us, I see enough to enable me to believe that its\nwords embody the mind of Christ. If I could not say this, I should say,\n'The apostle has here put on record a saying of Christ's; I have not\nyet been able to recognise the mind of Christ in it; therefore I\nconclude that I cannot have understood it, for to understand what is\ntrue is to know it true.' I have yet seen no words credibly reported as\nthe words of Jesus, concerning which I dared to say, 'His mind is not\ntherein, therefore the words are not his.' The mind of man call receive\nany word only in proportion as it is the word of Christ, and in\nproportion as he is one with Christ. To him who does verily receive his\nword, it is a power, not of argument, but of life. The words of the\nLord are not for the logic that deals with words as if they were\nthings; but for the spiritual logic that reasons from divine thought to\ndivine thought, dealing with spiritual facts.\n\nNo thought, human or divine, can be conveyed from man to man save\nthrough the symbolism of the creation. The heavens and the earth are\naround us that it may be possible for us to speak of the unseen by the\nseen; for the outermost husk of creation has correspondence with the\ndeepest things of the Creator. He is not a God that hideth himself, but\na God who made that he might reveal; he is consistent and one\nthroughout. There are things with which an enemy hath meddled; but\nthere are more things with which no enemy could meddle, and by which we\nmay speak of God. They may not have revealed him to us, but at least\nwhen he is revealed, they show themselves so much of his nature, that\nwe at once use them as spiritual tokens in the commerce of the spirit,\nto help convey to other minds what we may have seen of the unseen.\nBelonging to this sort of mediation are the words of the Lord I would\nnow look into.\n\n'And the Father himself which hath sent me, hath borne witness of me.\nYe have neither heard his voice at any time, nor seen his shape. And ye\nhave not his word abiding in you: for whom he hath sent, him ye believe\nnot.'\n\nIf Jesus said these words, he meant more, not less, than lies on their\nsurface. They cannot be mere assertion of what everybody knew; neither\ncan their repetition of similar negations be tautological. They were\nnot intended to inform the Jews of a fact they would not have dreamed\nof denying. Who among them would say he had ever heard God's voice, or\nseen his shape? John himself says 'No man hath seen God at any time.'\nWhat is the tone of the passage? It is reproach. Then he reproaches\nthem that they had not seen God, when no man hath seen God at any time,\nand Paul says no man can see him! Is there here any paradox? There\ncannot be the sophism: 'No man hath seen God; ye are to blame that ye\nhave not seen God; therefore all men are to blame that they have not\nseen God!' If we read, 'No man hath seen God, but some men ought to\nhave seen him,' we do not reap such hope for the race as will give the\naspect of a revelation to the assurance that not one of those capable\nof seeing him has ever seen him!\n\nThe one utterance is of John; the other of his master: if there is any\ncontradiction between them, of course the words of John must be thrown\naway. But there can hardly be contradiction, since he who says the one\nthing, is recorder of the other as said by his master, him to whom he\nbelonged, whose disciple he was, whom he loved as never man loved man\nbefore.\n\nThe word _see_ is used in one sense in the one statement, and in\nanother sense in the other. In the one it means _see with the eyes_; in\nthe other, _with the soul_. The one statement is made of all men; the\nother is made to certain of the Jews of Jerusalem concerning\nthemselves. It is true that no man hath seen God, and true that some\nmen ought to have seen him. No man hath seen him with his bodily eyes;\nthese Jews ought to have seen him with their spiritual eyes.\n\nNo man has ever seen God in any outward, visible, close-fitting form of\nhis own: he is revealed in no shape save that of his son. But\nmultitudes of men have with their mind's, or rather their heart's eye,\nseen more or less of God; and perhaps every man might have and ought to\nhave seen something of him. We cannot follow God into his infinitesimal\nintensities of spiritual operation, any more than into the atomic\nlife-potencies that lie deep beyond the eye of the microscope: God may\nbe working in the heart of a savage, in a way that no wisdom of his\nwisest, humblest child can see, or imagine that it sees. Many who have\nnever beheld the face of God, may yet have caught a glimpse of the hem\nof his garment; many who have never seen his shape, may yet have seen\nthe vastness of his shadow; thousands who have never felt the warmth of\nits folds, have yet been startled by\n\n           No face: only the sight\n           Of a sweepy garment vast and white.\n\n\nSome have dreamed his hand laid upon them, who never knew themselves\ngathered to his bosom. The reproach in the words of the Lord is the\nreproach of men who ought to have had an experience they had not had.\nLet us look a little nearer at his words.\n\n'Ye have not heard his voice at any time,' might mean, '_Ye have never\nlistened to his voice_,' or '_Ye have never obeyed his voice_' but the\nfollowing phrase, 'nor seen his shape,' keeps us rather to the primary\nsense of the word _hear: 'The sound of his voice is unknown to you;'\n'You have never heard his voice so as to know it for his_.' 'You have\nnot seen his shape;'--'_You do not know what he is like_.' Plainly he\nimplies, '_You ought to know his voice; you ought to know what he is\nlike_.' 'You have not his word abiding in you;'--'_The word that is in\nyou from the beginning, the word of God in your conscience, you have\nnot kept with you, it is not dwelling in you; by yourselves accepted as\nthe witness of Moses, the scripture in which you think you have eternal\nlife does not abide with you, is not at home in you. It comes to you\nand goes from you. You hear, heed not, and forget. You do not dwell\nwith it, and brood upon it, and obey it. It finds no acquaintance in\nyou. You are not of its kind. You are not of those to whom the word of\nGod comes. Their ears are ready to hear; they hunger after the word of\nthe Father_.'\n\nOn what does the Lord found this his accusation of them? What is the\nsign in them of their ignorance of God?--For whom he hath sent, him ye\nbelieve not.'\n\n'How so?' the Jews might answer. 'Have we not asked from thee a sign\nfrom heaven, and hast thou not pointblank refused it?'\n\nThe argument of the Lord was indeed of small weight with, and of little\nuse to, those to whom it most applied, for the more it applied, the\nmore incapable were they of seeing that it did apply; but it would be\nof great force upon some that stood listening, their minds more or less\nopen to the truth, and their hearts drawn to the man before them. His\nargument was this: 'If ye had ever heard the Father's voice; if ye had\never known his call; if you had ever imagined him, or a God anything\nlike him; if you had cared for his will so that his word was at home in\nyour hearts, you would have known me when you saw me--known that I must\ncome from him, that I must be his messenger, and would have listened to\nme. The least acquaintance with God, such as any true heart must have,\nwould have made you recognize that I came from the God of whom you knew\nthat something. You would have been capable of knowing me by the light\nof his word abiding in you; by the shape you had beheld however\nvaguely; by the likeness of my face and my voice to those of my father.\nYou would have seen my father in me; you would have known me by the\nlittle you knew of him. The family-feeling would have been awake in\nyou, the holy instinct of the same spirit, making you know your elder\nbrother. That you do not know me now, as I stand here speaking to you,\nis that you do not know your own father, even my father; that\nthroughout your lives you have refused to do his will, and so have not\nheard his voice; that you have shut your eyes from seeing him, and have\nthought of him only as a partisan of your ambitions. If you had loved\nmy father, you would have known his son.' And I think he might have\nsaid, 'If even you had loved your neighbour, you would have known me,\nneighbour to the deepest and best in you.'  If the Lord were to appear\nthis day in England as once in Palestine, he would not come in the halo\nof the painters, or with that wintry shine of effeminate beauty, of\nsweet weakness, in which it is their helpless custom to represent him.\nNeither would he probably come as carpenter, or mason, or gardener. He\nwould come in such form and condition as might bear to the present\nEngland, Scotland, and Ireland, a relation like that which the form and\ncondition he then came in, bore to the motley Judea, Samaria, and\nGalilee. If he came thus, in form altogether unlooked for, who would\nthey be that recognized and received him? The idea involves no\nabsurdity. He is not far from us at any moment--if the old story be\nindeed more than the best and strongest of the fables that possess the\nworld. He might at any moment appear: who, I ask, would be the first to\nreceive him? Now, as then, it would of course be the childlike in\nheart, the truest, the least selfish. They would not be the highest in\nthe estimation of any church, for the childlike are not yet the many.\nIt might not even be those that knew most about the former visit of the\nMaster, that had pondered every word of the Greek Testament. The first\nto cry, 'It is the Lord!' would be neither 'good churchman' nor 'good\ndissenter.' It would be no one with so little of the mind of Christ as\nto imagine him caring about stupid outside matters. It would not be the\nman that holds by the mooring-ring of the letter, fast in the quay of\nwhat he calls theology, and from his rotting deck abuses the\npresumption of those that go down to the sea in ships--lets the wind of\nthe spirit blow where it listeth, but never blow him out among its\nwonders in the deep. It would not be he who, obeying a command, does\nnot care to see reason in the command; not he who, from very barrenness\nof soul, cannot receive the meaning and will of the Master, and so\nfails to fulfil the letter of his word, making it of none effect. It\nwould certainly, if any, be those who were likest the Master--those,\nnamely, that did the will of their father and his father, that built\ntheir house on the rock by hearing and doing his sayings. But are there\nany enough like him to know him at once by the sound of his voice, by\nthe look of his face. There are multitudes who would at once be taken\nby a false Christ fashioned after their fancy, and would at once reject\nthe Lord as a poor impostor. One thing is certain: they who first\nrecognized him would be those that most loved righteousness and hated\niniquity.\n\nBut I would not forget that there are many in whom foolish forms cover\na live heart, warm toward everything human and divine; for the\nworst-fitting and ugliest robe may hide the loveliest form. Every\ncovering is not a clothing. The grass clothes the fields; the glory\nsurpassing Solomon's clothes the grass; but the traditions of the\nworthiest elders will not clothe any soul--how much less the traditions\nof the unworthy! Its true clothing must grow out of the live soul\nitself. Some naked souls need but the sight of truth to rush to it, as\nDante says, like a wild beast to his den; others, heavily clad in the\ngarments the scribes have left behind them, and fearful of rending that\nwhich is fit only to be trodden underfoot, right cautiously approach\nthe truth, go round and round it like a shy horse that fears a hidden\nenemy. But let each be true after the fashion possible to him, and he\nshall have the Master's praise.\n\nIf the Lord were to appear, the many who take the common presentation\nof thing or person for the thing or person, could never recognize the\nnew vision as another form of the old: the Master has been so\nmisrepresented by such as have claimed to present him, and especially\nin the one eternal fact of facts--the relation between him and his\nfather--that it is impossible they should see any likeness. For my\npart, I would believe in no God rather than in such a God as is\ngenerally offered for believing in. How far those may be to blame who,\nrighteously disgusted, cast the idea from them, nor make inquiry\nwhether something in it may not be true, though most must be false,\nneither grant it any claim to investigation on the chance that some\nthat call themselves his prophets may have taken spiritual bribes\n\n          To mingle beauty with infirmities,\n          And pure perfection with impure defeature--\n\n\nhow far those may be to blame, it is not my work to inquire. Some would\ngrasp with gladness the hope that such chance might be proved a fact;\nothers would not care to discern upon the palimpsest, covered but not\nobliterated, a credible tale of a perfect man revealing a perfect God:\nthey are not true enough to desire that to be fact which would\nimmediately demand the modelling of their lives upon a perfect idea,\nand the founding of their every hope upon the same.\n\n_But we all, beholding the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same\nimage_.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE MIRRORS OF THE LORD.\n\n\n _But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the\nLord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by\nthe spirit of the Lord_.--II. Corinthians iii. 18.\n\nWe may see from this passage how the apostle Paul received the Lord,\nand how he understands his life to be the light of men, and so their\nlife also.\n\nOf all writers I know, Paul seems to me the most plainly, the most\ndeterminedly practical in his writing. What has been called his\nmysticism is at one time the exercise of a power of seeing, as by\nspiritual refraction, truths that had not, perhaps have not yet, risen\nabove the human horizon; at another, the result of a wide-eyed habit of\nnoting the analogies and correspondences between the concentric regions\nof creation; it is the working of a poetic imagination divinely alive,\nwhose part is to foresee and welcome approaching truth; to discover the\nsame principle in things that look unlike; to embody things discovered,\nin forms and symbols heretofore unused, and so present to other minds\nthe deeper truths to which those forms and symbols owe their being.\n\nI find in Paul's writing the same artistic fault, with the same\nresulting difficulty, that I find in Shakspere's--a fault that, in each\ncase, springs from the admirable fact that the man is much more than\nthe artist--the fault of trying to say too much at once, of pouring out\nstintless the plethora of a soul swelling with life and its thought,\nthrough the too narrow neck of human utterance. Thence it comes that we\nare at times bewildered between two or more meanings, equally good in\nthemselves, but perplexing as to the right deduction, as to the line of\nthe thinker's reasoning. The uncertainty, however, lies always in the\nintellectual region, never in the practical. What Paul cares about is\nplain enough to the true heart, however far from plain to the man whose\ndesire to understand goes ahead of his obedience, who starts with the\nnotion that Paul's design was to teach a system, to explain instead of\nhelp to see God, a God that can be revealed only to childlike insight,\nnever to keenest intellect. The energy of the apostle, like that of his\nmaster, went forth to rouse men to seek the kingdom of God over them,\nhis righteousness in them; to dismiss the lust of possession and\npassing pleasure; to look upon the glory of the God and Father, and\nturn to him from all that he hates; to recognize the brotherhood of\nmen, and the hideousness of what is unfair, unloving, and\nself-exalting. His design was not to teach any plan of salvation other\nthan obedience to the Lord of Life. He knew nothing of the so-called\nChristian systems that change the glory of the perfect God into the\nlikeness of the low intellects and dull consciences of men--a worse\ncorruption than the representing of him in human shape. What kind of\nsoul is it that would not choose the Apollo of light, the high-walking\nHyperion, to the notion of the dull, self-cherishing monarch, the\nlaw-dispensing magistrate, or the cruel martinet, generated in the\npagan arrogance of Rome, and accepted by the world in the church as the\nportrait of its God! Jesus Christ is the _only_ likeness of the living\nFather.\n\nLet us see then what Paul teaches us in this passage about the life\nwhich is the light of men. It is his form of bringing to bear upon men\nthe truth announced by John.\n\nWhen Moses came out from speaking with God, his face was radiant; its\nshining was a wonder to the people, and a power upon them. But the\nradiance began at once to diminish and die away, as was natural, for it\nwas not indigenous in Moses. Therefore Moses put a veil upon his face\nthat they might not see it fade. As to whether this was right or wise,\nopinion may differ: it is not my business to discuss the question. When\nhe went again into the tabernacle, he took off his veil, talked with\nGod with open face, and again put on the veil when he came out. Paul\nsays that the veil which obscured the face of Moses lies now upon the\nhearts of the Jews, so that they cannot understand him, but that when\nthey turn to the Lord, go into the tabernacle with Moses, the veil\nshall be taken away, and they shall see God. Then will they understand\nthat the glory is indeed faded upon the face of Moses, but by reason of\nthe glory that excelleth, the glory of Jesus that overshines it. Here,\nafter all, I can hardly help asking--Would not Moses have done better\nto let them see that the glory of their leader was altogether dependent\non the glory within the veil, whither they were not worthy to enter?\nDid that veil hide Moses's face only? Did he not, however\nunintentionally, lay it on their hearts? Did it not cling there, and\nhelp to hide God from them, so that they could not perceive that the\ngreater than Moses was come, and stormed at the idea that the glory of\ntheir prophet must yield? Might not the absence of that veil from his\nface have left them a little more able to realize that his glory was a\nglory that must pass, a glory whose glory was that it prepared the way\nfor a glory that must extinguish it? Moses had put the veil for ever\nfrom his face, but they clutched it to their hearts, and it blinded\nthem--admirable symbol of the wilful blindness of old Mosaist or modern\nWesleyan, admitting no light that his Moses or his Wesley did not see,\nand thus losing what of the light he saw and reflected.\n\nPaul says that the sight of the Lord will take that veil from their\nhearts. His light will burn it away. His presence gives liberty. Where\nhe is, there is no more heaviness, no more bondage, no more wilderness\nor Mount Sinai. The Son makes free with sonship.\n\nAnd now comes the passage whose import I desire to make more clear:\n\n'But we all,' having this presence and this liberty, 'with open face\nbeholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the\nsame image,' that of the Lord, 'from glory to glory, even as of the\nLord, the spirit.'\n\n'We need no Moses, no earthly mediator, to come between us and the\nlight, and bring out for us a little of the glory. We go into the\npresence of the Son revealing the Father--into the presence of the\nLight of men. Our mediator is the Lord himself, the spirit of light, a\nmediator not sent by us to God to bring back his will, but come from\nGod to bring us himself. We enter, like Moses, into the presence of the\nvisible, radiant God--only how much more visible, more radiant! As\nMoses stood with uncovered face receiving the glory of God full upon\nit, so with open, with uncovered face, full in the light of the glory\nof God, in the place of his presence, stand we--you and I, Corinthians.\nIt is no reflected light we see, but the glory of God shining _in_,\nshining out of, shining in and from the face of Christ, the glory of\nthe Father, one with the Son. Israel saw but the fading reflection of\nthe glory of God on the face of Moses; we see the glory itself in the\nface of Jesus.'\n\nBut in what follows, it seems to me that the revised version misses the\nmeaning almost as much as the authorized, when, instead of 'beholding\nas in a glass,' it gives 'reflecting as a mirror.' The former is wrong;\nthe latter is far from right. The idea, with the figure, is that of a\npoet, not a man of science. The poet deals with the outer show of\nthings, which outer show is infinitely deeper in its relation to truth,\nas well as more practically useful, than the analysis of the man of\nscience. Paul never thought of the mirror as reflecting, as throwing\nback the rays of light from its surface; he thought of it as receiving,\ntaking into itself, the things presented to it--here, as filling its\nbosom with the glory it looks upon. When I see the face of my friend in\na mirror, the mirror seems to hold it in itself, to surround the visage\nwith its liquid embrace. The countenance is _there_--down there in the\ndepth of the mirror. True, it shines radiant out of it, but it is not\nthe shining out of it that Paul has in his thought; it is the fact--the\n_visual_ fact, which, according to Wordsworth, the poet always\nseizes--of the mirror holding in it the face.\n\nThat this is the way poet or prophet--Paul was both--would think of the\nthing, especially in the age of the apostle, I shall be able to make\nappear even more probable by directing your notice to the following\npassage from Dante--whose time, though so much farther from that of the\napostle than our time from Dante's, was in many respects much liker\nPaul's than ours.\n\nThe passage is this:--Dell' Inferno: Canto xxiii. 25-27:\n\n           E quei: 'S'io fossi d'impiombato vetro,\n             L'immagine di fuor tua non trarrei\n             Piu tosto a me, che quella dentro impetro.'\n\n\nHere Virgil, with reference to the power he had of reading the thoughts\nof his companion, says to Dante:\n\n'If I were of leaded glass,'--meaning, 'If I were glass covered at the\nback with lead, so that I was a mirror,'--'I should not draw thy\noutward image to me more readily than I gain thy inner one;'--meaning,\n'than now I know your thoughts.'\n\nIt seems, then, to me, that the true simple word to represent the\nGreek, and the most literal as well by which to translate it, is the\nverb _mirror_--when the sentence, so far, would run thus: 'But we all,\nwith unveiled face, mirroring the glory of the Lord,--.'\n\nI must now go on to unfold the idea at work in the heart of the\napostle. For the mere correctness of a translation is nothing, except\nit bring us something deeper, or at least some fresher insight: with\nhim who cares for the words apart from what the writer meant them to\nconvey, I have nothing to do: he must cease to 'pass for a man' and\nbegin to be a man indeed, on the way to be a live soul, before I can\ndesire his intercourse. The prophet-apostle seems to me, then, to say,\n'We all, with clear vision of the Lord, mirroring in our hearts his\nglory, even as a mirror would take into itself his face, are thereby\nchanged into his likeness, his glory working our glory, by the present\npower, in our inmost being, of the Lord, the spirit.' Our mirroring of\nChrist, then, is one with the presence of his spirit in us. The idea,\nyou see, is not the reflection, the radiating of the light of Christ on\nothers, though that were a figure lawful enough; but the taking into,\nand having in us, him working to the changing of us.\n\nThat the thing signified transcends the sign, outreaches the figure, is\nno discovery; the thing figured always belongs to a higher stratum, to\nwhich the simile serves but as a ladder; when the climber has reached\nit, 'he then unto the ladder turns his back.' It is but according to\nthe law of symbol, that the thing symbolized by the mirror should have\nproperties far beyond those of leaded glass or polished metal, seeing\nit is a live soul understanding that which it takes into its\ndeeps--holding it, and conscious of what it holds. It mirrors by its\nwill to hold in its mirror. Unlike its symbol, it can hold not merely\nthe outward visual resemblance, but the inward likeness of the person\nrevealed by it; it is open to the influences of that which it embraces,\nand is capable of active co-operation with them: the mirror and the\nthing mirrored are of one origin and nature, and in closest relation to\neach other. Paul's idea is, that when we take into our understanding,\nour heart, our conscience, our being, the glory of God, namely Jesus\nChrist as he shows himself to our eyes, our hearts, our consciences, he\nworks upon us, and will keep working, till we are changed to the very\nlikeness we have thus mirrored in us; for with his likeness he comes\nhimself, and dwells in us. He will work until the same likeness is\nwrought out and perfected in us, the image, namely, of the humanity of\nGod, in which image we were made at first, but which could never be\ndeveloped in us except by the indwelling of the perfect likeness. By\nthe power of Christ thus received and at home in us, we are\nchanged--the glory in him becoming glory in us, his glory changing us\nto glory.\n\nBut we must beware of receiving this or any symbol _after the flesh_,\nbeware of interpreting it in any fashion that partakes of the character\nof the mere physical, psychical, or spirituo-mechanical. The symbol\ndeals with things far beyond the deepest region whence symbols can be\ndrawn. The indwelling of Jesus in the soul of man, who shall declare!\nBut let us note this, that the dwelling of Jesus in us is the power of\nthe spirit of God upon us; for 'the Lord is that spirit,' and that Lord\ndwelling in us, we are changed 'even as from the Lord the spirit.' When\nwe think Christ, Christ comes; when we receive his image into our\nspiritual mirror, he enters with it. Our thought is not cut off from\nhis. Our open receiving thought is his door to come in. When our hearts\nturn to him, that is opening the door to him, that is holding up our\nmirror to him; then he comes in, not by our thought only, not in our\nidea only, but he comes himself, and of his own will--comes in as we\ncould not take him, but as he can come and we receive him--enabled to\nreceive by his very coming the one welcome guest of the whole universe.\nThus the Lord, the spirit, becomes the soul of our souls, becomes\nspiritually what he always was creatively; and as our spirit informs,\ngives shape to our bodies, in like manner his soul informs, gives shape\nto our souls. In this there is nothing unnatural, nothing at conflict\nwith our being. It is but that the deeper soul that willed and wills\nour souls, rises up, the infinite Life, into the Self we call _I_ and\n_me_, but which lives immediately from him, and is his very own\nproperty and nature--unspeakably more his than ours: this deeper\ncreative soul, working on and with his creation upon higher levels,\nmakes the _I_ and _me_ more and more his, and himself more and more\nours; until at length the glory of our existence flashes upon us, we\nface full to the sun that enlightens what it sent forth, and know\nourselves alive with an infinite life, even the life of the Father;\nknow that our existence is not the moonlight of a mere consciousness of\nbeing, but the sun-glory of a life justified by having become one with\nits origin, thinking and feeling with the primal Sun of life, from whom\nit was dropped away that it might know and bethink itself, and return\nto circle for ever in exultant harmony around him. Then indeed we\n_are_; then indeed we have life; the life of Jesus has, through light,\nbecome life in us; the glory of God in the face of Jesus, mirrored in\nour hearts, has made us alive; we are one with God for ever and ever.\n\nWhat less than such a splendour of hope would be worthy the revelation\nof Jesus? Filled with the soul of their Father, men shall inherit the\nglory of their Father; filled with themselves, they cast him out, and\nrot. The company of the Lord, soul to soul, is that which saves with\nlife, his life of God-devotion, the souls of his brethren. No other\nsaving can save them. They must receive the Son, and through the Son\nthe Father. What it cost the Son to get so near to us that we could say\n_Come in_, is the story of his life. He stands at the door and knocks,\nand when we open to him he comes in, and dwells with us, and we are\ntransformed to the same image of truth and purity and heavenly\nchildhood. Where power dwells, there is no force; where the spirit-Lord\nis, there is liberty. The Lord Jesus, by free, potent communion with\ntheir inmost being, will change his obedient brethren till in every\nthought and impulse they are good like him, unselfish, neighbourly,\nbrotherly like him, loving the Father perfectly like him, ready to die\nfor the truth like him, caring like him for nothing in the universe but\nthe will of God, which is love, harmony, liberty, beauty, and joy.\n\nI do not know if we may call this having life in ourselves; but it is\nthe waking up, the perfecting in us of the divine life inherited from\nour Father in heaven, who made us in his own image, whose nature\nremains in us, and makes it the deepest reproach to a man that he has\nneither heard his voice at any time, nor seen his shape. He who would\nthus live must, as a mirror draws into its bosom an outward glory,\nreceive into his 'heart of heart' the inward glory of Jesus Christ,\n_the Truth_.\n\n\n\n\n                               THE TRUTH.\n\n\n      I am the truth.--John xiv. 6\n\nWhen the man of the five senses talks of _truth_, he regards it but as\na predicate of something historical or scientific proved a fact; or, if\nhe allows that, for aught he knows, there may be higher truth, yet, as\nhe cannot obtain proof of it from without, he acts as if under no\nconceivable obligation to seek any other satisfaction concerning it.\nWhatever appeal be made to the highest region of his nature, such a one\nbehaves as if it were the part of a wise man to pay it no heed, because\nit does not come within the scope of the lower powers of that nature.\nAccording to the word of _the_ man, however, truth means more than\nfact, more than relation of facts or persons, more than loftiest\nabstraction of metaphysical entity--means being and life, will and\naction; for he says, '_I am the truth_.'\n\nI desire to help those whom I may to understand more of what is meant\nby _the truth_, not for the sake of definition, or logical\ndiscrimination, but that, when they hear the word from the mouth of the\nLord, the right idea may rise in their minds; that the word may neither\nbe to them a void sound, nor call up either a vague or false notion of\nwhat he meant by it. If he says, 'I am the truth,' it must, to say the\nleast, be well to know what he means by the word with whose idea he\nidentifies himself. And at once we may premise that he can mean nothing\nmerely intellectual, such as may be set forth and left there; he means\nsomething vital, so vital that the whole of its necessary relations are\nsubject to it, so vital that it includes everything else which, in any\nlower plane, may go or have gone by the same name. Let us endeavour to\narrive at his meaning by a gently ascending stair.\n\nA thing being so, the word that says it is so, is the truth. But the\nfact may be of no value in itself, and our knowledge of it of no value\neither. Of most facts it may be said that the truth concerning them is\nof no consequence. For instance, it cannot be in itself important\nwhether on a certain morning I took one side of the street or the\nother. It may be of importance to some one to know which I took, but in\nitself it is of none. It would therefore be felt unfit if I said, 'It\nis a _truth_ that I walked on the sunny side.' The correct word would\nbe a _fact_, not a truth. If the question arose whether a statement\nconcerning the thing were correct, we should still be in the region of\nfact or no fact; but when we come to ask whether the statement was true\nor false, then we are concerned with the matter as the assertion of a\nhuman being, and ascend to another plane of things. It may be of no\nconsequence which side I was upon, or it may be of consequence to some\none to know which, but it is of vital importance to the witness and to\nany who love him, whether or not he believes the statement he\nmakes--whether the man himself is true or false. Concerning the thing\nit can be but a question of _fact_; it remains a question of fact even\nwhether the man has or has not spoken the truth; but concerning the man\nit is a question of truth: he is either a pure soul, so far as this\nthing witnesses, or a false soul, capable and guilty of a lie. In this\nrelation it is of no consequence whether the man spoke the fact or not;\nif he meant to speak the fact, he remains a true man.\n\nHere I would anticipate so far as to say that there are _truths_ as\nwell as _facts_, and lies against truths as well as against facts. When\nthe Pharisees said _Corban_, they lied against the truth that a man\nmust honour his father and mother.\n\nLet us go up now from the region of facts that seem casual, to those\nfacts that are invariable, by us unchangeable, which therefore involve\nwhat we call _law_. It will be seen at once that the _fact_ here is of\nmore dignity, and the truth or falsehood of a statement in this region\nof more consequence in itself. It is a small matter whether the water\nin my jug was frozen on such a morning; but it is a fact of great\nimportance that at thirty-two degrees of Fahrenheit water always\nfreezes. We rise a step here in the nature of the facts concerned: are\nwe come therefore into the region of truths? Is it a truth that water\nfreezes at thirty-two degrees? I think not. There is no principle, open\nto us, involved in the changeless fact. The principle that lies at the\nroot of it in the mind of God must be a truth, but to the human mind\nthe fact is as yet only a fact. The word truth ought to be kept for\nhigher things. There are those that think such facts the highest that\ncan be known; they put therefore the highest word they know to the\nhighest thing they know, and call the facts of nature truths; but to me\nit seems that, however high you come in your generalization, however\nwide you make your law---including, for instance, all solidity under\nthe law of freezing--you have not risen higher than the statement that\nsuch and such is an invariable fact. Call it a law if you will--a law\nof nature if you choose--that it always is so, but not a truth. It\ncannot be to us a truth until we descry the reason of its existence,\nits relation to mind and intent, yea to self-existence. Tell us why it\n_must_ be so, and you state a truth. When we come to see that a law is\nsuch, because it is the embodiment of a certain eternal thought, beheld\nby us in it, a fact of the being of God, the facts of which alone are\ntruths, then indeed it will be to us, not a law merely, but an embodied\ntruth. A law of God's nature is a way he would have us think of him; it\nis a necessary truth of all being. When a law of Nature makes us see\nthis; when we say, I understand that law; I see why it ought to be; it\nis just like God; then it rises, not to the dignity of a truth in\nitself, but to the truth of its own nature--namely, a revelation of\ncharacter, nature, and will in God. It is a picture of something in\nGod, a word that tells a fact about God, and is therefore far nearer\nbeing called a truth than anything below it. As a simple illustration:\nWhat notion should we have of the unchanging and unchangeable, without\nthe solidity of matter? If, such as we are, we had nothing solid about\nus, where would be our thinking about God and truth and law?\n\nBut there is a region perhaps not so high as this from the scientific\npoint of view, where yet the word truth may begin to be rightly\napplied. I believe that every fact in nature is a revelation of God, is\nthere such as it is because God is such as he is; and I suspect that\nall its facts impress us so that we learn God unconsciously. True, we\ncannot think of any one fact thus, except as we find the soul of\nit--its fact of God; but from the moment when first we come into\ncontact with the world, it is to us a revelation of God, his things\nseen, by which we come to know the things unseen. How should we imagine\nwhat we may of God, without the firmament over our heads, a visible\nsphere, yet a formless infinitude! What idea could we have of God\nwithout the sky? The truth of the sky is what it makes us feel of the\nGod that sent it out to our eyes. If you say the sky could not but be\nso and such, I grant it--with God at the root of it. There is nothing\nfor us to conceive in its stead--therefore indeed it must be so. In its\ndiscovered laws, light seems to me to be such because God is such. Its\nso-called laws are the waving of his garments, waving so because he is\nthinking and loving and walking inside them.\n\nWe are here in a region far above that commonly claimed for science,\nopen only to the heart of the child and the childlike man and woman--a\nregion in which the poet is among his own things, and to which he has\noften to go to fetch them. For things as they are, not as science deals\nwith them, are the revelation of God to his children. I would not be\nmisunderstood: there is no fact of science not yet incorporated in a\nlaw, no law of science that has got beyond the hypothetic and\ntentative, that has not in it the will of God, and therefore may not\nreveal God; but neither fact nor law is there for the sake of fact or\nlaw; each is but a mean to an end; in the perfected end we find the\nintent, and there God--not in the laws themselves, save as his means.\nFor that same reason, human science cannot discover God; for human\nscience is but the backward undoing of the tapestry-web of God's\nscience, works with its back to him, and is always leaving him--his\nintent, that is, his perfected work--behind it, always going farther\nand farther away from the point where his work culminates in\nrevelation. Doubtless it thus makes some small intellectual approach to\nhim, but at best it can come only to his back; science will never find\nthe face of God; while those who would reach his heart, those who, like\nDante, are returning thither where they are, will find also the\nspring-head of his science. Analysis is well, as death is well;\nanalysis is death, not life. It discovers a little of the way God walks\nto his ends, but in so doing it forgets and leaves the end itself\nbehind. I do not say the man of science does so, but the very process\nof his work is such a leaving of God's ends behind. It is a following\nback of his footsteps, too often without appreciation of the result for\nwhich the feet took those steps. To rise from the perfected work is the\nswifter and loftier ascent. If the man could find out why God worked\nso, then he would be discovering God; but even then he would not be\ndiscovering the best and the deepest of God; for his means cannot be so\ngreat as his ends. I must make myself clearer.\n\nAsk a man of mere science, what is the truth of a flower: he will pull\nit to pieces, show you its parts, explain how they operate, how they\nminister each to the life of the flower; he will tell you what changes\nare wrought in it by scientific cultivation; where it lives originally,\nwhere it can live; the effects upon it of another climate; what part\nthe insects bear in its varieties--and doubtless many more facts about\nit. Ask the poet what is the truth of the flower, and he will answer:\n'Why, the flower itself, the perfect flower, and what it cannot help\nsaying to him who has ears to hear it.' The truth of the flower is, not\nthe facts about it, be they correct as ideal science itself, but the\nshining, glowing, gladdening, patient thing throned on its stalk--the\ncompeller of smile and tear from child and prophet. The man of science\nlaughs at this, because he is only a man of science, and does not know\nwhat it means; but the poet and the child care as little for his\nlaughter as the birds of God, as Dante calls the angels, for his\ntreatise on aerostation. The children of God must always be mocked by\nthe children of the world, whether in the church or out of it--children\nwith sharp ears and eyes, but dull hearts. Those that hold love the\nonly good in the world, understand and smile at the world's children,\nand can do very well without anything they have got to tell them. In\nthe higher state to which their love is leading them, they will\nspeedily outstrip the men of science, for they have that which is at\nthe root of science, that for the revealing of which God's science\nexists. What shall it profit a man to know all things, and lose the\nbliss, the consciousness of well-being, which alone can give value to\nhis knowledge?\n\nGod's science in the flower exists for the existence of the flower in\nits relation to his children. If we understand, if we are at one with,\nif we love the flower, we have that for which the science is there,\nthat which alone can equip us for true search into the means and ways\nby which the divine idea of the flower was wrought out to be presented\nto us. The idea of God _is_ the flower; his idea is not the botany of\nthe flower. Its botany is but a thing of ways and means--of canvas and\ncolour and brush in relation to the picture in the painter's brain. The\nmere intellect can never find out that which owes its being to the\nheart supreme. The relation of the intellect to that which is born of\nthe heart is an unreal except it be a humble one. The idea of God, I\nrepeat, is the flower. He thought it; invented its means; sent it, a\ngift of himself, to the eyes and hearts of his children. When we see\nhow they are loved by the ignorant and degraded, we may well believe\nthe flowers have a place in the history of the world, as written for\nthe archives of heaven, which we are yet a long way from understanding,\nand which science could not, to all eternity, understand, or enable to\nunderstand. Watch that child! He has found one of his silent and\nmotionless brothers, with God's clothing upon it, God's thought in its\nface. In what a smile breaks out the divine understanding between them!\nWatch his mother when he takes it home to her--no nearer understanding\nit than he! It is no old association that brings those tears to her\neyes, powerful in that way as are flowers, and things far inferior to\nflowers; it is God's thought, unrecognized as such, holding communion\nwith her. She weeps with a delight inexplicable. It is only a daisy!\nonly a primrose! only a pheasant-eye-narcissus! only a lily of the\nfield! only a snowdrop! only a sweet-pea! only a brave yellow crocus!\nBut here to her is no mere fact; here is no law of nature; here is a\ntruth of nature, the truth of a flower--a perfect thought from the\nheart of God--a truth of God!--not an intellectual truth, but a divine\nfact, a dim revelation, a movement of the creative soul! Who but a\nfather could think the flowers for his little ones? We are nigh the\nregion now in which the Lord's word is at home--'I am the truth.'\n\nI will take an illustrative instance altogether to my mind and special\npurpose. What, I ask, is the truth of water? Is it that it is formed of\nhydrogen and oxygen?--That the chemist has now another mode of stating\nthe _fact_ of water, will not affect my illustration. His new mode will\nprobably be one day yet more antiquated than mine is now.--Is it for\nthe sake of the fact that hydrogen and oxygen combined form water, that\nthe precious thing exists? Is oxygen-and-hydrogen the divine idea of\nwater? Or has God put the two together only that man might separate and\nfind them out? He allows his child to pull his toys to pieces; but were\nthey made that he might pull them to pieces? He were a child not to be\nenvied for whom his inglorious father would make toys to such an end! A\nschool-examiner might see therein the best use of a toy, but not a\nfather! Find for us what in the constitution of the two gases makes\nthem fit and capable to be thus honoured in forming the lovely thing,\nand you will give us a revelation about more than water, namely about\nthe God who made oxygen and hydrogen. There is no water in oxygen, no\nwater in hydrogen: it comes bubbling fresh from the imagination of the\nliving God, rushing from under the great white throne of the glacier.\nThe very thought of it makes one gasp with an elemental joy no\nmetaphysician can analyse. The water itself, that dances, and sings,\nand slakes the wonderful thirst--symbol and picture of that draught for\nwhich the woman of Samaria made her prayer to Jesus--this lovely thing\nitself, whose very wetness is a delight to every inch of the human body\nin its embrace--this live thing which, if I might, I would have running\nthrough my room, yea, babbling along my table--this water is its own\nself its own truth, and is therein a truth of God. Let him who would\nknow the love of the maker, become sorely athirst, and drink of the\nbrook by the way--then lift up his heart--not at that moment to the\nmaker of oxygen and hydrogen, but to the inventor and mediator of\nthirst and water, that man might foresee a little of what his soul may\nfind in God. If he become not then as a hart panting for the\nwater-brooks, let him go back to his science and its husks: they will\nat last make him thirsty as the victim in the dust-tower of the\nPersian. As well may a man think to describe the joy of drinking by\ngiving thirst and water for its analysis, as imagine he has revealed\nanything about water by resolving it into its scientific elements. Let\na man go to the hillside and let the brook sing to him till he loves\nit, and he will find himself far nearer the fountain of truth than the\ntriumphal car of the chemist will ever lead the shouting crew of his\nhalf-comprehending followers. He will draw from the brook the water of\njoyous tears, 'and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the\nsea, and the fountains of waters.'\n\nThe truth _of a thing_, then, is the blossom of it, the thing it is\nmade for, the topmost stone set on with rejoicing; truth in a man's\nimagination is the power to recognize this truth of a thing; and\nwherever, in anything that God has made, in the glory of it, be it sky\nor flower or human face, we see the glory of God, there a true\nimagination is beholding a truth of God. And now we must advance to a\nyet higher plane.\n\nWe have seen that the moment whatever goes by the name of truth comes\ninto connection with man; the moment that, instead of merely mirroring\nitself in his intellect as a thing outside of him, it comes into\ncontact with him as a being of action; the moment the knowledge of it\naffects or ought to affect his sense of duty, it becomes a thing of far\nnobler import; the question of truth enters upon a higher phase, looks\nout of a loftier window. A fact which in itself is of no value, becomes\nat once a matter of life and death--moral life and death, when a man\nhas the choice, the imperative choice of being true or false concerning\nit. When the truth, the heart, the summit, the crown of a thing, is\nperceived by a man, he approaches the fountain of truth whence the\nthing came, and perceiving God by understanding what is, becomes more\nof a man, more of the being he was meant to be. In virtue of this truth\nperceived, he has relations with the universe undeveloped in him till\nthen. But far higher will the doing of the least, the most\ninsignificant duty raise him. He begins thereby to be a true man. A man\nmay delight in the vision and glory of a truth, and not himself be\ntrue. The man whose vision is weak, but who, as far as he sees, and\ndesirous to see farther, does the thing he sees, is a true man. If a\nman knows what is, and says it is not, his knowing does not make him\nless than a liar. The man who recognizes the truth of any human\nrelation, and neglects the duty involved, is not a true man. The man\nwho knows the laws of nature, and does not heed them, the more he\nteaches them to others, the less is he a true man. But he may obey them\nall and be the falsest of men, because of far higher and closer duties\nwhich he neglects. The man who takes good care of himself and none of\nhis brother and sister, is false. A man may be a poet, aware of the\nhighest truth of a thing, of that beauty which is the final cause of\nits existence; he may draw thence a notion of the creative loveliness\nthat thought it out; he may be a man who would not tell a lie, or\nsteal, or slander--and yet he may not be a true man, inasmuch as the\nessentials of manhood are not his aim: having nowise come to the flower\nof his own being, nowise, in his higher degree, attained the truth of\n_a thing_--namely, that for which he exists, the creational notion of\nhim--neither is he striving after the same. There are relations closer\nthan those of the facts around him, plainer than those that seem to\nbring the maker nigh to him, which he is failing to see, or seeing\nfails to acknowledge, or acknowledging fails to fulfil. Man is man only\nin the doing of the truth, perfect man only in the doing of the highest\ntruth, which is the fulfilling of his relations to his origin. But he\nhas relations with his fellow man, closer infinitely than with any of\nthe things around him, and to many a man far plainer than his relations\nwith God. Now the nearer is plainer that he may step on it, and rise to\nthe higher, till then the less plain. These relations make a large part\nof his being, are essential to his very existence, and spring from the\nvery facts of the origination of his being. They are the relation of\nthought to thought, of being to being, of duty to duty. The very nature\nof a man depends upon or is one with these relations. They are\n_truths_, and the man is a true man as he fulfils them. Fulfilling them\nperfectly, he is himself a _truth_, a living truth. As regarded merely\nby the intellect, these relations are facts of man's nature; but that\nthey are of man's nature makes them truths, and the fulfilments of them\nare duties. He is so constituted as to understand them at first more\nthan he can love them, with the resulting advantage of having thereby\nthe opportunity of choosing them purely because they are true; so doing\nhe chooses to love them, and is enabled to love them in the doing,\nwhich alone can truly reveal them to him, and make the loving of them\npossible. Then they cease to show themselves in the form of duties, and\nappear as they more truly are, absolute truths, essential realities,\neternal delights. The man is a true man who chooses duty; he is a\nperfect man who at length never thinks of duty, who forgets the name of\nit. The duty of Jesus was the doing in lower forms than the perfect\nthat which he loved perfectly, and did perfectly in the highest forms\nalso. Thus he fulfilled all righteousness. One who went to the truth by\nmere impulse, would be a holy animal, not a true man. Relations,\ntruths, duties, are shown to the man away beyond him, that he may\nchoose them, and be a child of God, choosing righteousness like him.\nHence the whole sad victorious human tale, and the glory to be\nrevealed!\n\nThe moral philosopher who regards duties only as facts of his system;\nnay, even the man who rewards them as truths, essential realities of\nhis humanity, but goes no farther, is essentially a liar, a man of\nuntruth. He is a man indeed, but not a true man. He is a man in\npossibility, but not a real man yet. The recognition of these things is\nthe imperative obligation to fulfil them. Not fulfilling these\nrelations, the man is undoing the right of his own existence,\ndestroying his _raison d'etre_, making of himself a monster, a live\nreason why he should not live, for nothing on those terms could ever\nhave begun to be. His presence is a claim upon his creator for\ndestruction.\n\nThe facts of human relation, then, are truths indeed, and of awfullest\nimport. 'Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer; and ye know that\nno murderer hath eternal life abiding in him!' The man who lives a\nhunter after pleasure, not a labourer in the fields of duty, who thinks\nof himself as if he were alone on the earth, is in himself a lie.\nInstead of being the man he looks, the man he was made to be, he lives\nas the beasts seem to live--with this difference, I trust, that they\nare rising, while he, so far as lies in himself, is sinking. But he\ncannot be allowed to sink beyond God's reach; hence all the holy--that\nis, healing--miseries that come upon him, of which he complains as so\nhard and unfair: they are for the compelling of the truth he will not\nyield--a painful suasion to be himself, to be a truth.\n\nBut suppose, for the sake of my progressive unfolding, that a man did\neverything required of him--fulfilled all the relations to his fellows\nof which I have been speaking, was toward them at least, a true man; he\nwould yet feel, doubtless would feel it the more, that something was\nlacking to him--lacking to his necessary well-being. Like a live\nflower, he would feel that he had not yet blossomed, and could not tell\nwhat the blossom ought to be. In this direction the words of the Lord\npoint, when he says to the youth, 'If thou wouldst be perfect.' The man\nwhom I suppose, would feel that his existence was not yet justified to\nitself, that the truth of his being and nature was not yet revealed to\nhis consciousness. He would remain unsatisfied; and the cause would be\nthat there was in him a relation, and that the deepest, closest, and\nstrongest, which had not yet come into live fact, which had not yet\nbecome a truth in him, toward which he was not true, whereby his being\nremained untrue, he was not himself, was not ripened into the divine\nidea, which alone can content itself. A child with a child's heart who\ndoes not even know that he has a father, yet misses him--with his whole\nnature, even if not with his consciousness. This relation has not yet\nso far begun to be fulfilled in him, as that the coming blossom should\nsend before it patience and hope enough to enable him to live by faith\nwithout sight. When the flower begins to come, the human plant begins\nto rejoice in the glory of God not yet revealed, the inheritance of the\nsaints in light; with uplifted stem and forward-leaning bud expects the\nhour when the lily of God's field shall know itself alive, with God\nhimself for its heart and its atmosphere; the hour when God and the man\nshall be one, and all that God cares for shall be the man's. But again\nI forget my progression.\n\nThe highest truth to the intellect, the abstract truth, is the relation\nin which man stands to the source of his being--his will to the will\nwhence it became a will, his love to the love that kindled his power to\nlove, his intellect to the intellect that lighted his. If a man deal\nwith these things only as things to be dealt with, as objects of\nthought, as ideas to be analysed and arranged in their due order and\nright relation, he treats them as facts and not as truths, and is no\nbetter, probably much the worse, for his converse with them, for he\nknows in a measure, and is false to all that is most worthy of his\nfaithfulness.\n\nBut when the soul, or heart, or spirit, or what you please to call that\nwhich is the man himself and not his body, sooner or later becomes\naware that he needs some one above him, whom to obey, in whom to rest,\nfrom whom to seek deliverance from what in himself is despicable,\ndisappointing, unworthy even of his own interest; when he is aware of\nan opposition in him, which is not harmony; that, while he hates it,\nthere is yet present with him, and seeming to be himself, what\nsometimes he calls _the old Adam_, sometimes _the flesh_, sometimes\n_his lower nature_, sometimes _his evil self_; and sometimes recognizes\nas simply that part of his being where God is not; then indeed is the\nman in the region of truth, and beginning to come true in himself. Nor\nwill it be long ere he discover that there is no part in him with which\nhe would be at strife, so God were there, so that it were true, what it\nought to be--in right relation to the whole; for, by whatever name\ncalled, the old Adam, or antecedent horse, or dog, or tiger, it would\nthen fulfil its part holily, intruding upon nothing, subject utterly to\nthe rule of the higher; horse or dog or tiger, it would be good horse,\ngood dog, good tiger.\n\nWhen the man bows down before a power that can account for him, a power\nto whom he is no mystery as he is to himself; a power that knows whence\nhe came and whither he is going; who knows why he loves this and hates\nthat, why and where he began to go wrong; who can set him right, longs\nindeed to set him right, making of him a creature to look up to himself\nwithout shadow of doubt, anxiety or fear, confident as a child whom his\nfather is leading by the hand to the heights of happy-making truth,\nknowing that where he is wrong, the father is right and will set him\nright; when the man feels his whole being in the embrace of\nself-responsible paternity--then the man is bursting into his flower;\nthen the truth of his being, the eternal fact at the root of his new\nname, his real nature, his idea--born in God at first, and responsive\nto the truth, the being of God, his origin--begins to show itself; then\nhis nature is almost in harmony with itself. For, obeying the will that\nis the cause of his being, the cause of that which demands of itself to\nbe true, and that will being righteousness and love and truth, he\nbegins to stand on the apex of his being, to know himself divine. He\nbegins to feel himself free. The truth--not as known to his intellect,\nbut as revealed in his own sense of being true, known by his essential\nconsciousness of his divine condition, without which his nature is\nneither his own nor God's--trueness has made him free. Not any abstract\ntruth, not all abstract truth, not truth its very metaphysical self,\nheld by purest insight into entity, can make any man free; but the\ntruth done, the truth loved, the truth lived by the man; the truth _of_\nand not merely _in_ the man himself; the honesty that makes the man\nhimself a child of the honest God.\n\nWhen a man is, with his whole nature, loving and willing the truth, he\nis then a live truth. But this he has not originated in himself. He has\nseen it and striven for it, but not originated it. The one originating,\nliving, visible truth, embracing all truths in all relations, is Jesus\nChrist. He is true; he is the live Truth. His truth, chosen and willed\nby him, the ripeness of his being, the flower of his sonship which is\nhis nature, the crown of his one topmost perfect relation acknowledged\nand gloried in, is his absolute obedience to his father. The obedient\nJesus is Jesus the Truth. He is true and the root of all truth and\ndevelopment of truth in men. Their very being, however far from the\ntrue human, is the undeveloped Christ in them, and his likeness to\nChrist is the truth of a man, even as the perfect meaning of a flower\nis the truth of a flower. Every man, according to the divine idea of\nhim, must come to the truth of that idea; and under every form of\nChrist is the Christ. The truth of every man, I say, is the perfected\nChrist in him. As Christ is the blossom of humanity, so the blossom of\nevery man is the Christ perfected in him. The vital force of humanity\nworking in him is Christ; he is his root--the generator and perfecter\nof his individuality. The stronger the pure will of the man to be true;\nthe freer and more active his choice; the more definite his\nindividuality, ever the more is the man and all that is his, Christ's.\nWithout him he could not have been; being, he could not have become\ncapable of truth; capable of truth, he could never have loved it;\nloving and desiring it, he could not have attained to it. Nothing but\nthe heart-presence, the humanest sympathy, and whatever deeper thing\nelse may be betwixt the creating Truth and the responding soul, could\nmake a man go on hoping, until at last he forget himself, and keep open\nhouse for God to come and go. He gives us the will wherewith to will,\nand the power to use it, and the help needed to supplement the power,\nwhatever in any case the need may be; but we ourselves must will the\ntruth, and for that the Lord is waiting, for the victory of God his\nfather in the heart of his child. In this alone can he see of the\ntravail of his soul, in this alone be satisfied. The work is his, but\nwe must take our willing share. When the blossom breaks forth in us,\nthe more it is ours the more it is his, for the highest creation of the\nFather, and that pre-eminently through the Son, is the being that can,\nlike the Father and the Son, of his own self will what is right. The\ngroaning and travailing, the blossom and the joy, are the Father's and\nthe Son's and ours. The will, the power of willing, may be created, but\nthe willing is begotten. Because God wills first, man wills also.\n\nWhen my being is consciously and willedly in the hands of him who\ncalled it to live and think and suffer and be glad--given back to him\nby a perfect obedience--I thenceforward breathe the breath, share the\nlife of God himself. Then I am free, in that I am true--which means one\nwith the Father. And freedom knows itself to be freedom. When a man is\ntrue, if he were in hell he could not be miserable. He is right with\nhimself because right with him whence he came. To be right with God is\nto be right with the universe; one with the power, the love, the will\nof the mighty Father, the cherisher of joy, the lord of laughter, whose\nare all glories, all hopes, who loves everything, and hates nothing but\nselfishness, which he will not have in his kingdom.\n\nChrist then is the Lord of life; his life is the light of men; the\nlight mirrored in them changes them into the image of him, the Truth;\nand thus _the truth, who is the Son, makes them free_.\n\n\n\n\n                                FREEDOM.\n\n\n _The Truth shall make you free.... Whosoever committeth sin, is the\nservant of sin. And the servant abideth not in the house for ever: but\nthe Son abideth ever. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye\nshall be free indeed._--John viii. 32, 34-36.\n\nAs this passage stands, I have not been able to make sense of it. No\nman could be in the house of the Father in virtue of being the servant\nof sin; yet this man is in the house as a servant, and the house in\nwhich he serves is not the house of sin, but the house of the Father.\nThe utterance is confused at best, and the reasoning faulty. He must be\nin the house of the Father on some other ground than sin. This, had no\nhelp come, would have been sufficient cause for leaving the passage\nalone, as one where, perhaps, the words of the Lord were\nmisrepresented--where, at least, perceiving more than one fundamental\ntruth involved in the passage, I failed to follow the argument. I do\nnot see that I could ever have suggested where the corruption, if any,\nlay. Most difficulties of similar nature have originated, like this, I\ncan hardly doubt, with some scribe who, desiring to explain what he did\nnot understand, wrote his worthless gloss on the margin: the next\ncopier took the words for an omission that ought to be replaced in the\nbody of the text, and inserting them, falsified the utterance, and\ngreatly obscured its intention. What do we not owe to the critics who\nhave searched the scriptures, and found what really was written! In the\npresent case, Dr. Westcott's notation gives us to understand that there\nis another with 'a reasonable probability of being the true reading.'\nThe difference is indeed small to the eye, but is great enough to give\nus fine gold instead of questionable ore. In an alternative of the\nkind, I must hope in what seems logical against what seems illogical;\nin what seems radiant against what seems trite.\n\nWhat I take for the true reading then, I English thus: 'Every one\ncommitting sin is a slave. But the slave does not remain in the house\nfor ever; the son remaineth for ever. If then the son shall make you\nfree, you shall in reality be free.' The authorized version gives,\n'Whosoever committeth sin, is the servant of _sin_; 'the revised\nversion gives, 'Every one that committeth sin is the bondservant of\n_sin_;' both accepting the reading that has the words, '_of sin_.' The\nstatement is certainly in itself true, but appears to me useless for\nthe argument that follows. And I think it may have been what I take to\nbe the true reading, that suggested to the apostle Paul what he says in\nthe beginning of the fourth chapter of his Epistle to the\nGalatians--words of spirit and life from which has been mistakenly\ndrawn the doctrine of adoption, merest poison to the child-heart. The\nwords of the Lord here are not that he who sins is the slave of sin,\ntrue utterly as that is; but that he is a slave, and the argument shows\nthat he means a slave to God. The two are perfectly consistent. No\namount of slavery to sin can keep a man from being as much the slave of\nGod as God chooses in his mercy to make him. It is his sin makes him a\nslave instead of a child. His slavery to sin is his ruin; his slavery\nto God is his only hope. God indeed does not love slavery; he hates it;\nhe will have children, not slaves; but he may keep a slave in his house\na long time in the hope of waking up the poor slavish nature to aspire\nto the sonship which belongs to him, which is his birthright. But the\nslave is not to be in the house for ever. The father is not bound to\nkeep his son a slave because the foolish child prefers it.\n\nWhoever will not do what God desires of him, is a slave whom God can\ncompel to do it, however he may bear with him. He who, knowing this, or\nfearing punishment, obeys God, is still a slave, but a slave who comes\nwithin hearing of the voice of his master. There are, however, far\nhigher than he, who yet are but slaves. Those to whom God is not all in\nall, are slaves. They may not commit great sins; they may be trying to\ndo right; but so long as they _serve_ God, as they call it, from duty,\nand do not know him as their father, the joy of their being, they are\nslaves--good slaves, but slaves. If they did not try to do their duty,\nthey would be bad slaves. They are by no means so slavish as those that\nserve from fear, but they are slaves; and because they are but slaves,\nthey can fulfil no righteousness, can do no duty perfectly, but must\never be trying after it wearily and in pain, knowing well that if they\nstop trying, they are lost. They are slaves indeed, for they would be\nglad to be adopted by one who is their own father! Where then are the\nsons? I know none, I answer, who are yet utterly and entirely sons or\ndaughters. There may be such--God knows; I have not known them; or,\nknowing them, have not been myself such as to be able to recognize\nthem. But I do know some who are enough sons and daughters to be at war\nwith the slave in them, who are not content to be slaves to their\nfather. Nothing I have seen or known of sonship, comes near the glory\nof the thing; but there are thousands of sons and daughters, though\ntheir number be yet only a remnant, who are siding with the father of\ntheir spirits against themselves, against all that divides them from\nhim from whom they have come, but out of whom they have never come,\nseeing that in him they live and move and have their being. Such are\nnot slaves; they are true though not perfect children; they are\nfighting along with God against the evil separation; they are breaking\nat the middle wall of partition. Only the rings of their fetters are\nleft, and they are struggling to take them off. They are children--with\nmore or less of the dying slave in them; they know it is there, and\nwhat it is, and hate the slavery in them, and try to slay it. The real\nslave is he who does not seek to be a child; who does not desire to end\nhis slavery; who looks upon the claim of the child as presumption; who\ncleaves to the traditional authorized service of forms and ceremonies,\nand does not know the will of him who made the seven stars and Orion,\nmuch less cares to obey it; who never lifts up his heart to cry\n'Father, what wouldst thou have me to do?' Such are continually\nbetraying their slavery by their complaints. 'Do we not well to be\nangry?' they cry with Jonah; and, truly, being slaves, I do not know\nhow they are to help it. When they are sons and daughters, they will no\nlonger complain of the hardships, and miseries, and troubles of life;\nno longer grumble at their aches and pains, at the pinching of their\npoverty, at the hunger that assails them; no longer be indignant at\ntheir rejection by what is called Society. Those who believe in their\nown perfect father, can ill blame him for anything they do not like.\nAh, friend, it may be you and I are slaves, but there _are_ such sons\nand daughters as I speak of.\n\nThe slaves of sin rarely grumble at that slavery; it is their slavery\nto God they grumble at; of that alone they complain--of the painful\nmessengers he sends to deliver them from their slavery both to sin and\nto himself. They must be sons or slaves. They cannot rid themselves of\ntheir owner. Whether they deny God, or mock him by acknowledging and\nnot heeding him, or treat him as an arbitrary, formal monarch; whether,\ntaking no trouble to find out what pleases him, they do dull things for\nhis service he cares nothing about, or try to propitiate him by\nassuming with strenuous effort some yoke the Son never wore, and never\ncalled on them to wear, they are slaves, and not the less slaves that\nthey are slaves to God; they are so thoroughly slaves, that they do not\ncare to get out of their slavery by becoming sons and daughters, by\nfinding the good of life where alone it can or could lie. Could a\ncreator make a creature whose well-being should not depend on himself?\nAnd if he could, would the creature be the greater for that? Which, the\ncreature he made more, or the creature he made less dependent on\nhimself, would be the greater? The slave in heart would immediately,\nwith Milton's Satan, reply, that the farthest from him who made him\nmust be the freest, thus acknowledging his very existence a slavery,\nand but two kinds in being--a creator, and as many slaves as he pleases\nto make, whose refusal to obey is their unknown protest against their\nown essence. _Being_ itself must, for what they call liberty, be\nrepudiated! Creation itself, to go by their lines of life, is an\ninjustice! God had no right to create beings less than himself; and as\nhe could not create equal, he ought not to have created! But they do\nnot complain of having been created; they complain of being required to\ndo justice. They will not obey, but, his own handiwork, ravish from his\nwork every advantage they can! They desire to be free with another kind\nof freedom than that with which God is free; unknowing, they seek a\nmore complete slavery. There is, in truth, no mid way between absolute\nharmony with the Father and the condition of slaves--submissive, or\nrebellious. If the latter, their very rebellion is by the strength of\nthe Father in them. Of divine essence, they thrust their existence in\nthe face of their essence, their own nature.\n\nYet is their very rebellion in some sense but the rising in them of his\nspirit against their false notion of him--against the lies they hold\nconcerning him. They do not see that, if his work, namely, they\nthemselves, are the chief joy to themselves, much more might the life\nthat works them be a glory and joy to them the work--inasmuch as it is\nnearer to them than they to themselves, causing them to be, and\nextends, without breach of relation, so infinitely above and beyond\nthem. For nothing can come so close as that which creates; the nearest,\nstrongest, dearest relation possible is between creator and created.\nWhere this is denied, the schism is the widest; where it is\nacknowledged and fulfilled, the closeness is unspeakable. But ever\nremains what cannot be said, and I sink defeated. The very protest of\nthe rebel against slavery, comes at once of the truth of God in him,\nwhich he cannot all cast from him, and of a slavery too low to love\ntruth--a meanness that will take all and acknowledge nothing, as if his\nvery being was a disgrace to him. The liberty of the God that would\nhave his creature free, is in contest with the slavery of the creature\nwho would cut his own stem from his root that he might call it his own\nand love it; who rejoices in his own consciousness, instead of the life\nof that consciousness; who poises himself on the tottering wall of his\nown being, instead of the rock on which that being is built. Such a one\nregards his own dominion over himself--the rule of the greater by the\nless, inasmuch as the conscious self is less than the self--as a\nfreedom infinitely greater than the range of the universe of God's\nbeing. If he says, 'At least I have it my own way!' I answer, You do\nnot know what is your way and what is not. You know nothing of whence\nyour impulses, your desires, your tendencies, your likings come. They\nmay spring now from some chance, as of nerves diseased; now from some\nroar of a wandering bodiless devil; now from some infant hate in your\nheart; now from the greed or lawlessness of some ancestor you would be\nashamed of if you knew him; or it may be now from some far-piercing\nchord of a heavenly orchestra: the moment it comes up into your\nconsciousness, you call it your own way, and glory in it! Two devils\namusing themselves with a duet of inspiration, one at each ear, might\nsoon make that lordly _me_ you are so in love with, rejoice in the\nfreedom of willing the opposite each alternate moment; and at length\ndrive you mad at finding that you could not, will as you would, make\nchoice of a way and its opposite simultaneously. The whole question\nrests and turns on the relation of creative and created, of which\nrelation few seem to have the consciousness yet developed. To live\nwithout the eternal creative life is an impossibility; freedom from God\ncan only mean an incapacity for seeing the facts of existence, an\nincapability of understanding the glory of the creature who makes\ncommon cause with his creator in his creation of him, who wills that\nthe lovely will calling him into life and giving him choice, should\nfinish making him, should draw him into the circle of the creative\nheart, to joy that he lives by no poor power of his own will, but is\none with the causing life of his life, in closest breathing and\nwilling, vital and claimant oneness with the life of all life. Such a\ncreature knows the life of the infinite Father as the very flame of his\nlife, and joys that nothing is done or will be done in the universe in\nwhich the Father will not make him all of a sharer that it is possible\nfor perfect generosity to make him. If you say this is irreverent, I\ndoubt if you have seen the God manifest in Jesus. But all will be well,\nfor the little god of your poor content will starve your soul to\nmisery, and the terror of the eternal death creeping upon you, will\ncompel you to seek a perfect father. Oh, ye hide-bound Christians, the\nLord is not straitened, but ye are straitened in your narrow unwilling\nsouls! Some of you need to be shamed before yourselves; some of you\nneed the fire.\n\nBut one who reads may call out, in the agony and thirst of a child\nwaking from a dream of endless seeking and no finding, 'I am bound like\nLazarus in his grave-clothes! what am I to do?' Here is the answer,\ndrawn from this parable of our Lord; for the saying is much like a\nparable, teaching more than it utters, appealing to the conscience and\nheart, not to the understanding: You are a slave; the slave has no hold\non the house; only the sons and daughters have an abiding rest in the\nhome of their father. God cannot have slaves about him always. You must\ngive up your slavery, and be set free from it. That is what I am here\nfor. If I make you free, you shall be free indeed; for I can make you\nfree only by making you what you were meant to be, sons like myself.\nThat is how alone the Son can work. But it is you who must become sons;\nyou must will it, and I am here to help you.' It is as if he said, 'You\nshall have the freedom of my father's universe; for, free from\nyourselves, you will be free of his heart. Yourselves are your slavery.\nThat is the darkness which you have loved rather than the light. You\nhave given honour to yourselves, and not to the Father; you have sought\nhonour from men, and not from the Father! Therefore, even in the house\nof your father, you have been but sojourning slaves. We in his family\nare all one; we have no party-spirit; we have no self-seeking: fall in\nwith us, and you shall be free as we are free.'\n\nIf then the poor starved child cry--'How, Lord?' the answer will depend\non what he means by that _how_. If he means, 'What plan wilt thou\nadopt? What is thy scheme for cutting my bonds and setting me free?'\nthe answer may be a deepening of the darkness, a tightening of the\nbonds. But if he means, 'Lord, what wouldst thou have me to do?' the\nanswer will not tarry. 'Give yourself to me to do what I tell you, to\nunderstand what I say, to be my good, obedient little brother, and I\nwill wake in you the heart that my father put in you, the same kind of\nheart that I have, and it will grow to love the Father, altogether and\nabsolutely, as mine does, till you are ready to be torn to pieces for\nhim. Then you will know that you are at the heart of the universe, at\nthe heart of every secret--at the heart of the Father. Not till then\nwill you be free, then free indeed!'\n\nChrist died to save us, not from suffering, but from ourselves; not\nfrom injustice, far less from justice, but from being unjust. He died\nthat we might live--but live as he lives, by dying as he died who died\nto himself that he might live unto God. If we do not die to ourselves,\nwe cannot live to God, and he that does not live to God, is dead. 'Ye\nshall know the truth,' the Lord says, 'and the truth shall make you\nfree. I am the truth, and you shall be free as I am free. To be free,\nyou must be sons like me. To be free you must _be_ that which you have\nto be, that which you are created. To be free you must give the answer\nof sons to the Father who calls you. To be free you must fear nothing\nbut evil, care for nothing but the will of the Father, hold to him in\nabsolute confidence and infinite expectation. He alone is to be\ntrusted.' He has shown us the Father not only by doing what the Father\ndoes, not only by loving his Father's children even as the Father loves\nthem, but by his perfect satisfaction with him, his joy in him, his\nutter obedience to him. He has shown us the Father by the absolute\ndevotion of a perfect son. He is the Son of God because the Father and\nhe are one, have one thought, one mind, one heart. Upon this truth--I\ndo not mean the dogma, but the truth itself of Jesus to his\nfather--hangs the universe; and upon the recognition of this\ntruth--that is, upon their becoming thus true--hangs the freedom of the\nchildren, the redemption of their whole world. 'I and the Father are\none,' is the centre-truth of the Universe; and the circumfering truth\nis, 'that they also may be one in us.'\n\nThe only free man, then, is he who is a child of the Father. He is a\nservant of all, but can be made the slave of none: he is a son of the\nlord of the universe. He is in himself, in virtue of his truth, free.\nHe is in himself a king. For the Son rests his claim to royalty on\nthis, that _he was born and came into the world to bear witness to the\ntruth_.\n\n\n\n\n                                KINGSHIP.\n\n\n _Art thou a king then? Jesus answered, Thou sayest that I am a king!\nTo this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that\nI should bear witness unto the truth: every one that is of the truth\nheareth my voice._--John xviii. 37.\n\nPilate asks Jesus if he is a king. The question is called forth by what\nthe Lord had just said concerning his kingdom, closing with the\nstatement that it was not of this world. He now answers Pilate that he\nis a king indeed, but shows him that his kingdom is of a very different\nkind from what is called kingdom in this world. The rank and rule of\nthis world are uninteresting to him. He might have had them. Calling\nhis disciples to follow him, and his twelve legions of angels to help\nthem, he might soon have driven the Romans into the abyss, piling them\non the heap of nations they had tumbled there before. What easier for\nhim than thus to have cleared the way, and over the tributary world\nreigned the just monarch that was the dream of the Jews, never seen in\nIsrael or elsewhere, but haunting the hopes and longings of the poor\nand their helpers! He might from Jerusalem have ruled the world, not\nmerely dispensing what men call justice, but compelling atonement. He\ndid not care for government. No such kingdom would serve the ends of\nhis father in heaven, or comfort his own soul. What was perfect empire\nto the Son of God, while he might teach one human being to love his\nneighbour, and be good like his father! To be love-helper to one heart,\nfor its joy, and the glory of his father, was the beginning of true\nkingship! The Lord would rather wash the feet of his weary brothers,\nthan be the one only perfect monarch that ever ruled in the world. It\nwas empire he rejected when he ordered Satan behind him like a dog to\nhis heel. Government, I repeat, was to him flat, stale, unprofitable.\n\nWhat then is the kingdom over which the Lord cares to reign, for he\nsays he came into the world to be a king? I answer, A kingdom of kings,\nand no other. Where every man is a king, there and there only does the\nLord care to reign, in the name of his father. As no king in Europe\nwould care to reign over a cannibal, a savage, or an animal race, so\nthe Lord cares for no kingdom over anything this world calls a nation.\nA king must rule over his own kind. Jesus is a king in virtue of no\nconquest, inheritance, or election, but in right of essential being;\nand he cares for no subjects but such as are his subjects in the same\nright. His subjects must be of his own kind, in their very nature and\nessence kings. To understand his answer to Pilate, see wherein consists\nhis kingship; what it is that makes him a king; what manifestation of\nhis essential being gives him a claim to be king. The Lord's is a\nkingdom in which no man seeks to be above another: ambition is of the\ndirt of this world's kingdoms. He says, 'I am a king, for I was born\nfor the purpose, I came into the world with the object of bearing\nwitness to the truth. Everyone that is of my kind, that is of the\ntruth, hears my voice. He is a king like me, and makes one of my\nsubjects.' Pilate thereupon--as would most Christians nowadays, instead\nof setting about being true--requests a definition of truth, a\npresentation to his intellect in set terms of what the word 'truth'\nmeans; but instantly, whether confident of the uselessness of the\ninquiry, or intending to resume it when he has set the Lord at liberty,\ngoes out to the people to tell them he finds no fault in him. Whatever\ninterpretation we put on his action here, he must be far less worthy of\nblame than those 'Christians' who, instead of setting themselves to be\npure 'even as he is pure,' to be their brother and sister's keeper, and\nto serve God by being honourable in shop and counting-house and\nlabour-market, proceed to 'serve' him, some by going to church or\nchapel, some by condemning the opinions of their neighbours, some by\nteaching others what they do not themselves heed. Neither Pilate nor\nthey ask the one true question, 'How am I to be a true man? How am I to\nbecome a man worth being a man?' The Lord is a king because his life,\nthe life of his thoughts, of his imagination, of his will, of every\nsmallest action, is true--true first to God in that he is altogether\nhis, true to himself in that he forgets himself altogether, and true to\nhis fellows in that he will endure anything they do to him, nor cease\ndeclaring himself the son and messenger and likeness of God. They will\nkill him, but it matters not: the truth is as he says!\n\nJesus is a king because his business is to bear witness to the truth.\nWhat truth? All truth; all verity of relation throughout the\nuniverse--first of all, that his father is good, perfectly good; and\nthat the crown and joy of life is to desire and do the will of the\neternal source of will, and of all life. He deals thus the death-blow\nto the power of hell. For the one principle of hell is--'I am my own. I\nam my own king and my own subject. _I_ am the centre from which go out\nmy thoughts; _I_ am the object and end of my thoughts; back upon _me_\nas the alpha and omega of life, my thoughts return. My own glory is,\nand ought to be, my chief care; my ambition, to gather the regards of\nmen to the one centre, myself. My pleasure is _my_ pleasure. My kingdom\nis--as many as I can bring to acknowledge my greatness over them. My\njudgment is the faultless rule of things. My right is--what I desire.\nThe more I am all in all to myself, the greater I am. The less I\nacknowledge debt or obligation to another; the more I close my eyes to\nthe fact that I did not make myself; the more self-sufficing I feel or\nimagine myself--the greater I am. I will be free with the freedom that\nconsists in doing whatever I am inclined to do, from whatever quarter\nmay come the inclination. To do my own will so long as I feel anything\nto be my will, is to be free, is to live. To all these principles of\nhell, or of this world--they are the same thing, and it matters nothing\nwhether they are asserted or defended so long as they are acted\nupon--the Lord, the king, gives the direct lie. It is as if he\nsaid:--'I ought to know what I say, for I have been from all eternity\nthe son of him from whom you issue, and whom you call your father, but\nwhom you will not have your father: I know all he thinks and is; and I\nsay this, that my perfect freedom, my pure individuality, rests on the\nfact that I have not another will than his. My will is all for his\nwill, for his will is right. He is righteousness itself. His very being\nis love and equity and self-devotion, and he will have his children\nsuch as himself--creatures of love, of fairness, of self-devotion to\nhim and their fellows. I was born to bear witness to the truth--in my\nown person to be the truth visible--the very likeness and manifestation\nof the God who is true. My very being is his witness. Every fact of me\nwitnesses him. He is the truth, and I am the truth. Kill me, but while\nI live I say, Such as I am he is. If I said I did not know him, I\nshould be a liar. I fear nothing you can do to me. Shall the king who\ncomes to say what is true, turn his back for fear of men? My Father is\nlike me; I know it, and I say it. You do not like to hear it because\nyou are not like him. I am low in your eyes which measure things by\ntheir show; therefore you say I blaspheme. I should blaspheme if I said\nhe was such as anything you are capable of imagining him, for you love\nshow, and power, and the praise of men. I do not, and God is like me. I\ncame into the world to show him. I am a king because he sent me to bear\nwitness to his truth, and I bear it. Kill me, and I will rise again.\nYou can kill me, but you cannot hold me dead. Death is my servant; you\nare the slaves of Death because you will not be true, and let the truth\nmake you free. Bound, and in your hands, I am free as God, for God is\nmy father. I know I shall suffer, suffer unto death, but if you knew my\nfather, you would not wonder that I am ready; you would be ready too.\nHe is my strength. My father is greater than I.'\n\nRemember, friends, I said, 'It is as if he said.' I am daring to\npresent a shadow of the Lord's witnessing, a shadow surely cast by his\ndeeds and his very words! If I mistake, he will forgive me. I do not\nfear him; I fear only lest, able to see and write these things, I\nshould fail of witnessing, and myself be, after all, a castaway--no\nking, but a talker; no disciple of Jesus, ready to go with him to the\ndeath, but an arguer about the truth; a hater of the lies men speak for\nGod, and myself a truth-speaking liar, not a doer of the word.\n\nWe see, then, that the Lord bore his witness to the Truth, to the one\nGod, by standing just what he was, before the eyes and the lies of men.\nThe true king is the man who stands up a true man and speaks the truth,\nand will die but not lie. The robes of such a king may be rags or\npurple; it matters neither way. The rags are the more likely, but\nneither better nor worse than the robes. Then was the Lord dressed most\nroyally when his robes were a jest, a mockery, a laughter. Of the men\nwho before Christ bare witness to the truth, some were sawn asunder,\nsome subdued kingdoms; it mattered nothing which: they witnessed.\n\nThe truth is God; the witness to the truth is Jesus. The kingdom of the\ntruth is the hearts of men. The bliss of men is the true God. The\nthought of God is the truth of everything. All well-being lies in true\nrelation to God. The man who responds to this with his whole being, is\nof the truth. The man who knows these things, and but knows them; the\nman who sees them to be true, and does not order life and action,\njudgment and love by them, is of the worst of lying; with hand, and\nfoot, and face he casts scorn upon that which his tongue confesses.\n\nLittle thought the sons of Zebedee and their ambitious mother what the\nearthly throne of Christ's glory was which they and she begged they\nmight share. For the king crowned by his witnessing, witnessed then to\nthe height of his uttermost argument, when he hung upon the cross--like\na sin, as Paul in his boldness expresses it. When his witness is\ntreated as a lie, then most he witnesses, for he gives it still. High\nand lifted up on the throne of his witness, on the cross of his\ntorture, he holds to it: 'I and the Father are one.' Every mockery\nborne in witnessing, is a witnessing afresh. Infinitely more than had\nhe sat on the throne of the whole earth, did Jesus witness to the truth\nwhen Pilate brought him out for the last time, and perhaps made him sit\non the judgment-seat in his mockery of kingly garments and royal\ninsignia, saying, 'Behold your king!' Just because of those robes and\nthat crown, that sceptre and that throne of ridicule, he was the only\nreal king that ever sat on any throne.\n\nIs every Christian expected to bear witness? A man content to bear no\nwitness to the truth is not in the kingdom of heaven. One who believes\nmust bear witness. One who sees the truth, must live witnessing to it.\nIs our life, then, a witnessing to the truth? Do we carry ourselves in\nbank, on farm, in house or shop, in study or chamber or workshop, as\nthe Lord would, or as the Lord would not? Are we careful to be true? Do\nwe endeavour to live to the height of our ideas? Or are we mean,\nself-serving, world-flattering, fawning slaves? When contempt is cast\non the truth, do we smile? Wronged in our presence, do we make no sign\nthat we hold by it? I do not say we are called upon to dispute, and\ndefend with logic and argument, but we are called upon to show that we\nare on the other side. But when I say _truth,_ I do not mean _opinion_:\nto treat opinion as if that were truth, is grievously to wrong the\ntruth. The soul that loves the truth and tries to be true, will know\nwhen to speak and when to be silent; but the true man will never look\nas if he did not care. We are not bound to say all we think, but we are\nbound not even to look what we do not think. The girl who said before a\ncompany of mocking companions, 'I believe in Jesus,' bore true witness\nto her Master, the Truth. David bore witness to God, the Truth, when he\nsaid, '_Unto thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy, for thou renderest to every\nman according to his work_.'\n\n\n\n\n                                JUSTICE.\n\n\n _Also unto thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy; for thou renderest to every\nman according to his work_.--Psalm lxii. 12.\n\nSome of the translators make it _kindness_ and _goodness_; but I\npresume there is no real difference among them as to the character of\nthe word which here, in the English Bible, is translated mercy.\n\nThe religious mind, however, educated upon the theories yet prevailing\nin the so-called religious world, must here recognize a departure from\nthe presentation to which they have been accustomed: to make the psalm\nspeak according to prevalent theoretic modes, the verse would have to\nbe changed thus:--'To thee, O Lord, belongeth justice, for thou\nrenderest to every man according to his work.'\n\nLet the reason of my choosing this passage, so remarkable in itself,\nfor a motto to the sermon which follows, remain for the present\ndoubtful. I need hardly say that I mean to found no logical argument\nupon it.\n\nLet us endeavour to see plainly what we mean when we use the word\n_justice,_ and whether we mean what we ought to mean when we use\nit--especially with reference to God. Let us come nearer to knowing\nwhat we ought to understand by justice, that is, the justice of God;\nfor his justice is the live, active justice, giving existence to the\nidea of justice in our minds and hearts. Because he is just, we are\ncapable of knowing justice; it is because he is just, that we have the\nidea of justice so deeply imbedded in us.\n\nWhat do we oftenest mean by _justice_? Is it not the carrying out of\nthe law, the infliction of penalty assigned to offence? By a just judge\nwe mean a man who administers the law without prejudice, without favour\nor dislike; and where guilt is manifest, punishes as much as, and no\nmore than, the law has in the case laid down. It may not be that\njustice has therefore been done. The law itself may be unjust, and the\njudge may mistake; or, which is more likely, the working of the law may\nbe foiled by the parasites of law for their own gain. But even if the\nlaw be good, and thoroughly administered, it does not necessarily\nfollow that justice is done.\n\nSuppose my watch has been taken from my pocket; I lay hold of the\nthief; he is dragged before the magistrate, proved guilty, and\nsentenced to a just imprisonment: must I walk home satisfied with the\nresult? Have I had justice done me? The thief may have had justice done\nhim--but where is my watch? That is gone, and I remain a man wronged.\nWho has done me the wrong? The thief. Who can set right the wrong? The\nthief, and only the thief; nobody but the man that did the wrong. God\nmay be able to move the man to right the wrong, but God himself cannot\nright it without the man. Suppose my watch found and restored, is the\naccount settled between me and the thief? I may forgive him, but is the\nwrong removed? By no means. But suppose the thief to bethink himself,\nto repent. He has, we shall say, put it out of his power to return the\nwatch, but he comes to me and says he is sorry he stole it and begs me\nto accept for the present what little he is able to bring, as a\nbeginning of atonement: how should I then regard the matter? Should I\nnot feel that he had gone far to make atonement--done more to make up\nfor the injury he had inflicted upon me, than the mere restoration of\nthe watch, even by himself, could reach to? Would there not lie, in the\nthief's confession and submission and initial restoration, an appeal to\nthe divinest in me--to the eternal brotherhood? Would it not indeed\namount to a sufficing atonement as between man and man? If he offered\nto bear what I chose to lay upon him, should I feel it necessary, for\nthe sake of justice, to inflict some certain suffering as demanded by\nrighteousness? I should still have a claim upon him for my watch, but\nshould I not be apt to forget it? He who commits the offence can make\nup for it--and he alone.\n\nOne thing must surely be plain--that the punishment of the wrong-doer\nmakes no atonement for the wrong done. How could it make up to me for\nthe stealing of my watch that the man was punished? The wrong would be\nthere all the same. I am not saying the man ought not to be\npunished--far from it; I am only saying that the punishment nowise\nmakes up to the man wronged. Suppose the man, with the watch in his\npocket, were to inflict the severest flagellation on himself: would\nthat lessen my sense of injury? Would it set anything right? Would it\nanyway atone? Would it give him a right to the watch? Punishment may do\ngood to the man who does the wrong, but that is a thing as different as\nimportant.\n\nAnother thing plain is, that, even without the material rectification\nof the wrong where that is impossible, repentance removes the offence\nwhich no suffering could. I at least should feel that I had no more\nquarrel with the man. I should even feel that the gift he had made me,\ngiving into my heart a repentant brother, was infinitely beyond the\nrestitution of what he had taken from me. True, he owed me both himself\nand the watch, but such a greater does more than include such a less.\nIf it be objected, 'You may forgive, but the man has sinned against\nGod!'--Then it is not a part of the divine to be merciful, I return,\nand a man may be more merciful than his maker! A man may do that which\nwould be too merciful in God! Then mercy is not a divine attribute, for\nit may exceed and be too much; it must not be infinite, therefore\ncannot be God's own.\n\n'Mercy may be against justice.' Never--if you mean by justice what I\nmean by justice. If anything be against justice, it cannot be called\nmercy, for it is cruelty. '_To thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy, for thou\nrenderest to every man according to his work_.' There is _no_\nopposition, _no_ strife whatever, between mercy and justice. Those who\nsay justice means the punishing of sin, and mercy the not punishing of\nsin, and attribute both to God, would make a schism in the very idea of\nGod. And this brings me to the question, What is meant by divine\njustice?\n\nHuman justice may be a poor distortion of justice, a mere shadow of it;\nbut the justice of God must be perfect. We cannot frustrate it in its\nworking; are we just to it in our idea of it? If you ask any ordinary\nSunday congregation in England, what is meant by the justice of God,\nwould not nineteen out of twenty answer, that it means his punishing of\nsin? Think for a moment what degree of justice it would indicate in a\nman--that he punished every wrong. A Roman emperor, a Turkish cadi,\nmight do that, and be the most unjust both of men and judges. Ahab\nmight be just on the throne of punishment, and in his garden the\nmurderer of Naboth. In God shall we imagine a distinction of office and\ncharacter? God is one; and the depth of foolishness is reached by that\ntheology which talks of God as if he held different offices, and\ndiffered in each. It sets a contradiction in the very nature of God\nhimself. It represents him, for instance, as having to do that as a\nmagistrate which as a father he would not do! The love of the father\nmakes him desire to be unjust as a magistrate! Oh the folly of any mind\nthat would explain God before obeying him! that would map out the\ncharacter of God, instead of crying, Lord, what wouldst thou have me to\ndo? God is no magistrate; but, if he were, it would be a position to\nwhich his fatherhood alone gave him the right; his rights as a father\ncover every right he can be analytically supposed to possess. The\njustice of God is this, that--to use a boyish phrase, the best the\nlanguage will now afford me because of misuse--he gives every man,\nwoman, child, and beast, everything that has being, _fair play_; he\nrenders to every man according to his work; and therein lies his\nperfect mercy; for nothing else could be merciful to the man, and\nnothing but mercy could be fair to him. God does nothing of which any\njust man, the thing set fairly and fully before him so that he\nunderstood, would not say, 'That is fair.' Who would, I repeat, say a\nman was a just man because he insisted on prosecuting every offender? A\nscoundrel might do that. Yet the justice of God, forsooth, is his\npunishment of sin! A just man is one who cares, and tries, and always\ntries, to give fair play to everyone in every thing. When we speak of\nthe justice of God, let us see that we do mean justice! Punishment of\nthe guilty may be involved in justice, but it does not constitute the\njustice of God one atom more than it would constitute the justice of a\nman.\n\n'But no one ever doubts that God gives fair play!'\n\n'That may be--but does not go for much, if you say that God does this\nor that which is not fair.'\n\n'If he does it, you may be sure it is fair.'\n\n'Doubtless, or he could not be God--except to devils. But you say he\ndoes so and so, and is just; I say, he does not do so and so, and is\njust. You say he does, for the Bible says so. I say, if the Bible said\nso, the Bible would lie; but the Bible does not say so. The lord of\nlife complains of men for not judging right. To say on the authority of\nthe Bible that God does a thing no honourable man would do, is to lie\nagainst God; to say that it is therefore right, is to lie against the\nvery spirit of God. To uphold a lie for God's sake is to be against\nGod, not for him. God cannot be lied for. He is the truth. The truth\nalone is on his side. While his child could not see the rectitude of a\nthing, he would infinitely rather, even if the thing were right, have\nhim say, God could not do that thing, than have him believe that he did\nit. If the man were sure God did it, the thing he ought to say would\nbe, 'Then there must be something about it I do not know, which if I\ndid know, I should see the thing quite differently.' But where an evil\nthing is invented to explain and account for a good thing, and a lover\nof God is called upon to believe the invention or be cast out, he needs\nnot mind being cast out, for it is into the company of Jesus. Where\nthere is no ground to believe that God does a thing except that men who\nwould explain God have believed and taught it, he is not a true man who\naccepts men against his own conscience of God. I acknowledge no\nauthority calling upon me to believe a thing of God, which I could not\nbe a man and believe right in my fellow-man. I will accept no\nexplanation of any way of God which explanation involves what I should\nscorn as false and unfair in a man. If you say, That may be right of\nGod to do which it would not be right of man to do, I answer, Yes,\nbecause the relation of the maker to his creatures is very different\nfrom the relation of one of those creatures to another, and he has\ntherefore duties toward his creatures requiring of him what no man\nwould have the right to do to his fellow-man; but he can have no duty\nthat is not both just and merciful. More is required of the maker, by\nhis own act of creation, than can be required of men. More and higher\njustice and righteousness is required of him by himself, the\nTruth;--greater nobleness, more penetrating sympathy;  and _nothing_\nbut what, if an honest man understood it, he would say was right. If it\nbe a thing man cannot understand, then man can say nothing as to\nwhether it is right or wrong. He cannot even know that God does _it_,\nwhen the _it_ is unintelligible to him. What he calls _it_ may be but\nthe smallest facet of a composite action. His part is silence. If it be\nsaid by any that God does a thing, and the thing seems to me unjust,\nthen either I do not know what the thing is, or God does not do it. The\nsaying cannot mean what it seems to mean, or the saying is not true.\nIf, for instance, it be said that God visits the sins of the fathers on\nthe children, a man who takes _visits upon_ to mean _punishes,_ and\n_the children_ to mean _the innocent children,_ ought to say, 'Either I\ndo not understand the statement, or the thing is not true, whoever says\nit.' God _may_ do what seems to a man not right, but it must so seem to\nhim because God works on higher, on divine, on perfect principles, too\nright for a selfish, unfair, or unloving man to understand. But least\nof all must we accept some low notion of justice in a man, and argue\nthat God is just in doing after that notion.\n\nThe common idea, then, is, that the justice of God consists in\npunishing sin: it is in the hope of giving a larger idea of the justice\nof God in punishing sin that I ask, '_Why is God bound to punish sin_?'\n\n'How could he be a just God and not punish sin?'\n\n'Mercy is a good and right thing,' I answer, 'and but for sin there\ncould be no mercy. We are enjoined to forgive, to be merciful, to be as\nour father in heaven. Two rights cannot possibly be opposed to each\nother. If God punish sin, it must be merciful to punish sin; and if God\nforgive sin, it must be just to forgive sin. We are required to\nforgive, with the argument that our father forgives. It must, I say, be\nright to forgive. Every attribute of God must be infinite as himself.\nHe cannot be sometimes merciful, and not always merciful. He cannot be\njust, and not always just. Mercy belongs to him, and needs no\ncontrivance of theologic chicanery to justify it.'\n\n'Then you mean that it is wrong to punish sin, therefore God does not\npunish sin?'\n\n'By no means; God does punish sin, but there is no opposition between\npunishment and forgiveness. The one may be essential to the possibility\nof the other. Why, I repeat, does God punish sin? That is my point.'\n\n'Because in itself sin deserves punishment.'\n\n'Then how can he tell us to forgive it?'\n\n'He punishes, and having punished he forgives?'\n\n'That will hardly do. If sin demands punishment, and the righteous\npunishment is given, then the man is free. Why should he be forgiven?'\n\n'He needs forgiveness because no amount of punishment will meet his\ndeserts.'\n\nI avoid for the present, as anyone may perceive, the probable expansion\nof this reply.\n\n'Then why not forgive him at once if the punishment is not essential--\nif part can be pretermitted? And again, can that be required which,\naccording to your showing, is not adequate? You will perhaps answer,\n'God may please to take what little he can have;' and this brings me to\nthe fault in the whole idea.\n\nPunishment is _nowise_ an _offset_ to sin. Foolish people sometimes, in\na tone of self-gratulatory pity, will say, 'If I have sinned I have\nsuffered.' Yes, verily, but what of that? What merit is there in it?\nEven had you laid the suffering upon yourself, what did that do to make\nup for the wrong? That you may have bettered by your suffering is well\nfor you, but what atonement is there in the suffering? The notion is a\nfalse one altogether. Punishment, deserved suffering, is no equipoise\nto sin. It is no use laying it in the other scale. It will not move it\na hair's breadth. Suffering weighs nothing at all against sin. It is\nnot of the same kind, not under the same laws, any more than mind and\nmatter. We say a man deserves punishment; but when we forgive and do\nnot punish him, we do not _always_ feel that we have done wrong;\nneither when we do punish him do we feel that any amends has been made\nfor his wrongdoing. If it were an offset to wrong, then God would be\nbound to punish for the sake of the punishment; but he cannot be, for\nhe forgives. Then it is not for the sake of the punishment, as a thing\nthat in itself ought to be done, but for the sake of something else, as\na means to an end, that God punishes. It is not directly for justice,\nelse how could he show mercy, for that would involve injustice?\n\nPrimarily, God is not bound to _punish_ sin; he is bound to _destroy_\nsin. If he were not the Maker, he might not be bound to destroy sin--I\ndo not know; but seeing he has created creatures who have sinned, and\ntherefore sin has, by the creating act of God, come into the world, God\nis, in his own righteousness, bound to destroy sin.\n\n'But that is to have no mercy.'\n\nYou mistake. God does destroy sin; he is always destroying sin. In him\nI trust that he is destroying sin in me. He is always saving the sinner\nfrom his sins, and that is destroying sin. But vengeance on the sinner,\nthe law of a tooth for a tooth, is not in the heart of God, neither in\nhis hand. If the sinner and the sin in him, are the concrete object of\nthe divine wrath, then indeed there can be no mercy. Then indeed there\nwill be an end put to sin by the destruction of the sin and the sinner\ntogether. But thus would no atonement be wrought--nothing be done to\nmake up for the wrong God has allowed to come into being by creating\nman. There must be an atonement, a making-up, a bringing together--an\natonement which, I say, cannot be made except by the man who has\nsinned.\n\nPunishment, I repeat, is not the thing required of God, but the\nabsolute destruction of sin. What better is the world, what better is\nthe sinner, what better is God, what better is the truth, that the\nsinner should suffer--continue suffering to all eternity? Would there\nbe less sin in the universe? Would there be any making-up for sin?\nWould it show God justified in doing what he knew would bring sin into\nthe world, justified in making creatures who he knew would sin? What\nsetting-right would come of the sinner's suffering? If justice demand\nit, if suffering be the equivalent for sin, then the sinner must\nsuffer, then God is bound to exact his suffering, and not pardon; and\nso the making of man was a tyrannical deed, a creative cruelty. But\ngrant that the sinner has deserved to suffer, no amount of suffering is\nany atonement for his sin. To suffer to all eternity could not make up\nfor one unjust word. Does that mean, then, that for an unjust word I\ndeserve to suffer to all eternity? The unjust word is an eternally evil\nthing; nothing but God in my heart can cleanse me from the evil that\nuttered it; but does it follow that I saw the evil of what I did so\nperfectly, that eternal punishment for it would be just? Sorrow and\nconfession and self-abasing love will make up for the evil word;\nsuffering will not. For evil in the abstract, nothing can be done. It\nis eternally evil. But I may be saved from it by learning to loathe it,\nto hate it, to shrink from it with an eternal avoidance. The only\nvengeance worth having on sin is to make the sinner himself its\nexecutioner. Sin and punishment are in no antagonism to each other in\nman, any more than pardon and punishment are in God; they can perfectly\nco-exist. The one naturally follows the other, punishment being born of\nsin, because evil exists only by the life of good, and has no life of\nits own, being in itself death. Sin and suffering are not natural\nopposites; the opposite of evil is good, not suffering; the opposite of\nsin is not suffering, but righteousness. The path across the gulf that\ndivides right from wrong is not the fire, but repentance. If my friend\nhas wronged me, will it console me to see him punished? Will that be a\nrendering to me of my due? Will his agony be a balm to my deep wound?\nShould I be fit for any friendship if that were possible even in regard\nto my enemy? But would not the shadow of repentant grief, the light of\nreviving love on his countenance, heal it at once however deep? Take\nany of those wicked people in Dante's hell, and ask wherein is justice\nserved by their punishment. Mind, I am not saying it is not right to\npunish them; I am saying that justice is not, never can be, satisfied\nby suffering--nay, cannot have any satisfaction in or from suffering.\nHuman resentment, human revenge, human hate may. Such justice as\nDante's keeps wickedness alive in its most terrible forms. The life of\nGod goes forth to inform, or at least give a home to victorious evil.\nIs he not defeated every time that one of those lost souls defies him?\nAll hell cannot make Vanni Fucci say 'I was wrong.' God is triumphantly\ndefeated, I say, throughout the hell of his vengeance. Although against\nevil, it is but the vain and wasted cruelty of a tyrant. There is no\ndestruction of evil thereby, but an enhancing of its horrible power in\nthe midst of the most agonizing and disgusting tortures a _divine_\nimagination can invent. If sin must be kept alive, then hell must be\nkept alive; but while I regard the smallest sin as infinitely\nloathsome, I do not believe that any being, never good enough to see\nthe essential ugliness of sin, could sin so as to _deserve_ such\npunishment. I am not now, however, dealing with the question of the\nduration of punishment, but with the idea of punishment itself; and\nwould only say in passing, that the notion that a creature born\nimperfect, nay, born with impulses to evil not of his own generating,\nand which he could not help having, a creature to whom the true face of\nGod was never presented, and by whom it never could have been seen,\nshould be thus condemned, is as loathsome a lie against God as could\nfind place in heart too undeveloped to understand what justice is, and\ntoo low to look up into the face of Jesus. It never in truth found\nplace in any heart, though in many a pettifogging brain. There is but\none thing lower than deliberately to believe such a lie, and that is to\nworship the God of whom it is believed. The one deepest, highest,\ntruest, fittest, most wholesome suffering must be generated in the\nwicked by a vision, a true sight, more or less adequate, of the\nhideousness of their lives, of the horror of the wrongs they have done.\nPhysical suffering may be a factor in rousing this mental pain; but 'I\nwould I had never been born!' must be the cry of Judas, not because of\nthe hell-fire around him, but because he loathes the man that betrayed\nhis friend, the world's friend. When a man loathes himself, he has\nbegun to be saved. Punishment tends to this result. Not for its own\nsake, not as a make-up for sin, not for divine revenge--horrible word,\nnot for any satisfaction to justice, can punishment exist. Punishment\nis for the sake of amendment and atonement. God is bound by his love to\npunish sin in order to deliver his creature; he is bound by his justice\nto destroy sin in his creation. Love is justice--is the fulfilling of\nthe law, for God as well as for his children. This is the reason of\npunishment; this is why justice requires that the wicked shall not go\nunpunished--that they, through the eye-opening power of pain, may come\nto see and do justice, may be brought to desire and make all possible\namends, and so become just. Such punishment concerns justice in the\ndeepest degree. For Justice, that is God, is bound in himself to see\njustice done by his children--not in the mere outward act, but in their\nvery being. He is bound in himself to make up for wrong done by his\nchildren, and he can do nothing to make up for wrong done but by\nbringing about the repentance of the wrong-doer. When the man says, 'I\ndid wrong; I hate myself and my deed; I cannot endure to think that I\ndid it!' then, I say, is atonement begun. Without that, all that the\nLord did would be lost. He would have made no atonement. Repentance,\nrestitution, confession, prayer for forgiveness, righteous dealing\nthereafter, is the sole possible, the only true make-up for sin. For\nnothing less than this did Christ die. When a man acknowledges the\nright he denied before; when he says to the wrong, 'I abjure, I loathe\nyou; I see now what you are; I could not see it before because I would\nnot; God forgive me; make me clean, or let me die!' then justice, that\nis God, has conquered--and not till then.\n\n'What atonement is there?'\n\nEvery atonement that God cares for; and the work of Jesus Christ on\nearth was the creative atonement, because it works atonement in every\nheart. He brings and is bringing God and man, and man and man, into\nperfect unity: 'I in them and thou in me, that they may be made perfect\nin one.'\n\n'That is a dangerous doctrine!'\n\nMore dangerous than you think to many things--to every evil, to every\nlie, and among the rest to every false trust in what Christ did,\ninstead of in Christ himself. Paul glories in the cross of Christ, but\nhe does not trust in the cross: he trusts in the living Christ and his\nliving father.\n\nJustice then requires that sin should be put an end to; and not that\nonly, but that it should be atoned for; and where punishment can do\nanything to this end, where it can help the sinner to know what he has\nbeen guilty of, where it can soften his heart to see his pride and\nwrong and cruelty, justice requires that punishment shall not be\nspared. And the more we believe in God, the surer we shall be that he\nwill spare nothing that suffering can do to deliver his child from\ndeath. If suffering cannot serve this end, we need look for no more\nhell, but for the destruction of sin by the destruction of the sinner.\nThat, however, would, it appears to me, be for God to suffer defeat,\nblameless indeed, but defeat.\n\nIf God be defeated, he must destroy--that is, he must withdraw life.\nHow can he go on sending forth his life into irreclaimable souls, to\nkeep sin alive in them throughout the ages of eternity? But then, I\nsay, no atonement would be made for the wrongs they have done; God\nremains defeated, for he has created that which sinned, and which would\nnot repent and make up for its sin. But those who believe that God will\nthus be defeated by many souls, must surely be of those who do not\nbelieve he cares enough to do his very best for them. He _is_ their\nFather; he had power to make them out of himself, separate from\nhimself, and capable of being one with him: surely he will somehow save\nand keep them! Not the power of sin itself can close _all_ the channels\nbetween creating and created.\n\nThe notion of suffering as an offset for sin, the foolish idea that a\nman by suffering borne may get out from under the hostile claim to\nwhich his wrong-doing has subjected him, comes first of all, I think,\nfrom the satisfaction we feel when wrong comes to grief. Why do we feel\nthis satisfaction? Because we hate wrong, but, not being righteous\nourselves, more or less hate the wronger as well as his wrong, hence\nare not only righteously pleased to behold the law's disapproval\nproclaimed in his punishment, but unrighteously pleased with his\nsuffering, because of the impact upon us of his wrong. In this way the\ninborn justice of our nature passes over to evil. It is no pleasure to\nGod, as it so often is to us, to see the wicked suffer. To regard any\nsuffering with satisfaction, save it be sympathetically with its\ncurative quality, comes of evil, is inhuman because undivine, is a\nthing God is incapable of. His nature is always to forgive, and just\nbecause he forgives, he punishes. Because God is so altogether alien to\nwrong, because it is to him a heart-pain and trouble that one of his\nlittle ones should do the evil thing, there is, I believe, no extreme\nof suffering to which, for the sake of destroying the evil thing in\nthem, he would not subject them. A man might flatter, or bribe, or coax\na tyrant; but there is no refuge from the love of God; that love will,\nfor very love, insist upon the uttermost farthing.\n\n'That is not the sort of love I care about!'\n\nNo; how should you? I well believe it! You cannot care for it until you\nbegin to know it. But the eternal love will not be moved to yield you\nto the selfishness that is killing you. What lover would yield his lady\nto her passion for morphia? You may sneer at such love, but the Son of\nGod who took the weight of that love, and bore it through the world, is\ncontent with it, and so is everyone who knows it. The love of the\nFather is a radiant perfection. Love and not self-love is lord of the\nuniverse. Justice demands your punishment, because justice demands, and\nwill have, the destruction of sin. Justice demands your punishment\nbecause it demands that your father should do his best for you. God,\nbeing the God of justice, that is of fair-play, and having made us what\nwe are, apt to fall and capable of being raised again, is in himself\nbound to punish in order to deliver us--else is his relation to us poor\nbeside that of an earthly father. 'To thee, O Lord, belongeth mercy,\nfor thou renderest to every man according to his work.' A man's work is\nhis character; and God in his mercy is not indifferent, but treats him\naccording to his work.\n\nThe notion that the salvation of Jesus is a salvation from the\nconsequences of our sins, is a false, mean, low notion. The salvation\nof Christ is salvation from the smallest tendency or leaning to sin. It\nis a deliverance into the pure air of God's ways of thinking and\nfeeling. It is a salvation that makes the heart pure, with the will and\nchoice of the heart to be pure. To such a heart, sin is disgusting. It\nsees a thing as it is,--that is, as God sees it, for God sees\neverything as it is. The soul thus saved would rather sink into the\nflames of hell than steal into heaven and skulk there under the shadow\nof an imputed righteousness. No soul is saved that would not prefer\nhell to sin. Jesus did not die to save us from punishment; he was\ncalled Jesus because he should save his people from their sins.\n\nIf punishment be no atonement, how does the fact bear on the popular\ntheology accepted by every one of the opposers of what they call\nChristianity, as representing its doctrines? Most of us have been more\nor less trained in it, and not a few of us have thereby, thank God,\nlearned what it is--an evil thing, to be cast out of intellect and\nheart. Many imagine it dead and gone, but in reality it lies at the\nroot (the intellectual root only, thank God) of much the greater part\nof the teaching of Christianity in the country; and is believed in--so\nfar as the false _can_ be believed in--by many who think they have left\nit behind, when they have merely omitted the truest, most offensive\nmodes of expressing its doctrines. It is humiliating to find how many\ncomparatively honest people think they get rid of a falsehood by\nsoftening the statement of it, by giving it the shape and placing it in\nthe light in which it will least assert itself, and so have a good\nchance of passing both with such as hold it thoroughly, and such as\nmight revolt against it more plainly uttered.\n\nOnce for all I will ease my soul regarding the horrid phantasm. I have\npassed through no change of opinion concerning it since first I began\nto write or speak; but I have written little and spoken less about it,\nbecause I would preach no mere negation. My work was not to destroy the\nfalse, except as it came in the way of building the true. Therefore I\nsought to speak but what I believed, saying little concerning what I\ndid not believe; trusting, as now I trust, in the true to cast out the\nfalse, and shunning dispute. Neither will I now enter any theological\nlists to be the champion for or against mere doctrine. I have no desire\nto change the opinion of man or woman. Let everyone for me hold what he\npleases. But I would do my utmost to disable such as think correct\nopinion essential to salvation from laying any other burden on the\nshoulders of true men and women than the yoke of their Master; and such\nburden, if already oppressing any, I would gladly lift. Let the Lord\nhimself teach them, I say. A man who has not the mind of Christ--and no\nman has the mind of Christ except him who makes it his business to obey\nhim--cannot have correct opinions concerning him; neither, if he could,\nwould they be of any value to him: he would be nothing the better, he\nwould be the worse for having them. Our business is not to think\ncorrectly, but to live truly; then first will there be a possibility of\nour thinking correctly. One chief cause of the amount of unbelief in\nthe world is, that those who have seen something of the glory of\nChrist, set themselves to theorize concerning him rather than to obey\nhim. In teaching men, they have not taught them Christ, but taught them\nabout Christ. More eager after credible theory than after doing the\ntruth, they have speculated in a condition of heart in which it was\nimpossible they should understand; they have presumed to explain a\nChrist whom years and years of obedience could alone have made them\nable to comprehend. Their teaching of him, therefore, has been\nrepugnant to the common sense of many who had not half their\nprivileges, but in whom, as in Nathanael, there was no guile. Such,\nnaturally, press their theories, in general derived from them of old\ntime, upon others, insisting on their thinking about Christ as they\nthink, instead of urging them to go to Christ to be taught by him\nwhatever he chooses to teach them. They do their unintentional worst to\nstop all growth, all life. From such and their false teaching I would\ngladly help to deliver the true-hearted. Let the dead bury their dead,\nbut I would do what I may to keep them from burying the living.\n\nIf there be no satisfaction to justice in the mere punishment of the\nwrong-doer, what shall we say of the notion of satisfying justice by\ncausing one to suffer who is not the wrong-doer? And what, moreover,\nshall we say to the notion that, just because he is not the person who\ndeserves to be punished, but is absolutely innocent, his suffering\ngives perfect satisfaction to the perfect justice? That the injustice\nbe done with the consent of the person maltreated makes no difference:\nit makes it even worse, seeing, as they say, that justice requires the\npunishment of the _sinner_, and here is one far more than innocent.\nThey have shifted their ground; it is no more punishment, but mere\nsuffering the law requires! The thing gets worse and worse. I declare\nmy utter and absolute repudiation of the idea in any form whatever.\nRather than believe in a justice--that is, a God--to whose\nrighteousness, abstract or concrete, it could be any satisfaction for\nthe wrong-doing of a man that a man who did no wrong should suffer, I\nwould be driven from among men, and dwell with the wild beasts that\nhave not reason enough to be unreasonable. What! God, the father of\nJesus Christ, like that! His justice contented with direst injustice!\nThe anger of him who will nowise clear the guilty, appeased by the\nsuffering of the innocent! Very God forbid! Observe: the evil fancy\nactually substitutes for punishment not mere suffering, but that\nsuffering which is farthest from punishment; and this when, as I have\nshown, punishment, the severest, can be no satisfaction to justice! How\ndid it come ever to be imagined? It sprang from the trustless dread\nthat cannot believe in the forgiveness of the Father; cannot believe\nthat even God will do anything for nothing; cannot trust him without a\nlegal arrangement to bind him. How many, failing to trust God, fall\nback on a _text_, as they call it! It sprang from the pride that will\nunderstand what it cannot, before it will obey what it sees. He that\nwill understand _first_ will believe a lie--a  lie from which obedience\nalone will at length deliver him. If anyone say, 'But I believe what\nyou despise,' I answer, To believe it is your punishment for being able\nto believe it; you may call it your reward, if you will. You ought not\nto be able to believe it. It is the merest, poorest, most shameless\nfiction, invented without the perception that it was an invention--fit\nto satisfy the intellect, doubtless, of the inventor, else he could not\nhave invented it. It has seemed to satisfy also many a humble soul,\ncontent to take what was given, and not think; content that another\nshould think for him, and tell him what was the mind of his Father in\nheaven. Again I say, let the person who can be so satisfied be so\nsatisfied; I have not to trouble myself with him. That he can be\ncontent with it, argues him unready to receive better. So long as he\ncan believe false things concerning God, he is such as is capable of\nbelieving them--with how much or how little of blame, God knows.\nOpinion, right or wrong, will do nothing to save him. I would that he\nthought no more about this or any other opinion, but set himself to do\nthe work of the Master. With his opinions, true or false, I have\nnothing to do. It is because such as he force evil things upon their\nfellows--utter or imply them from the seat of authority or\ninfluence--to their agony, their paralysation, their unbelief, their\nindignation, their stumbling, that I have any right to speak. I would\nsave my fellows from having what notion of God is possible to them\nblotted out by a lie.\n\nIf it be asked how, if it be false, the doctrine of substitution can\nhave been permitted to remain so long an article of faith to so many, I\nanswer, On the same principle on which God took up and made use of the\nsacrifices men had, in their lack of faith, invented as a way of\npleasing him. Some children will tell lies to please the parents that\nhate lying. They will even confess to having done a wrong they have not\ndone, thinking their parents would like them to say they had done it,\nbecause they teach them to confess. God accepted men's sacrifices until\nhe could get them to see--and with how many has he yet not succeeded,\nin the church and out of it!--that he does not care for such things.\n\n'But,' again it may well be asked, 'whence then has sprung the\nundeniable potency of that teaching?'\n\nI answer, From its having in it a notion of God and his Christ, poor\nindeed and faint, but, by the very poverty and untruth in its\npresentation, fitted to the weakness and unbelief of men, seeing it was\nby men invented to meet and ease the demand made upon their own\nweakness and unbelief. Thus the leaven spreads. The truth is there. It\nis Christ the glory of God. But the ideas that poor slavish souls breed\nconcerning this glory the moment the darkness begins to disperse, is\nquite another thing. Truth is indeed too good for men to believe; they\nmust dilute it before they can take it; they must dilute it before they\ndare give it. They must make it less true before they can believe it\nenough to get any good of it. Unable to believe in the love of the Lord\nJesus Christ, they invented a mediator in his mother, and so were able\nto approach a little where else they had stood away; unable to believe\nin the forgivingness of their father in heaven, they invented a way to\nbe forgiven that should not demand of him so much; which might make it\nright for him to forgive; which should save them from having to believe\ndownright in the tenderness of his father-heart, for that they found\nimpossible. They thought him bound to punish for the sake of punishing,\nas an offset to their sin; they could not believe in clear forgiveness;\nthat did not seem divine; it needed itself to be justified; so they\ninvented for its justification a horrible injustice, involving all that\nwas bad in sacrifice, even human sacrifice. They invented a\nsatisfaction for sin which was an insult to God. He sought no\nsatisfaction, but an obedient return to the Father. What satisfaction\nwas needed he made himself in what he did to cause them to turn from\nevil and go back to him. The thing was too simple for complicated\nunbelief and the arguing spirit. Gladly would I help their followers to\nloathe such thoughts of God; but for that, they themselves must grow\nbetter men and women. While they are capable of being satisfied with\nthem, there would be no advantage in their becoming intellectually\nconvinced that such thoughts were wrong. I would not speak a word to\npersuade them of it. Success would be worthless. They would but remain\nwhat they were--children capable of thinking meanly of their father.\nWhen the heart recoils, discovering how horrible it would be to have\nsuch an unreality for God, it will begin to search about and see\nwhether it must indeed accept such statements concerning God; it will\nsearch after a real God by whom to hold fast, a real God to deliver\nthem from the terrible idol. It is for those thus moved that I write,\nnot at all for the sake of disputing with those who love the lie they\nmay not be to blame for holding; who, like the Jews of old, would cast\nout of their synagogue the man who doubts the genuineness of their\nmoral caricature of God, who doubts their travesty of the grandest\ntruth in the universe, the atonement of Jesus Christ. Of such a man\nthey will unhesitatingly report that he does not believe in the\natonement. But a lie for God is against God, and carries the sentence\nof death in itself.\n\nInstead of giving their energy to do the will of God, men of power have\ngiven it to the construction of a system by which to explain why Christ\nmust die, what were the necessities and designs of God in permitting\nhis death; and men of power of our own day, while casting from them not\na little of the good in the teaching of the Roman Church, have clung to\nthe morally and spiritually vulgar idea of justice and satisfaction\nheld by pagan Rome, buttressed by the Jewish notion of sacrifice, and\nin its very home, alas, with the mother of all the western churches!\nBetter the reformers had kept their belief in a purgatory, and parted\nwith what is called vicarious sacrifice!\n\nTheir system is briefly this: God is bound to punish sin, and to punish\nit to the uttermost. His justice requires that sin be punished. But he\nloves man, and does not want to punish him if he can help it. Jesus\nChrist says, 'I will take his punishment upon me.' God accepts his\noffer, and lets man go unpunished--upon a condition. His justice is\nmore than satisfied by the punishment of an infinite being instead of a\nworld of worthless creatures. The suffering of Jesus is of greater\nvalue than that of all the generations, through endless ages, because\nhe is infinite, pure, perfect in love and truth, being God's own\neverlasting son. God's condition with man is, that he believe in\nChrist's atonement thus explained. A man must say, 'I have sinned, and\ndeserve to be tortured to all eternity. But Christ has paid my debts,\nby being punished instead of me. Therefore he is my Saviour. I am now\nbound by gratitude to him to turn away from evil.' Some would doubtless\ninsist on his saying a good deal more, but this is enough for my\npurpose.\n\nAs to the justice of God requiring the punishment of the sinner, I have\nsaid enough. That the mere suffering of the sinner can be no\nsatisfaction to justice, I have also tried to show. If the suffering of\nthe sinner be indeed required by the justice of God, let it be\nadministered. But what shall we say adequate to confront the base\nrepresentation that it is not punishment, not the suffering of the\nsinner that is required, but suffering! nay, as if this were not depth\nenough of baseness to crown all heathenish representation of the ways\nof God, that the suffering of the innocent is unspeakably preferable in\nhis eyes to that of the wicked, as a make-up for wrong done! nay,\nagain, 'in the lowest deep a lower deep,' that the suffering of the\nholy, the suffering of the loving, the suffering of the eternally and\nperfectly good, is supremely satisfactory to the pure justice of the\nFather of spirits! Not all the suffering that could be heaped upon the\nwicked could buy them a moment's respite, so little is their suffering\na counterpoise to their wrong; in the working of this law of\nequivalents, this _lex talionis_, the suffering of millions of years\ncould not equal the sin of a moment, could not pay off one farthing of\nthe deep debt. But so much more valuable, precious, and dear, is the\nsuffering of the innocent, so much more of a satisfaction--observe--to\nthe _justice_ of God, that in return for that suffering another wrong\nis done: the sinners who deserve and ought to be punished are set free.\n\nI know the root of all that can be said on the subject; the notion is\nimbedded in the gray matter of my Scotch brains; and if I reject it, I\nknow what I reject. For the love of God my heart rose early against the\nlow invention. Strange that in a Christian land it should need to be\nsaid, that to punish the innocent and let the guilty go free is unjust!\nIt wrongs the innocent, the guilty, and God himself. It would be the\nworst of all wrongs to the guilty to treat them as innocent. The whole\ndevice is a piece of spiritual charlatanry--fit only for a fraudulent\njail-delivery. If the wicked ought to be punished, it were the worst\npossible perversion of justice to take a righteous being however\nstrong, and punish him instead of the sinner however weak. To the\npoorest idea of justice in punishment, it is essential that the sinner,\nand no other than the sinner, should receive the punishment. The strong\nbeing that was willing to bear such punishment might well be regarded\nas worshipful, but what of the God whose so-called justice he thus\ndefeats? If you say it is justice, not God that demands the suffering,\nI say justice cannot demand that which is unjust, and the whole thing\nis unjust. God is absolutely just, and there is no deliverance from his\njustice, which is one with his mercy. The device is an absurdity--a\ngrotesquely deformed absurdity. To represent the living God as a party\nto such a style of action, is to veil with a mask of cruelty and\nhypocrisy the face whose glory can be seen only in the face of Jesus;\nto put a tirade of vulgar Roman legality into the mouth of the Lord God\nmerciful and gracious, who will by no means clear the guilty. Rather\nthan believe such ugly folly of him whose very name is enough to make\nthose that know him heave the breath of the hart panting for the\nwaterbrooks; rather than think of him what in a man would make me avoid\nhim at the risk of my life, I would say, 'There is no God; let us\nneither eat nor drink, that we may die! For lo, this is not our God!\nThis is not he for whom we have waited!' But I have seen his face and\nheard his voice in the face and the voice of Jesus Christ; and I say\nthis is our God, the very one whose being the Creator makes it an\ninfinite gladness to be the created. I will not have the God of the\nscribes and the pharisees whether Jewish or Christian, protestant,\nRoman, or Greek, but thy father, O Christ! He is my God. If you say,\n'That is our God, not yours!' I answer, 'Your portrait of your God is\nan evil caricature of the face of Christ.'\n\nTo believe in a vicarious sacrifice, is to think to take refuge with\nthe Son from the righteousness of the Father; to take refuge with his\nwork instead of with the Son himself; to take refuge with a theory of\nthat work instead of the work itself; to shelter behind a false quirk\nof law instead of nestling in the eternal heart of the unchangeable and\nrighteous Father, who is merciful in that he renders to every man\naccording to his work, and compels their obedience, nor admits judicial\nquibble or subterfuge. God will never let a man off with any fault. He\nmust have him clean. He will excuse him to the very uttermost of truth,\nbut not a hair's-breadth beyond it; he is his true father, and will\nhave his child true as his son Jesus Christ is true. He will impute to\nhim nothing that he has not, will lose sight of no smallest good that\nhe has; will quench no smoking flax, break no bruised reed, but send\nforth judgment unto victory. He is God beyond all that heart hungriest\nfor love and righteousness could to eternity desire.\n\nIf you say the best of men have held the opinions I stigmatize, I\nanswer, 'Some of the best of men have indeed held these theories, and\nof men who have held them I have loved and honoured some heartily and\nhumbly--but because of what they _were_, not because of what they\n_thought_; and they were what they were in virtue of their obedient\nfaith, not of their opinion. They were not better men because of\nholding these theories. In virtue of knowing God by obeying his son,\nthey rose above the theories they had never looked in the face, and so\nhad never recognized as evil. Many have arrived, in the natural\nprogress of their sacred growth, at the point where they must abandon\nthem. The man of whom I knew the most good gave them up gladly. Good to\nworshipfulness may be the man that holds them, and I hate them the more\ntherefore; they are lies that, working under cover of the truth mingled\nwith them, burrow as near the heart of the good man as they can go.\nWhoever, from whatever reason of blindness, may be the holder of a lie,\nthe thing is a lie, and no falsehood must mingle with the justice we\nmete out to it. There is nothing for any lie but the pit of hell. Yet\nuntil the man sees the thing to be a lie, how shall he but hold it! Are\nthere not mingled with it shadows of the best truth in the universe? So\nlong as a man is able to love a lie, he is incapable of seeing it is a\nlie. He who is true, out and out, will know at once an untruth; and to\nthat vision we must all come. I do not write for the sake of those who\neither make or heartily accept any lie. When they see the glory of God,\nthey will see the eternal difference between the false and the true,\nand not till then. I write for those whom such teaching as theirs has\nfolded in a cloud through which they cannot see the stars of heaven, so\nthat some of them even doubt if there be any stars of heaven. For the\nholy ones who believed and taught these things in days gone by, all is\nwell. Many of the holiest of them cast the lies from them long ere the\npresent teachers of them were born. Many who would never have invented\nthem for themselves, yet receiving them with the seals affixed of so\nmany good men, took them in their humility as recognized truths,\ninstead of inventions of men; and, oppressed by authority, the\nauthority of men far inferior to themselves, did not dare dispute them,\nbut proceeded to order their lives by what truths they found in their\ncompany, and so had their reward, the reward of obedience, in being by\nthat obedience brought to know God, which knowledge broke for them the\nnet of a presumptuous self-styled orthodoxy. Every man who tries to\nobey the Master is my brother, whether he counts me such or not, and I\nrevere him; but dare I give quarter to what I see to be a lie, because\nmy brother believes it? The lie is not of God, whoever may hold it.\n\n'Well, then,' will many say, 'if you thus unceremoniously cast to the\nwinds the doctrine of vicarious sacrifice, what theory do you propose\nto substitute in its stead?'\n\n'In the name of the truth,' I answer, _None_. I will send out no theory\nof mine to rouse afresh little whirlwinds of dialogistic dust mixed\nwith dirt and straws and holy words, hiding the Master in talk about\nhim. If I have any such, I will not cast it on the road as I walk, but\npresent it on a fair patine to him to whom I may think it well to show\nit. Only eyes opened by the sun of righteousness, and made single by\nobedience, can judge even the poor moony pearl of formulated thought.\nSay if you will that I fear to show my opinion. Is the man a coward who\nwill not fling his child to the wolves? What faith in this kind I have,\nI will have to myself before God, till I see better reason for uttering\nit than I do now.\n\n'Will you then take from me my faith, and help me to no other?'\n\nYour faith! God forbid. Your theory is not your faith, nor anything\nlike it. Your faith is your obedience; your theory I know not what.\nYes, I will gladly leave you without any of what you call faith. Trust\nin God. Obey the word--every word of the Master. That is faith; and so\nbelieving, your opinion will grow out of your true life, and be worthy\nof it. Peter says the Lord gives the spirit to them that obey him: the\nspirit of the Master, and that alone, can guide you to any theory that\nit will be of use to you to hold. A theory arrived at any other way is\nnot worth the time spent on it. Jesus is the creating and saving lord\nof our intellects as well as of our more precious hearts; nothing that\nhe does not think, is worth thinking; no man can think as he thinks,\nexcept he be pure like him; no man can be pure like him, except he go\nwith him, and learn from him. To put off obeying him till we find a\ncredible theory concerning him, is to set aside the potion we know it\nour duty to drink, for the study of the various schools of therapy. You\nknow what Christ requires of you is right--much of it at least you\nbelieve to be right, and your duty to do, whether he said it or not:\n_do it_. If you do not do what you know of the truth, I do not wonder\nthat you seek it intellectually, for that kind of search may well be,\nas Milton represents it, a solace even to the fallen angels. But do not\ncall anything that may be so gained, _The Truth_. How can you, not\ncaring to _be_ true, judge concerning him whose life was to do for very\nlove the things you confess your duty, yet do them not? Obey the truth,\nI say, and let theory wait. Theory may spring from life, but never life\nfrom theory.\n\nI will not then tell you what I think, but I will tell any man who\ncares to hear it what I believe. I will do it now. Of course what I say\nmust partake thus much of the character of theory that I cannot prove\nit; I can only endeavour to order my life by it.\n\nI believe in Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, my elder brother, my\nlord and master; I believe that he has a right to my absolute obedience\nwhereinsoever I know or shall come to know his will; that to obey him\nis to ascend the pinnacle of my being; that not to obey him would be to\ndeny him. I believe that he died that I might die like him--die to any\nruling power in me but the will of God--live ready to be nailed to the\ncross as he was, if God will it. I believe that he is my Saviour from\nmyself, and from all that has come of loving myself, from all that God\ndoes not love, and would not have me love--all that is not worth\nloving; that he died that the justice, the mercy of God, might have its\nway with me, making me just as God is just, merciful as he is merciful,\nperfect as my father in heaven is perfect. I believe and pray that he\nwill give me what punishment I need to set me right, or keep me from\ngoing wrong. I believe that he died to deliver me from all meanness,\nall pretence, all falseness, all unfairness, all poverty of spirit, all\ncowardice, all fear, all anxiety, all forms of self-love, all trust or\nhope in possession; to make me merry as a child, the child of our\nfather in heaven, loving nothing but what is lovely, desiring nothing I\nshould be ashamed to let the universe of God see me desire. I believe\nthat God is just like Jesus, only greater yet, for Jesus said so. I\nbelieve that God is absolutely, grandly beautiful, even as the highest\nsoul of man counts beauty, but infinitely beyond that soul's highest\nidea--with the beauty that creates beauty, not merely shows it, or\nitself exists beautiful. I believe that God has always done, is always\ndoing his best for every man; that no man is miserable because God is\nforgetting him; that he is not a God to crouch before, but our father,\nto whom the child-heart cries exultant, 'Do with me as thou wilt.'\n\nI believe that there is nothing good for me or for any man but God, and\nmore and more of God, and that alone through knowing Christ can we come\nnigh to him.\n\nI believe that no man is ever condemned for any sin except one--that he\nwill not leave his sins and come out of them, and be the child of him\nwho is his father.\n\nI believe that justice and mercy are simply one and the same thing;\nwithout justice to the full there can be no mercy, and without mercy to\nthe full there can be no justice; that such is the mercy of God that he\nwill hold his children in the consuming fire of his distance until they\npay the uttermost farthing, until they drop the purse of selfishness\nwith all the dross that is in it, and rush home to the Father and the\nSon, and the many brethren--rush inside the centre of the life-giving\nfire whose outer circles burn. I believe that no hell will be lacking\nwhich would help the just mercy of God to redeem his children.\n\nI believe that to him who obeys, and thus opens the doors of his heart\nto receive the eternal gift, God gives the spirit of his son, the\nspirit of himself, to be in him, and lead him to the understanding of\nall truth; that the true disciple shall thus always know what he ought\nto do, though not necessarily what another ought to do; that the spirit\nof the father and the son enlightens by teaching righteousness. I\nbelieve that no teacher should strive to make men think as he thinks,\nbut to lead them to the living Truth, to the Master himself, of whom\nalone they can learn anything, who will make them in themselves know\nwhat is true by the very seeing of it. I believe that the inspiration\nof the Almighty alone gives understanding. I believe that to be the\ndisciple of Christ is the end of being; that to persuade men to be his\ndisciples is the end of teaching.\n\n'The sum of all this is that you do not believe in the atonement?'\n\nI believe in Jesus Christ. Nowhere am I requested to believe _in_ any\nthing, or _in_ any statement, but everywhere to believe in God and in\nJesus Christ. In what you call _the atonement_, in what you mean by the\nword, what I have already written must make it plain enough I do not\nbelieve. God forbid I should, for it would be to believe a lie, and a\nlie which is to blame for much non-acceptance of the gospel in this and\nother lands. But, as the word was used by the best English writers at\nthe time when the translation of the Bible was made--with all my heart,\nand soul, and strength, and mind, I believe in the atonement, call it\nthe _a-tone-ment_, or the _at-one-ment_, as you please. I believe that\nJesus Christ _is_ our atonement; that through him we are reconciled to,\nmade one with God. There is not one word in the New Testament about\nreconciling God to us; it is we that have to be reconciled to God. I am\nnot writing, neither desire to write, a treatise on the atonement, my\nbusiness being to persuade men to be atoned to God; but I will go so\nfar to meet my questioner as to say--without the slightest expectation\nof satisfying him, or the least care whether I do so or not, for his\n_opinion_ is of no value to me, though his truth is of endless value to\nme and to the universe--that, even in the sense of the atonement being\na making-up for the evil done by men toward God, I believe in the\natonement. Did not the Lord cast himself into the eternal gulf of evil\nyawning between the children and the Father? Did he not bring the\nFather to us, let us look on our eternal Sire in the face of his true\nson, that we might have that in our hearts which alone could make us\nlove him--a true sight of him? Did he not insist on the one truth of\nthe universe, the one saving truth, that God was just what he was? Did\nhe not hold to that assertion to the last, in the face of contradiction\nand death? Did he not thus lay down his life persuading us to lay down\nours at the feet of the Father? Has not his very life by which he died\npassed into those who have received him, and re-created theirs, so that\nnow they live with the life which alone is life? Did he not foil and\nslay evil by letting all the waves and billows of its horrid sea break\nupon him, go over him, and die without rebound--spend their rage, fall\ndefeated, and cease? Verily, he made atonement! _We_ sacrifice to\nGod!--it is God who has sacrificed his own son to us; there was no way\nelse of getting the gift of himself into our hearts. Jesus sacrificed\nhimself to his father and the children to bring them together--all the\nlove on the side of the Father and the Son, all the selfishness on the\nside of the children. If the joy that alone makes life worth living,\nthe joy that God is such as Christ, be a true thing in my heart, how\ncan I but believe in the atonement of Jesus Christ? I believe it\nheartily, as God means it.\n\nThen again, as the power that brings about a making-up for any wrong\ndone by man to man, I believe in the atonement. Who that believes in\nJesus does not long to atone to his brother for the injury he has done\nhim? What repentant child, feeling he has wronged his father, does not\ndesire to make atonement? Who is the mover, the causer, the persuader,\nthe creator of the repentance, of the passion that restores\nfourfold?--Jesus, our propitiation, our atonement. He is the head and\nleader, the prince of the atonement. He could not do it without us, but\nhe leads us up to the Father's knee: he makes us make atonement.\nLearning Christ, we are not only sorry for what we have done wrong, we\nnot only turn from it and hate it, but we become able to serve both God\nand man with an infinitely high and true service, a soul-service. We\nare able to offer our whole being to God to whom by deepest right it\nbelongs. Have I injured anyone? With him to aid my justice, new risen\nwith him from the dead, shall I not make good amends? Have I failed in\nlove to my neighbour? Shall I not now love him with an infinitely\nbetter love than was possible to me before? That I will and can make\natonement, thanks be to him who is my atonement, making me at one with\nGod and my fellows! He is my life, my joy, my lord, my owner, the\nperfecter of my being by the perfection of his own. I dare not say with\nPaul that I am the slave of Christ; but my highest aspiration and\ndesire is to be the slave of Christ.\n\n'But you do not believe that the sufferings of Christ, as sufferings,\njustified the supreme ruler in doing anything which he would not have\nbeen at liberty to do but for those sufferings?'\n\nI do not. I believe the notion as unworthy of man's belief, as it is\ndishonouring to God. It has its origin doubtless in a salutary sense of\nsin; but sense of sin is not inspiration, though it may lie not far\nfrom the temple-door. It is indeed an opener of the eyes, but upon\nhome-defilement, not upon heavenly truth; it is not the revealer of\nsecrets. Also there is another factor in the theory, and that is\nunbelief--incapacity to accept the freedom of God's forgiveness;\nincapacity to believe that it is God's chosen nature to forgive, that\nhe is bound in his own divinely willed nature to forgive. No atonement\nis necessary to him but that men should leave their sins and come back\nto his heart. But men cannot believe in the forgiveness of God.\nTherefore they need, therefore he has given them a mediator. And yet\nthey will not know him. They think of the father of souls as if he had\nabdicated his fatherhood for their sins, and assumed the judge. If he\nput off his fatherhood, which he cannot do, for it is an eternal fact,\nhe puts off with it all relation to us. He cannot repudiate the\nessential and keep the resultant. Men cannot, or will not, or dare not\nsee that nothing but his being our father gives him any right over\nus--that nothing but that could give him a perfect right. They regard\nthe father of their spirits as their governor! They yield the idea of\nthe Ancient of Days, 'the glad creator,' and put in its stead a\nmiserable, puritanical martinet of a God, caring not for righteousness,\nbut for his rights; not for the eternal purities, but the goody\nproprieties. The prophets of such a God take all the glow, all the\nhope, all the colour, all the worth, out of life on earth, and offer\nyou instead what they call eternal bliss--a pale, tearless hell. Of all\nthings, turn from a mean, poverty stricken faith. But, if you ate\nstraitened in your own mammon-worshipping soul, how shall you believe\nin a God any greater than can stand up in that prison-chamber?\n\nI desire to wake no dispute, will myself dispute with no man, but for\nthe sake of those whom certain _believers_ trouble, I have spoken my\nmind. I love the one God seen in the face of Jesus Christ. From all\ncopies of Jonathan Edwards's portrait of God, however faded by time,\nhowever softened by the use of less glaring pigments, I turn with\nloathing. Not such a God is he concerning whom was the message John\nheard from Jesus, _that he is light, and in him is no darkness at all_.\n\n\n\n\n                                 LIGHT.\n\n\n      _This then is the message which we have heard of him, and\n       declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no\n       darkness at all._--1 John i. 5.\n\n      _And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the\n       world, and men loved darkness rather than light; because\n       their deeds were evil._--John iii. 19.\n\nWe call the story of Jesus, told so differently, yet to my mind so\nconsistently, by four narrators, _the gospel_. What makes this tale\n_the good news_? Is everything in the story of Christ's life on earth\ngood news? Is it good news that the one only good man was served by his\nfellow-men as Jesus was served--cast out of the world in torture and\nshame? Is it good news that he came to his own, and his own received\nhim not? What makes it fit, I repeat, to call the tale _good news_? If\nwe asked this or that theologian, we should, in so far as he was a true\nman, and answered from his own heart and not from the tradition of the\nelders, understand what he saw in it that made it good news to him,\nthough it might involve what would be anything but good news to some of\nus. The deliverance it might seem to this or that man to bring, might\nbe founded on such notions of God as to not a few of us contain as\nlittle of good as of news. To share in the deliverance which some men\nfind in what they call the gospel--for all do not apply the word to the\ntale itself, but to certain deductions made from the epistles and their\nown consciousness of evil--we should have to believe such things of God\nas would be the opposite of an evangel to us--yea, a message from hell\nitself; we should have to imagine that whose possibility would be worse\nthan any ill from which their 'good news' might offer us deliverance:\nwe must first believe in an unjust God, from whom we have to seek\nrefuge. True, they call him just, but say he does that which seems to\nthe best in me the essence of injustice. They will tell me I judge\nafter the flesh: I answer, Is it then to the flesh the Lord appeals\nwhen he says, 'Yea, and why even of yourselves judge ye not what is\nright?' Is he not the light that lighteth every man that cometh into\nthe world? They tell me I was born in sin, and I know it to be true;\nthey tell me also that I am judged with the same severity as if I had\nbeen born in righteousness, and that I know to be false. They make it a\nconsequence of the purity and justice of God that he will judge us,\nborn in evil, for which birth we were not accountable, by our\nsinfulness, instead of by our guilt. They tell me, or at least give me\nto understand, that every wrong thing I have done makes me subject to\nbe treated as if I had done that thing with the free will of one who\nhad in him no taint of evil--when, perhaps, I did not at the time\nrecognize the thing as evil, or recognized it only in the vaguest\nfashion. Is there any gospel in telling me that God is unjust, but that\nthere is a way of deliverance from him? Show me my God unjust, and you\nwake in me a damnation from which no power can deliver me--least of all\nGod himself. It may be good news to such as are content to have a God\ncapable of unrighteousness, if only he be on their side!\n\nWho would not rejoice to hear from Matthew, or Mark, or Luke, what, in\na few words, he meant by the word _gospel_--or rather, what in the\nstory of Jesus made him call it _good news_! Each would probably give a\ndifferent answer to the question, all the answers consistent, and each\na germ from which the others might be reasoned; but in the case of\nJohn, we have his answer to the question: he gives us in one sentence\nof two members, not indeed the gospel according to John, but the gospel\naccording to Jesus Christ himself. He had often told the story of\nJesus, the good news of what he was, and did, and said: what in it all\ndid John look upon as the essence of the goodness of its news? In his\ngospel he gives us all _about_ him, the message _concerning_ him; now\nhe tells us what in it makes it to himself and to us good news--tells\nus the very goodness of the good news. It is not now his own message\nabout Jesus, but the soul of that message--that which makes it\ngospel--the news Jesus brought concerning the Father, and gave to the\ndisciples as his message for them to deliver to men. Throughout the\nstory, Jesus, in all he does, and is, and says, is telling the news\nconcerning his father, which he was sent to give to John and his\ncompanions, that they might hand it on to their brothers; but here,\nin so many words, John tells us what he himself has heard from The\nWord--what in sum he has gathered from Jesus as the message he has to\ndeclare. He has received it in no systematic form; it is what a life,\n_the_ life, what a man, _the_ man, has taught him. The Word is the\nLord; the Lord is the gospel. The good news is no fagot of sticks of a\nman's gathering on the Sabbath.\n\nEvery man must read the Word for himself. One may read it in one shape,\nanother in another: all will be right if it be indeed the Word they\nread, and they read it by the lamp of obedience. He who is willing to\ndo the will of the Father shall know the truth of the teaching of\nJesus. The spirit is 'given to them that obey him.'\n\nBut let us hear how John reads the Word--near what is John's version of\nthe gospel.\n\n'This then is the message,' he says, 'which we have heard of him, and\ndeclare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all.'\nAh, my heart, this is indeed the good news for thee! This is a gospel!\nIf God be light, what more, what else can I seek than God, than God\nhimself! Away with your doctrines! Away with your salvation from the\n'justice' of a God whom it is a horror to imagine! Away with your iron\ncages of false metaphysics! I am saved--for God is light! My God, I\ncome to thee. That thou shouldst be thyself is enough for time and\neternity, for my soul and all its endless need. Whatever seems to me\ndarkness, that I will not believe of my God. If I should mistake, and\ncall that darkness which is light, will he not reveal the matter to me,\nsetting it in the light that lighteth every man, showing me that I saw\nbut the husk of the thing, not the kernel? Will he not break open the\nshell for me, and let the truth of it, his thought, stream out upon me?\nHe will not let it hurt me to mistake the light for darkness, while I\ntake not the darkness for light. The one comes from blindness of the\nintellect, the other from blindness of heart and will. I love the\nlight, and will not believe at the word of any man, or upon the\nconviction of any man, that that which seems to me darkness is in God.\nWhere would the good news be if John said, 'God is light, but you\ncannot see his light; you cannot tell, you have no notion, what light\nis; what God means by light, is not what you mean by light; what God\ncalls light may be horrible darkness to you, for you are of another\nnature from him!' Where, I say, would be the good news of that? It is\ntrue, the light of God may be so bright that we see nothing; but that\nis not darkness, it is infinite hope of light. It is true also that to\nthe wicked 'the day of the Lord is darkness, and not light;' but is\nthat because the conscience of the wicked man judges of good and evil\noppositely to the conscience of the good man? When he says, 'Evil, be\nthou my good,' he means by _evil_ what God means by evil, and by _good_\nhe means _pleasure_. He cannot make the meanings change places. To say\nthat what our deepest conscience calls darkness may be light to God, is\nblasphemy; to say light in God and light in man are of differing kinds,\nis to speak against the spirit of light. God is light far beyond what\nwe can see, but what we mean by light, God means by light; and what is\nlight to God is light to us, or would be light to us if we saw it, and\nwill be light to us when we do see it. God means us to be jubilant in\nthe fact that he is light--that he is what his children, made in his\nimage, mean when they say _light_; that what in him is dark to them, is\ndark by excellent glory, by too much cause of jubilation; that, however\ndark it may be to their eyes, it is light even as they mean it, light\nfor their eyes and souls and hearts to take in the moment they are\nenough of eyes, enough of souls, enough of hearts, to receive it in its\nvery being. Living Light, thou wilt not have me believe anything dark\nof thee! thou wilt have me so sure of thee as to dare to say that is\nnot of God which I see dark, see unlike the Master! If I am not honest\nenough, if the eye in me be not single enough to see thy light, thou\nwilt punish me, I thank thee, and purge my eyes from their darkness,\nthat they may let the light in, and so I become an inheritor, with thy\nother children, of that light which is thy Godhead, and makes thy\ncreatures need to worship thee. 'In thy light we shall see light.'\n\nAll man will not, in our present imperfection, see the same light; but\nlight is light notwithstanding, and what each does see, is his safety\nif he obeys it. In proportion as we have the image of Christ mirrored\nin us, we shall know what is and is not light. But never will anything\nprove to be light that is not of the same kind with that which we mean\nby light, with that in a thing which makes us call it light. The\ndarkness yet left in us makes us sometimes doubt of a thing whether it\nbe light or darkness; but when the eye is single, the whole body will\nbe full of light.\n\nTo fear the light is to be untrue, or at least it comes of untruth. No\nbeing, for himself or for another, needs fear the light of God. Nothing\ncan be in light inimical to our nature, which is of God, or to anything\nin us that is worthy. All fear of the light, all dread lest there\nshould be something dangerous in it, comes of the darkness still in\nthose of us who do not love the truth with all our hearts; it will\nvanish as we are more and more interpenetrated with the light. In a\nword, there is no way of thought or action which we count admirable in\nman, in which God is not altogether adorable. There is no loveliness,\nnothing that makes man dear to his brother man, that is not in God,\nonly it is infinitely better in God. He is God our saviour. Jesus is\nour saviour because God is our saviour. He is the God of comfort and\nconsolation. He will soothe and satisfy his children better than any\nmother her infant. The only thing he will not give them is--leave to\nstay in the dark. If a child cry, 'I want the darkness,' and complain\nthat he will not give it, yet he will not give it. He gives what his\nchild needs--often by refusing what he asks. If his child say, 'I will\nnot be good; I prefer to die; let me die!' his dealing with that child\nwill be as if he said--'No; I have the right to content you, not\ngiving you your own will but mine, which is your one good. You shall\nnot die; you shall live to thank me that I would not hear your prayer.\nYou know what you ask, but not what you refuse.' There are good things\nGod must delay giving until his child has a pocket to hold them--till\nhe gets his child to make that pocket. He must first make him fit to\nreceive and to have. There is no part of our nature that shall not be\nsatisfied--and that not by lessening it, but by enlarging it to embrace\nan ever-enlarging enough.\n\nCome to God, then, my brother, my sister, with all thy desires and\ninstincts, all thy lofty ideals, all thy longing for purity and\nunselfishness, all thy yearning to love and be true, all thy aspiration\nafter self-forgetfulness and child-life in the breath of the Father;\ncome to him with all thy weaknesses, all thy shames, all thy\nfutilities; with all thy helplessness over thy own thoughts; with all\nthy failure, yea, with the sick sense of having missed the tide of true\naffairs; come to him with all thy doubts, fears, dishonesties,\nmeannesses, paltrinesses, misjudgments, wearinesses, disappointments,\nand stalenesses: be sure he will take thee and all thy miserable brood,\nwhether of draggle-winged angels, or covert-seeking snakes, into his\ncare, the angels for life, the snakes for death, and thee for liberty\nin his limitless heart! For he is light, and in him is no darkness at\nall. If he were a king, a governor; if the name that described him were\n_The Almighty_, thou mightst well doubt whether there could be light\nenough in him for thee and thy darkness; but he is thy father, and more\nthy father than the word can mean in any lips but his who said, 'my\nfather and your father, my God and your God;' and such a father is\nlight, an infinite, perfect light. If he were any less or any other\nthan he is, and thou couldst yet go on growing, thou must at length\ncome to the point where thou wouldst be dissatisfied with him; but he\nis light, and in him is no darkness at all. If anything seem to be in\nhim that you cannot be content with, be sure that the ripening of thy\nlove to thy fellows and to him, the source of thy being, will make thee\nat length know that anything else than just what he is would have been\nto thee an endless loss. Be not afraid to build upon the rock Christ,\nas if thy holy imagination might build too high and heavy for that\nrock, and it must give way and crumble beneath the weight of thy divine\nidea. Let no one persuade thee that there is in him a little darkness,\nbecause of something he has said which his creature interprets into\ndarkness. The interpretation is the work of the enemy--a handful of\ntares of darkness sown in the light. Neither let thy cowardly\nconscience receive any word as light because another calls it light,\nwhile it looks to thee dark. Say either the thing is not what it seems,\nor God never said or did it. But, of all evils, to misinterpret what\nGod does, and then say the thing as interpreted must be right because\nGod does it, is of the devil. Do not try to believe anything that\naffects thee as darkness. Even if thou mistake and refuse something\ntrue thereby, thou wilt do less wrong to Christ by such a refusal than\nthou wouldst by accepting as his what thou canst see only as darkness.\nIt is impossible thou art seeing a true, a real thing--seeing it as it\nis, I mean--if it looks to thee darkness. But let thy words be few,\nlest thou say with thy tongue what thou wilt afterward repent with thy\nheart. Above all things believe in the light, that it is what thou\ncallest light, though the darkness in thee may give thee cause at a\ntime to doubt whether thou art verily seeing the light.\n\n'But there is another side to the matter: God is light indeed, but\nthere _is_ darkness; darkness is death, and men are in it.'\n\nYes; darkness is death, but not death to him that comes out of it.\n\nIt may sound paradoxical, but no man is condemned for anything he has\ndone; he is condemned for continuing to do wrong. He is condemned for\nnot coming out of the darkness, for not coming to the light, the living\nGod, who sent the light, his son, into the world to guide him home. Let\nus hear what John says about the darkness.\n\nFor here also we have, I think, the word of the apostle himself: at the\n13th verse he begins, I think, to speak in his own person. In the 19th\nverse he says, 'And this is the condemnation,'--not that men are\nsinners--not that they have done that which, even at the moment, they\nwere ashamed of--not that they have committed murder, not that they\nhave betrayed man or woman, not that they have ground the faces of the\npoor, making money by the groans of their fellows--not for any hideous\nthing are they condemned, but that they will not leave such doings\nbehind, and do them no more: 'This is the condemnation, that light is\ncome into the world, and men' would not come out of the darkness to the\nlight, but 'loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were\nevil.' Choosing evil, clinging to evil, loving the darkness because it\nsuits with their deeds, therefore turning their backs on the inbreaking\nlight, how can they but be condemned--if God be true, if he be light,\nand darkness be alien to him! Whatever of honesty is in man, whatever\nof judgment is left in the world, must allow that their condemnation is\nin the very nature of things, that it must rest on them and abide.\n\nBut if one happens to utter some individual truth which another man has\nmade into one of the cogs of his system, he is in danger of being\nsupposed to accept all the toothed wheels and their relations in that\nsystem. I therefore go on to say that it does not follow, because light\nhas come into the world, that it has fallen upon this or that man. He\nhas his portion of the light that lighteth every man, but the\nrevelation of God in Christ may not yet have reached him. A man might\nsee and pass the Lord in a crowd, nor be to blame like the Jews of\nJerusalem for not knowing him. A man like Nathanael might have started\nand stopped at the merest glimpse of him, but all growing men are not\nyet like him without guile. Everyone who has not yet come to the light\nis not necessarily keeping his face turned away from it. We dare not\nsay that this or that man would not have come to the light had he seen\nit; we do not know that he will not come to the light the moment he\ndoes see it. God gives every man time. There is a light that lightens\nsage and savage, but the glory of God in the face of Jesus may not have\nshined on this sage or that savage. The condemnation is of those who,\nhaving seen Jesus, refuse to come to him, or pretend to come to him but\ndo not the things he says. They have all sorts of excuses at hand; but\nas soon as a man begins to make excuse, the time has come when he might\nbe doing that from which he excuses himself. How many are there not\nwho, believing there is something somewhere with the claim of light\nupon them, go on and on to get more out of the darkness! This\nconsciousness, all neglected by them, gives broad ground for the\nexpostulation of the Lord--'Ye will not come unto me that ye might have\nlife!'\n\n'All manner of sin and blasphemy,' the Lord said, 'shall be forgiven\nunto men; but the blasphemy against the spirit shall not be forgiven.'\nGod speaks, as it were, in this manner: 'I forgive you everything. Not\na word more shall be said about your sins--only come out of them; come\nout of the darkness of your exile; come into the light of your home, of\nyour birthright, and do evil no more. Lie no more; cheat no more;\noppress no more; slander no more; envy no more; be neither greedy nor\nvain; love your neighbour as I love you; be my good child; trust in\nyour father. I am light; come to me, and you shall see things as I see\nthem, and hate the evil thing. I will make you love the thing which now\nyou call good and love not. I forgive all the past.'\n\n'I thank thee, Lord, for forgiving me, but I prefer staying in the\ndarkness: forgive me that too.'\n\n'No; that cannot be. The one thing that cannot be forgiven is the sin\nof choosing to be evil, of refusing deliverance. It is impossible to\nforgive that sin. It would be to take part in it. To side with wrong\nagainst right, with murder against life, cannot be forgiven. The thing\nthat is past I pass, but he who goes on doing the same, annihilates\nthis my forgiveness, makes it of no effect. Let a man have committed\nany sin whatever, I forgive him; but to choose to go on sinning--how\ncan I forgive that? It would be to nourish and cherish evil! It would\nbe to let my creation go to ruin. Shall I keep you alive to do things\nhateful in the sight of all true men? If a man refuse to come out of\nhis sin, he must suffer the vengeance of a love that would be no love\nif it left him there. Shall I allow my creature to be the thing my soul\nhates?'\n\nThere is no excuse for this refusal. If we were punished for every\nfault, there would be no end, no respite; we should have no quiet\nwherein to repent; but God passes by all he can. He passes by and\nforgets a thousand sins, yea, tens of thousands, forgiving them\nall--only we must begin to be good, begin to do evil no more. He\nwho refuses must be punished and punished--punished through all the\nages--punished until he gives way, yields, and comes to the light, that\nhis deeds may be seen by himself to be what they are, and be by himself\nreproved, and the Father at last have his child again. For the man who\nin this world resists to the full, there may be, perhaps, a whole age\nor era in the history of the universe during which his sin shall not be\nforgiven; but _never_ can it be forgiven until he repents. How can they\nwho will not repent be forgiven, save in the sense that God does and\nwill do all he can to make them repent? Who knows but such sin may need\nfor its cure the continuous punishment of an aeon?\n\nThere are three conceivable kinds of punishment--first, that of mere\nretribution, which I take to be entirely and only human--therefore,\nindeed, more properly inhuman, for that which is not divine is not\nessential to humanity, and is of evil, and an intrusion upon the human;\nsecond, that which works repentance; and third, that which refines and\npurifies, working for holiness. But the punishment that falls on whom\nthe Lord loveth because they have repented, is a very different thing\nfrom the punishment that falls on those whom he loveth in deed but\ncannot forgive because they hold fast by their sins.\n\nThere are also various ways in which the word _forgive_ can be used. A\nman might say to his son--'My boy, I forgive you. You did not know what\nyou were doing. I will say no more about it.' Or he might say--'My boy,\nI forgive you; but I must punish you, for you have done the same thing\nseveral times, and I must make you remember.' Or, again, he might\nsay--'I am seriously angry with you. I cannot forgive you. I must\npunish you severely. The thing was too shameful! I cannot pass it by.'\nOr, once more, he might say--'Except you alter your ways entirely, I\nshall have nothing more to do with you. You need not come to me. I will\nnot take the responsibility of anything you do. So far from answering\nfor you, I shall feel bound in honesty to warn my friends not to put\nconfidence in you. Never, never, till I see a greater difference in you\nthan I dare hope to see in this world, will I forgive you. I can no\nmore regard you as one of the family. I would die to save you, but I\ncannot forgive you. There is nothing in you now on which to rest\nforgiveness. To say, I forgive you, would be to say, Do anything you\nlike; I do not care what you do.' So God may forgive and punish; and he\nmay punish and not forgive, that he may rescue. To forgive the sin\nagainst the holy spirit would be to damn the universe to the pit of\nlies, to render it impossible for the man so forgiven ever to be saved.\nHe cannot forgive the man who will not come to the light because his\ndeeds are evil. Against that man his fatherly heart is _moved with\nindignation_.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE DISPLEASURE OF JESUS.\n\n\n      _When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also\n       weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit,\n       and was troubled_.--John xi. 33.\n\nGrimm, in his lexicon to the New Testament, after giving as the\nequivalent of the word [Greek: embrimaomai] in pagan use, 'I am moved\nwith anger,' 'I roar or growl,' 'I snort at,' 'I am vehemently angry or\nindignant with some one,' tells us that in Mark i. 43, and Matthew ix.\n30, it has a meaning different from that of the pagans, namely, 'I\ncommand with severe admonishment.' That he has any authority for saying\nso, I do not imagine, and believe the statement a blunder. The\nTranslators and Revisers, however, have in those passages used the word\nsimilarly, and in one place, the passage before us, where a true\nversion is of yet more consequence, have taken another liberty and\nrendered the word 'groaned.' The Revisers, at the same time, place in\nthe margin what I cannot but believe its true meaning--'was moved with\nindignation.'\n\nLet us look at all the passages in which the word is used of the Lord,\nand so, if we may, learn something concerning him. The only place in\nthe gospel where it is used of any but the Lord is Mark xiv. 5. Here\nboth versions say of the disciples that they 'murmured at' the waste of\nthe ointment by one of the women who anointed the Lord. With regard to\nthis rendering I need only remark that surely 'murmured at' can hardly\nbe strong enough, especially seeing 'they had indignation among\nthemselves' at the action.\n\nIt is indeed right and necessary to insist that many a word must differ\nin moral weight and colour as used of or by persons of different\ncharacter. The anger of a good man is a very different thing from the\nanger of a bad man; the displeasure of Jesus must be a very different\nthing from the displeasure of a tyrant. But they are both anger, both\ndispleasure, nevertheless. We have no right to change a root-meaning,\nand say in one case that a word means _he was indignant_, in another\nthat it means _he straitly or strictly charged_, and in a third that it\nmeans _he groaned_. Surely not thus shall we arrive at the truth! If\nany statement is made, any word employed, that we feel unworthy of the\nLord, let us refuse it; let us say, 'I do not believe that;' or, 'There\nmust be something there that I cannot see into: I must wait; it cannot\nbe what it looks to me, and be true of the Lord!' But to accept the\nword as used of the Lord, and say it means something quite different\nfrom what it means when used by the same writer of some one else,\nappears to me untruthful.\n\nWe shall take first the passage, Mark i. 43--in the authorized version,\n'And he straitly charged him;' in the revised, 'And he strictly charged\nhim,' with '_sternly_' in the margin. Literally, as it seems to me, it\nreads, and ought to be read, 'And being angry' or 'displeased' or\n'vexed' 'with him, he immediately dismissed him.' There is even some\ndissatisfaction implied, I think, in the word I have translated\n'dismissed.' The word in John ix. 34, 'they cast him out,' is the same,\nonly a little intensified.\n\nThis adds something to the story, and raises the question, Why should\nJesus have been angry? If we can find no reason for his anger, we must\nleave the thing as altogether obscure; for I do not know where to find\nanother meaning for the word, except in the despair of a would-be\ninterpreter.\n\nJesus had cured the leper--not with his word only, which would have\nbeen enough for the mere cure, but was not enough without the touch of\nhis hand--the Sinaitic version says '_his hands_'--to satisfy the heart\nof Jesus--a touch defiling him, in the notion of the Jews, but how\ncleansing to the sense of the leper! The man, however, seems to have\nbeen unworthy of this delicacy of divine tenderness. The Lord, who\ncould read his heart, saw that he made him no true response--that there\nwas not awaked in him the faith he desired to rouse: he had not drawn\nthe soul of the man to his. The leper was jubilant in the removal of\nhis pain and isolating uncleanness, in his deliverance from suffering\nand scorn; he was probably elated with the pride of having had a\nmiracle wrought for _him_. In a word, he was so full of himself that he\ndid not think truly of his deliverer.\n\nThe Lord, I say, saw this, or something of this kind, and was not\nsatisfied. He had wanted to give the man something so much better than\na pure skin, and had only roused in him an unseemly delight in his own\ncleanness--_unseemly_, for it was such that he paid no heed to the\nLord, but immediately disobeyed his positive command. The moral\nposition the man took was that which displeased the Lord, made him\nangry. He saw in him positive and rampant self-will and disobedience,\nan impertinent assurance and self-satisfaction. Filled, not with pure\ndelight, or the child-like merriment that might well burst forth,\nmingled with tears, at such deliverance; filled, not with gratitude,\nbut gratification, the keener that he had been so long an object of\nloathing to his people; filled with arrogance because of the favour\nshown to him, of all men, by the great prophet, and swelling with boast\nof the same, he left the presence of the healer to thwart his will,\nand, commanded to tell no man, at once 'began'--the frothy, volatile,\ntalking soul--'to publish it much, and to blaze abroad the matter,\ninsomuch that Jesus could no more openly enter into a city, but was\nwithout in desert places.'\n\nLet us next look at the account of the healing of the two blind men,\ngiven in the ninth chapter of Matthew's gospel. In both the versions\nthe same phrases are used in translation of the word in question, as in\nthe story of the leper in Mark's gospel--'straitly,' 'strictly,'\n'sternly charged them.' I read the passage thus: 'And Jesus was\ndispleased'--or, perhaps, 'much displeased'--'with them, saying, See\nthat no man know it.'\n\n'But they went forth, and spread abroad his fame in all that land.'\nSurely here we have light on the cause of Jesus' displeasure with the\nblind men! it was the same with them as with the leper: they showed\nthemselves bent on their own way, and did not care for his. Doubtless\nthey were, in part, all of them moved by the desire to spread abroad\nhis fame; that may even have seemed to them the best acknowledgment\nthey could render their deliverer. They never suspected that a great\nman might desire to avoid fame, laying no value upon it, knowing it for\na foolish thing. They did not understand that a man desirous of helping\nhis fellows might yet avoid a crowd as obstructive to his object. 'What\nis a prophet without honour?' such virtually ask, nor understand the\nanswer, 'A man the more likely to prove a prophet.' These men would\nrepay their healer with trumpeting, not obedience. By them he should\nhave his right--but as they not be judged fit! In his modesty he\nobjected, but they would take care he should not go without his reward!\nThrough them he should reap the praises of men! 'Not tell!' they\nexclaim. 'Indeed, we will tell!' They were too grateful not to rumour\nhim, not grateful enough to obey him.\n\nWe cannot surely be amazed at their self-sufficiency. How many are\nthere not who seem capable of anything for the sake of the church or\nChristianity, except the one thing its Lord cares about--that they\nshould do what he tells them! He would deliver them from themselves\ninto the liberty of the sons of God, make them his brothers; they leave\nhim to vaunt their church. His commandments are not grievous; they\ninvent commandments for him, and lay them, burdens grievous to be\nborne, upon the necks of their brethren. God would have us sharers in\nhis bliss--in the very truth of existence; they worship from afar, and\nwill not draw nigh. It was not, I think, the obstruction to his work,\nnot the personal inconvenience it would cause him, that made the Lord\nangry, but that they would not be his friends, would not do what he\ntold them, would not be the children of his father, and help him to\nsave their brethren. When Peter in his way next--much the same way as\ntheirs--opposed the will of the Father, saying, 'That be far from thee,\nLord!' he called him Satan, and ordered him behind him.\n\nDoes it affect anyone to the lowering of his idea of the Master that he\nshould ever be angry? If so, I would ask him whether his whole\nconscious experience of anger be such, that he knows but one kind of\nanger. There is a good anger and a bad anger. There is a wrath of God,\nand there is a wrath of man that worketh not the righteousness of God.\nAnger may be as varied as the colour of the rainbow. God's anger can be\nnothing but Godlike, therefore divinely beautiful, at one with his\nlove, helpful, healing, restoring; yet is it verily and truly what we\ncall anger. How different is the anger of one who loves, from that of\none who hates! yet is anger anger. There is the degraded human anger,\nand the grand, noble, eternal anger. Our anger is in general degrading,\nbecause it is in general impure.\n\nIt is to me an especially glad thought that the Lord came so near us as\nto be angry with us. The more we think of Jesus being angry with us,\nthe more we feel that we must get nearer and nearer to him--get within\nthe circle of his wrath, out of the sin that makes him angry, and near\nto him where sin cannot come. There is no quenching of his love in the\nanger of Jesus. The anger of Jesus is his recognition that we are to\nblame; if we were not to blame, Jesus could never be angry with us; we\nshould not be of his kind, therefore not subject to his blame. To\nrecognize that we are to blame, is to say that we ought to be better,\nthat we are able to do right if we will. We are able to turn our faces\nto the light, and come out of the darkness; the Lord will see to our\ngrowth.\n\nIt is a serious thought that the disobedience of the men he had set\nfree from blindness and leprosy should be able to hamper him in his\nwork for his father. But his best friends, his lovers did the same.\nThat he should be crucified was a horror to them; they would have made\nhim a king, and ruined his father's work. He preferred the cruelty of\nhis enemies to the kindness of his friends. The former with evil intent\nwrought his father's will; the latter with good intent would have\nfrustrated it. His disciples troubled him with their unbelieving\nexpostulations. Let us know that the poverty of our idea of Jesus--how\nmuch more our disobedience to him!--thwarts his progress to victory,\ndelays the coming of the kingdom of heaven. Many a man valiant for\nChrist, but not understanding him, and laying on himself and his\nfellows burdens against nature, has therein done will-worship and\nwould-be service for which Christ will give him little thanks, which\nindeed may now be moving his holy anger. Where we do that we ought not,\nand could have helped it, be moved to anger against us, O Christ! do\nnot treat us as if we were not worth being displeased with; let not our\nfaults pass as if they were of no weight. Be angry with us, holy\nbrother, wherein we are to blame; where we do not understand, have\npatience with us, and open our eyes, and give us strength to obey,\nuntil at length we are the children of the Father even as thou. For\nthough thou art lord and master and saviour of them that are growing,\nthou art perfect lord only of the true and the safe and the free, who\nlive in thy light and are divinely glad: we keep thee back from thy\nperfect lordship. Make us able to be angry and not sin; to be angry nor\nseek revenge the smallest; to be angry and full of forgiveness. We will\nnot be content till our very anger is love.\n\nThe Lord did not call the leprosy to return and seize again upon the\nman who disobeyed him. He may have deserved it, but the Lord did not do\nit. He did not wrap the self-confident seeing men in the cloud of their\nold darkness because they wrapped themselves in the cloud of\ndisobedience. He let them go. Of course they failed of their well-being\nby it; for to say a man might disobey and be none the worse, would be\nto say that _no_ may be _yes_, and light sometimes darkness; it would\nbe to say that the will of God is not man's bliss. But the Lord did not\ndirectly punish them, any more than he does tens of thousands of wrongs\nin the world. Many wrongs punish themselves against the bosses of armed\nlaw; many wrong-doers cut themselves, like the priests of Baal, with\nthe knives of their own injustice; and it is his will it should be so;\nbut, whether he punish directly or indirectly, he is always working to\ndeliver. I think sometimes his anger is followed, yea, accompanied by\nan astounding gift, fresh from his heart of grace. He knows what to do,\nfor he is love. He is love when he gives, and love when he withholds;\nlove when he heals, and love when he slays. Lord, if thus thou lookest\nupon men in thine anger, what must a full gaze be from thine eyes of\nlove!\n\nLet us now look at the last case in which this word [Greek:\nembrimaomai] is used in the story of our Lord--that form of it, at\nleast, which we have down here, for sure they have a fuller gospel in\nthe Father's house, and without spot of blunder in it: let us so use\nthat we have that we be allowed at length to look within the leaves of\nthe other!\n\nIn the authorized version of the gospel of John, the eleventh chapter,\nthe thirty-third verse, we have the words: 'When Jesus therefore saw\nher weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned\nin the spirit and was troubled;'--according to the margin of the\nrevised version, 'he was moved with indignation in the spirit, and\ntroubled himself.' Also in the thirty-eighth verse we read, according\nto the margin of the revised version, 'Jesus therefore again being\nmoved with indignation in himself cometh to the tomb.'\n\nIndignation--anger at the very tomb! in the presence of hearts torn by\nthe loss of a brother four days dead, whom also he loved! Yes, verily,\nfriends! such indignation, such anger as, at such a time, in such a\nplace, it was eternally right the heart of Jesus should be moved\nwithal. I can hardly doubt that he is in like manner moved by what he\nsees now at the death-beds and graves of not a few who are not his\nenemies, and yet in the presence of death seem no better than pagans.\nWhat have such gained by being the Christians they say they are? They\nfix their eyes on a grisly phantasm they call Death, and never lift\nthem to the radiant Christ standing by bed or grave! For them Christ\nhas not conquered Death:\n\n     Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan!\n\n\nThey would shudder at the thought of saying so in words; they say it in\nthe bitterness of their tears, in their eyes of despair, in their black\ngarments, in their instant retreat from the light of day to burrow in\nthe bosom of darkness? 'What, would you have us not weep?' Weep freely,\nfriends; but let your tears be those of expectant Christians, not\nhopeless pagans. Let us look at the story.\n\nThe Lord had all this time been trying to teach his friends about his\nfather--what a blessed and perfect father he was, who had sent him that\nmen might look on his very likeness, and know him greater than any\nlikeness could show him; and all they had gained by it seemed not to\namount to an atom of consolation when the touch of death came. He had\nsaid hundreds of things to Martha and Mary that are not down in the few\npages of our earthly gospel; but the fact that God loves them, and that\nGod has Lazarus, seems nothing to them because they have not Lazarus!\nThe Lord himself, for all he has been to them, cannot console them,\neven with his bodily presence, for the bodily absence of their brother.\nI do not mean that God would have even his closest presence make us\nforget or cease to desire that of our friend. God forbid! The love of\nGod is the perfecting of every love. He is not the God of oblivion, but\nof eternal remembrance. There is no past with him. So far is he from\nsuch jealousy as we have all heard imputed to him, his determination is\nthat his sons and daughters shall love each other perfectly. He gave us\nto each other to belong to each other for ever. He does not give to\ntake away; with him is no variableness or shadow of turning. But if my\nson or daughter be gone from me for a season, should not the coming of\ntheir mother comfort me? Is it nothing that he who is the life should\nbe present, assuring the well-being of the life that has vanished, and\nthe well-being of the love that misses it? Why should the Lord have\ncome to the world at all, if these his friends were to take no more\ngood of him than this? Having the elder brother, could they not do for\na little while without the younger? Must they be absolutely miserable\nwithout him? All their cry was, 'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my\nbrother had not died!' You may say they did not know Christ well enough\nyet. That is plain--but Christ had expected more of them, and was\ndisappointed. You may say, 'How could that be, seeing he knew what was\nin man?' I doubt if you think rightly how much the Lord gave up in\ncoming to us. Perhaps you have a poor idea of how much the Son was able\nto part with, or rather could let the Father take from him, without his\nsonship, the eternal to the eternal, being touched by it, save to show\nit deeper and deeper, closer and closer. That he did not in this world\nknow everything, is plain from his own words, and from signs as well: I\nshould scorn to imagine that ignorance touching his Godhead, that his\nGodhead could be hurt by what enhances his devotion. It enhances in my\neyes the idea of his Godhead. Here, I repeat, I cannot but think that\nhe was disappointed with his friends Martha and Mary. Had he done no\nmore for them than this? Was his father and their father no comfort to\nthem? Was this the way his best friends treated his father, who was\ndoing everything for them possible for a father to do for his children!\nHe cared so dearly for their hearts that he could not endure to see\nthem weeping so that they shut out his father. His love was vexed with\nthem that they would sit in ashes when they ought to be out in his\nfather's sun and wind. And all for a lie!--since the feeling in their\nhearts that made them so weep, was a false one. Remember, it was not\ntheir love, but a false notion of loss. Were they no nearer the light\nof life than that? To think they should believe in death and the grave,\nnot in him, the Life! Why should death trouble them? Why grudge the\nfriendly elements their grasp on the body, restoring it whence it came,\nbecause Lazarus was gone home to God, and needed it no more? I suspect\nthat, looking into their hearts, he saw them feeling and acting just as\nif Lazarus had ceased to exist.\n\n'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died. But I know,\nthat even now, whatsoever thou wilt ask of God, God will give it thee.'\n\n'Thy brother shall rise again.'\n\n'I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day.'\n\n'I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though\nhe were dead, yet shall he live. And whosoever liveth, and believeth in\nme, shall never die.'\n\nI will not now endeavour to disclose anything of the depth of this word\nof the Lord. It will suffice for my present object to say that the\nsisters must surely have known that he raised up the daughter of Jairus\nand the son of the widow of Nain; and if the words he had just spoken,\n'Thy brother shall rise again,' seemed to Martha too good to be true in\nthe sense that he was going to raise him now, both she and Mary\nbelieving he could raise him if he would, might at least have known\nthat if he did not, it must be for reasons as lovely as any for which\nhe might have done it. If he could, and did not, must it not be as well\nas, yes, better than if he did?\n\nMartha had gone away, for the moment at least, a little comforted; and\nnow came Mary, who knew the Lord better than her sister--alas, with the\nsame bitter tears flowing from her eyes, and the same hopeless words,\nalmost of reproach, falling from her lips! Then it was--at the sight of\nher and the Jews with her weeping, that the spirit of the Lord was\nmoved with indignation. They wept as those who believe in death, not in\nlife. Mary wept as if she had never seen with her eyes, never handled\nwith her hands the Word of life! He was troubled with their unbelief,\nand troubled with their trouble. What was to be done with his brothers\nand sisters who _would_ be miserable, who would not believe in his\nfather! What a life of pain was theirs! How was he to comfort them?\nThey would not be comforted! What a world was it that would go on\nthus--that would not free itself from the clutch of death, even after\ndeath was dead, but would weep and weep for thousands of years to come,\nclasped to the bosom of dead Death! Was existence, the glorious\nout-gift of his father, to be the most terrible of miseries, because\nsome must go home before others? It was all so sad!--and all because\nthey would not know his father! Then came the reaction from his\nindignation, and the labouring heart of the Lord found relief in tears.\n\nThe Lord was standing, as it were, on the watershed of life. On one\nside of him lay what Martha and Mary called the world of life, on the\nother what he and his father and Lazarus called more abundant life. The\nLord saw into both worlds--saw Martha and Mary on the one side weeping,\non the other Lazarus waiting for them in peace. He would do his best\nfor them--for the sisters--not for Lazarus! It was hard on Lazarus to\nbe called back into the winding-sheet of the body, a sacrifice to their\nfaithlessness, but it should be done! Lazarus should suffer for his\nsisters! Through him they should be compelled to believe in the Father,\nand so be delivered from bondage! Death should have no more dominion\nover them!\n\nHe was vexed with them, I have said, for not believing in God, his and\ntheir father; and at the same time was troubled with their trouble. The\ncloud of his loving anger and disappointed sympathy broke in tears; and\nthe tears eased his heart of the weight of its divine grief. He turned,\nnot to them, not to punish them for their unbelief, not even to chide\nthem for their sorrow; he turned to his father to thank him.\n\nHe thanks him for hearing a prayer he had made--whether a moment\nbefore, or ere he left the other side of the Jordan, I cannot tell.\nWhat was the prayer for having heard which he now thanks his father?\nSurely he had spoken about bringing Lazarus back, and his father had\nshown himself of one mind with him. 'And I knew that thou hearest me\nalways, but because of the multitude which standeth around I said it,\nthat they may believe that thou didst send me.' 'I said it:' said what?\nHe had said something for the sake of the multitude; what was it? The\nthanksgiving he had just uttered. He was not in the way of thanking his\nfather in formal words; and now would not naturally have spoken his\nthanks aloud; for he was always speaking to the Father, and the Father\nwas always hearing him; but he had a reason for doing so, and was now\ngoing to give his reason. He had done the unusual thing for the sake of\nbeing heard do it, and for holy honesty-sake he tells the fact,\nspeaking to his father so as the people about him may hear, and there\nbe no shadow of undisclosed doubleness in the action--nothing covert,\nhowever perfect in honesty. His design in thus thanking aloud must be\nmade patent! 'I thank thee, father, for hearing me; and I say it, not\nas if I had had any doubt of thy hearing me, but that the people may\nunderstand that I am not doing this thing of myself, but as thy\nmessenger. It is thou, father, art going to do it; I am doing it as thy\nright hand.--Lazarus, come forth.'\n\nI have said the trouble of the Lord was that his friends would not\ntrust his father. He did not want any reception of himself that was not\na reception of his father. It was his father, not he, that did the\nworks! From this disappointment came, it seems to me, that sorrowful\nsigh, 'Nevertheless, when the son of man cometh, shall he find faith on\nthe earth?'\n\nThe thought of the Lord in uttering this prayer is not his own\njustification, but his father's reception by his children. If ever the\nLord claims to be received as a true man, it is for the sake of his\nfather and his brethren, that in the receiving of him, he may be\nreceived who sent him. Had he now desired the justification of his own\nclaim, the thing he was about to do would have been powerful to that\nend; but he must have them understand clearly that the Father was one\nwith him in it--that they were doing it together--that it was the will\nof the Father--that he had sent him.\n\nLazarus must come and help him with these sisters whom he could not get\nto believe! Lazarus had tasted of death, and knew what it was: he must\ncome and give his testimony! 'They have lost sight of you, Lazarus, and\nfancy you gone to the nowhere of their unbelief. Come forth; come out\nof the unseen. We will set them at rest.' It was hard, I repeat, upon\nLazarus; he was better where he was; but he must come and bear the Lord\ncompany a little longer, and then be left behind with his sisters, that\nthey and millions more like them might know that God is the God of the\nliving, and not of the dead.\n\nThe Jews said, 'Behold how he loved him!' but can any Christian believe\nit was from love to Lazarus that Jesus wept? It was from love to God,\nand to Martha and Mary. He had not lost Lazarus; but Martha and Mary\nwere astray from their father in heaven. 'Come, my brother; witness!'\nhe cried; and Lazarus came forth, bound hand and foot. 'Loose him and\nlet him go,' he said--a live truth walking about the world: he had\nnever been dead, and was come forth; he had not been lost, and was\nrestored! It was a strange door he came through, back to his own--a\ndoor seldom used, known only to one--but there he was! Oh, the hearts\nof Martha and Mary! Surely the Lord had some recompense for his\ntrouble, beholding their joy!\n\nAny Christian woman who has read thus far, I now beg to reflect on what\nI am going to put before her.\n\nLazarus had to die again, and thanked God, we may be sure, for the glad\nfact. Did his sisters, supposing them again left behind him in the\nworld, make the same lamentations over him as the former time he went?\nIf they did, if they fell again into that passion of grief, lamenting\nand moaning and refusing to be comforted, what would you say of them? I\nimagine something to this effect: 'It was most unworthy of them to be\nno better for such a favour shown them. It was to behave like the\nnaughtiest of faithless children. Did they not know that he was not\nlost?--that he was with the Master, who had himself seemed lost for a\nfew days, but came again? He was no more lost now than the time he went\nbefore! Could they not trust that he who brought him back once would\ntake care they should have him for ever at last!' Would you not speak\nafter some such fashion? Would you not remember that he who is the\nshepherd of the sheep will see that the sheep that love one another\nshall have their own again, in whatever different pastures they may\nfeed for a time? Would it not be hard to persuade you that they ever\ndid so behave? They must have felt that he was but 'gone for a\nminute ... from this room into the next;' and that, however they might\nmiss him, it would be a shame not to be patient when they knew there\nwas nothing to fear. It was all right with him, and would soon be all\nright with them also!\n\n'Yes,' I imagine you saying, 'that is just how they would feel!'\n\n'Then,' I return, 'why are _you_ so miserable? Or why is it but the\ncold frost of use and forgetting that makes you less miserable than you\nwere a year ago?'\n\n'Ah,' you answer, 'but I had no such miracle wrought for me! Ah, if I\nhad such a miracle wrought for me, you should see then!'\n\n'You mean that if your husband, your son, your father, your brother,\nyour lover, had been taken from you once and given to you again, you\nwould not, when the time came that he must go once more, dream of\ncalling him a second time from the good heaven? You would not be cruel\nenough for that! You would not bemoan or lament! You would not make the\nheart of the Lord sad with your hopeless tears! Ah, how little you know\nyourself! Do you not see that, so far as truth and reason are\nconcerned, you are now in precisely the position supposed--the position\nof those sisters after Lazarus was taken from them the second time? You\nknow now all they knew then. They had no more of a revelation by the\nrecall of Lazarus than you have. For you profess to believe the story,\nthough you make that doubtful enough by your disregard of the very soul\nof it. Is it possible that, so far as you are concerned, Lazarus might\nas well not have risen? What difference is there between your position\nnow and theirs? Lazarus was with God, and they knew he had gone, come\nback, and gone again. You know that he went, came, and went again. Your\nfriend is gone as Lazarus went twice, and you behave as if you knew\nnothing of Lazarus. You make a lamentable ado, vexing Jesus that you\nwill not be reasonable and trust his father! When Martha and Mary\nbehaved as you are doing, they had not had Lazarus raised; you have had\nLazarus raised, yet you go on as they did then!\n\n'You give too good reason to think that, if the same thing were done\nfor you, you would say he was only in a cataleptic fit, and in truth\nwas never raised from the dead. Or is there another way of\nunderstanding your behaviour: you do not believe that God is\nunchangeable, but think he acts one way one time and another way\nanother time just from caprice? He might give back a brother to sisters\nwho were favourites with him, but no such gift is to be counted upon?\nWhy then, I ask, do you worship such a God?'\n\n'But you know he does _not_ do it! That was a mere exceptional case.'\n\n'If it was, it is worthless indeed--as worthless as your behaviour\nwould make it. But you are dull of heart, as were Martha and Mary. Do\nyou not see that he is as continually restoring as taking away--that\nevery bereavement is a restoration--that when you are weeping with void\narms, others, who love as well as you, are clasping in ecstasy of\nreunion?'\n\n'Alas, we know nothing about that!'\n\n'If you have learned no more I must leave you, having no ground in you\nupon which my words may fall. You deceived me; you called yourself a\nChristian. You cannot have been doing the will of the Father, or you\nwould not be as you are.'\n\n'Ah, you little know my loss!'\n\n'Indeed it is great! it seems to include God! If you knew what he knows\nabout death you would clap your listless hands. But why should I seek\nin vain to comfort you? You must be made miserable, that you may wake\nfrom your sleep to know that you need God. If you do not find him,\nendless life with the living whom you bemoan would become and remain to\nyou unendurable. The knowledge of your own heart will teach you this--\nnot the knowledge you have, but the knowledge that is on its way to you\nthrough suffering. Then you will feel that existence itself is the\nprime of evils, without _the righteousness which is of God by faith_.'\n\n\n\n\n                             RIGHTEOUSNESS.\n\n\n--_that I may win Christ, and be found in him, not having mine own\nrighteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith\nof Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith_.--Ep. to the\nPhilippians iii. 8, 9.\n\nWhat does the apostle mean by the righteousness that is of God by\nfaith? He means the same righteousness Christ had by his faith in God,\nthe same righteousness God himself has.\n\nIn his second epistle to the Corinthians he says, 'He hath made him to\nbe sin for us who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness\nof God in him;'--'He gave him to be treated like a sinner, killed and\ncast out of his own vineyard by his husbandmen, that we might in him be\nmade righteous like God.' As the antithesis stands it is rhetorically\ncorrect. But if the former half means, 'he made him to be treated as if\nhe were a sinner,' then the latter half should, in logical precision,\nmean, 'that we might be treated as if we were righteous.'\n\n'That is just what Paul does mean,' insist not a few. 'He means that\nJesus was treated by God as if he were a sinner, our sins being imputed\nto him, in order that we might be treated as if we were righteous, his\nrighteousness being imputed to us.'\n\nThat is, that, by a sort of legal fiction, Jesus was treated as what he\nwas not, in order that we might be treated as what we are not. This is\nthe best device, according to the prevailing theology, that the God of\ntruth, the God of mercy, whose glory is that he is just to men by\nforgiving their sins, could fall upon for saving his creatures!\n\nI had thought that this most contemptible of false doctrines had nigh\nceased to be presented, though I knew it must be long before it ceased\nto exercise baneful influence; but, to my astonishment, I came upon it\nlately in quite a modern commentary which I happened to look into in a\nfriend's house. I say, to my astonishment, for the commentary was the\nwork of one of the most liberal and lovely of Christians, a dignitary\nhigh in the church of England, a man whom I knew and love, and hope ere\nlong to meet where there are no churches. In the comment that came\nunder my eye, he refers to the doctrine of imputed righteousness as the\npossible explanation of a certain passage--refers to it as to a\ndoctrine concerning whose truth was no question.\n\nIt seems to me that, seeing much duplicity exists in the body of\nChrist, every honest member of it should protest against any word\ntending to imply the existence of falsehood in the indwelling spirit of\nthat body. I now protest against this so-called _doctrine_, counting it\nthe rightful prey of the foolishest wind in the limbo of vanities,\nwhither I would gladly do my best to send it. It is a mean, nauseous\ninvention, false, and productive of falsehood. Say it is a figure, I\nanswer it is not only a false figure but an embodiment of untruth; say\nit expresses a reality, and I say it teaches the worst of lies; say\nthere is a shadow of truth in it, and I answer it may be so, but there\nis no truth touched in it that could not be taught infinitely better\nwithout it. It is the meagre misshapen offspring of the legalism of a\npoverty-stricken mechanical fancy, unlighted by a gleam of divine\nimagination. No one who knows his New Testament will dare to say that\nthe figure is once used in it.\n\nI have dealt already with the source of it. They say first, God must\npunish the sinner, for justice requires it; then they say he does not\npunish the sinner, but punishes a perfectly righteous man instead,\nattributes his righteousness to the sinner, and so continues just. Was\nthere ever such a confusion, such an inversion of right and wrong!\nJustice _could not_ treat a righteous man as an unrighteous; neither,\nif justice required the punishment of sin, _could_ justice let the\nsinner go unpunished. To lay the pain upon the righteous in the name of\njustice is simply monstrous. No wonder unbelief is rampant. Believe in\nMoloch if you will, but call him Moloch, not Justice. Be sure that the\nthing that God gives, the righteousness that is of God, is a real\nthing, and not a contemptible legalism. Pray God I have no\nrighteousness imputed to me. Let me be regarded as the sinner I am; for\nnothing will serve my need but to be made a righteous man, one that\nwill no more sin.\n\nWe have the word _imputed_ just once in the New Testament. Whether the\nevil doctrine may have sprung from any possible misunderstanding of the\npassage where it occurs, I hardly care to inquire. The word as Paul\nuses it, and the whole of the thought whence his use of it springs,\nappeals to my sense of right and justice as much as the common use of\nit arouses my abhorrence. The apostle says that a certain thing was\nimputed to Abraham for righteousness; or, as the revised version has\nit, 'reckoned unto him:' what was it that was thus imputed to Abraham?\nThe righteousness of another? God forbid! It was his own faith. The\nfaith of Abraham is reckoned to him for righteousness. To impute the\nrighteousness of one to another, is simply to act a falsehood; to call\nthe faith of a man his righteousness is simply to speak the truth. Was\nit not righteous in Abraham to obey God? The Jews placed righteousness\nin keeping all the particulars of the law of Moses: Paul says faith in\nGod was counted righteousness before Moses was born. You may answer,\nAbraham was unjust in many things, and by no means a righteous man.\nTrue; he was not a righteous man in any complete sense; his\nrighteousness would never have satisfied Paul; neither, you may be\nsure, did it satisfy Abraham; but his faith was nevertheless\nrighteousness, and if it had not been counted to him for righteousness,\nthere would have been falsehood somewhere, for such faith as Abraham's\n_is righteousness_. It was no mere intellectual recognition of the\nexistence of a God, which is consistent with the deepest atheism; it\nwas that faith which is one with action: 'He went out, not knowing\nwhither he went.' The very act of believing in God after such fashion\nthat, when the time of action comes, the man will obey God, is the\nhighest act, the deepest, loftiest righteousness of which man is\ncapable, is at the root of all other righteousness, and the spirit of\nit will work till the man is perfect. If you define righteousness in\nthe common-sense, that is, in the divine fashion--for religion is\nnothing if it be not the deepest common-sense--as a giving to everyone\nhis due, then certainly the first due is to him who makes us capable of\nowing, that is, makes us responsible creatures. You may say this is not\none's first feeling of duty. True; but the first in reality is seldom\nthe first perceived. The first duty is too high and too deep to come\nfirst into consciousness. If any one were born perfect, which I count\nan eternal impossibility, then the highest duty would come first into\nthe consciousness. As we are born, it is the doing of, or at least the\nhonest trying to do many another duty, that will at length lead a man\nto see that his duty to God is the first and deepest and highest of\nall, including and requiring the performance of all other duties\nwhatever. A man might live a thousand years in neglect of duty, and\nnever come to see that any obligation was upon him to put faith in God\nand do what he told him--never have a glimpse of the fact that he owed\nhim something. I will allow that if God were what he thinks him he\nwould indeed owe him little; but he thinks him such in consequence of\nnot doing what he knows he ought to do. He has not come to the light.\nHe has deadened, dulled, hardened his nature. He has not been a man\nwithout guile, has not been true and fair.\n\nBut while faith in God is the first duty, and may therefore well be\ncalled righteousness in the man in whom it is operative, even though it\nbe imperfect, there is more reason than this why it should be counted\nto a man for righteousness. It is the one spiritual act which brings\nthe man into contact with the original creative power, able to help him\nin every endeavour after righteousness, and ensure his progress to\nperfection. The man who exercises it may therefore also well be called\na righteous man, however far from complete in righteousness. We may\ncall a woman beautiful who is not perfect in beauty; in the Bible men\nare constantly recognized as righteous men who are far from perfectly\nrighteous. The Bible never deals with impossibilities, never demands of\nany man at any given moment a righteousness of which at that moment he\nis incapable; neither does it lay upon any man any other law than that\nof perfect righteousness. It demands of him righteousness; when he\nyields that righteousness of which he is capable, content for the\nmoment, it goes on to demand more: the common-sense of the Bible is\nlovely.\n\nTo the man who has no faith in God, faith in God cannot look like\nrighteousness; neither can he know that it is creative of all other\nrighteousness toward equal and inferior lives: he cannot know that it\nis not merely the beginning of righteousness, but the germ of life, the\nactive potency whence life-righteousness grows. It is not like some\nsingle separate act of righteousness; it is the action of the whole\nman, turning to good from evil--turning his back on all that is opposed\nto righteousness, and starting on a road on which he cannot stop, in\nwhich he must go on growing more and more righteous, discovering more\nand more what righteousness is, and more and more what is unrighteous\nin himself. In the one act of believing in God--that is, of giving\nhimself to do what he tells him--he abjures evil, both what he knows\nand what he does not yet know in himself. A man may indeed have turned\nto obey God, and yet be capable of many an injustice to his neighbour\nwhich he has not yet discovered to be an injustice; but as he goes on\nobeying, he will go on discovering. Not only will he grow more and more\ndetermined to be just, but he will grow more and more sensitive to the\nidea of injustice--I do not mean in others, but in himself. A man who\ncontinues capable of a known injustice to his neighbour, cannot be\nbelieved to have turned to God. At all events, a man cannot be near\nGod, so as to be learning what is just toward God, and not be near his\nneighbour, so as to be learning what is unfair to him; for his will,\nwhich is the man, lays hold of righteousness, chooses to be righteous.\nIf a man is to be blamed for not choosing righteousness, for not\nturning to the light, for not coming out of the darkness, then the man\nwho does choose and turn and come out, is to be justified in his deed,\nand declared to be righteous. He is not yet thoroughly righteous, but\nis growing in and toward righteousness. He needs creative God, and time\nfor will and effort. Not yet quite righteous, he cannot yet act quite\nrighteously, for only the man in whom the image of God is perfected can\nlive perfectly. Born into the world without righteousness, he cannot\nsee, he cannot know, he is not in touch with perfect righteousness, and\nit would be the deepest injustice to demand of him, with a penalty, at\nany given moment, more than he knows how to yield; but it is the\nhighest lore constantly to demand of him perfect righteousness as what\nhe must attain to. With what life and possibility is in him, he must\nkeep turning to righteousness and abjuring iniquity, ever aiming at the\nperfection of God. Such an obedient faith is most justly and fairly,\nbeing all that God himself can require of the man, called by God\nrighteousness in the man. It would not be enough for the righteousness\nof God, or Jesus, or any perfected saint, because they are capable of\nperfect righteousness, and, knowing what is perfect righteousness,\nchoose to be perfectly righteous; but, in virtue of the life and growth\nin it, it is enough at a given moment for the disciple of the Perfect.\nThe righteousness of Abraham was not to compare with the righteousness\nof Paul. He did not fight with himself for righteousness, as did\nPaul--not because he was better than Paul and therefore did not need to\nfight, but because his idea of what was required of him was not within\nsight of that of Paul; yet was he righteous in the same way as Paul was\nrighteous: he had begun to be righteous, and God called his\nrighteousness righteousness, for faith is righteousness. His faith was\nan act recognizing God as his law, and that is not a partial act, but\nan all-embracing and all-determining action. A single righteous deed\ntoward one's fellow could hardly be imputed to a man as righteousness.\nA man who is not trying after righteousness may yet do many a righteous\nact: they will not be forgotten to him, neither will they be imputed to\nhim as righteousness. Abraham's action of obedient faith was\nrighteousness none the less that his righteousness was far behind\nPaul's. Abraham started at the beginning of the long, slow,\ndisappointing preparation of the Jewish people; Paul started at its\nclose, with the story of Jesus behind him. Both believed, obeying God,\nand therefore both were righteous. They were righteous because they\ngave themselves up to God to make them righteous; and not to call such\nmen righteous, not to impute their faith to them for righteousness,\nwould be unjust. But God is utterly just, and nowise resembles a\nlegal-minded Roman emperor, or a bad pope formulating the doctrine of\nvicarious sacrifice.\n\nWhat, then, is the righteousness which is of God by faith? It is simply\nthe thing that God wants every man to be, wrought out in him by\nconstant obedient contact with God himself. It is not an attribute\neither of God or man, but a fact of character in God and in man. It is\nGod's righteousness wrought out in us, so that as he is righteous we\ntoo are righteous. It does not consist in obeying this or that law; not\neven the keeping of every law, so that no hair's-breadth did we run\ncounter to one of them, would be righteousness. To be righteous is to\nbe such a heart, soul, mind, and will, as, without regard to law, would\nrecoil with horror from the lightest possible breach of any law. It is\nto be so in love with what is fair and right as to make it impossible\nfor a man to do anything that is less than absolutely righteous. It is\nnot the love of righteousness in the abstract that makes anyone\nrighteous, but such a love of fairplay toward everyone with whom we\ncome into contact, that anything less than the fulfilling, with a clear\njoy, of our divine relation to him or her, is impossible. For the\nrighteousness of God goes far beyond mere deeds, and requires of us\nlove and helping mercy as our highest obligation and justice to our\nfellow men--those of them too who have done nothing for us, those even\nwho have done us wrong. Our relations with others, God first and then\nour neighbour in order and degree, must one day become, as in true\nnature they are, the gladness of our being; and nothing then will ever\nappear good for us, that is not in harmony with those blessed\nrelations. Every thought will not merely be just, but will be just\nbecause it is something more, because it is live and true. What heart\nin the kingdom of heaven would ever dream of constructing a\nmetaphysical system of what we owed to God and why we owed it? The\nlight of our life, our sole, eternal, and infinite joy, is simply\nGod--God--God--nothing but God, and all his creatures in him. He is all\nand in all, and the children of the kingdom know it. He includes all\nthings; not to be true to anything he has made is to be untrue to him.\nGod is truth, is life; to be in God is to know him and need no law.\nExistence will be eternal Godness.\n\nYou would not like that way of it? There is, there can be, no other;\nbut before you can judge of it, you must know at least a little of God\nas he is, not as you imagine him. I say _as you imagine him_, because\nit cannot be that any creature should know him as he is and not desire\nhim. In proportion as we know him we must desire him, until at length\nwe live in and for him with all our conscious heart. That is why the\nJews did not like the Lord: he cared so simply for his father's will,\nand not for anything they called his will.\n\nThe righteousness which is of God by faith in the source, the prime of\nthat righteousness, is then just the same kind of thing as God's\nrighteousness, differing only as the created differs from the creating.\nThe righteousness of him who does the will of his father in heaven, is\nthe righteousness of Jesus Christ, is God's own righteousness. The\nrighteousness which is of God by faith in God, is God's righteousness.\nThe man who has this righteousness, thinks about things as God thinks\nabout them, loves the things that God loves, cares for nothing that God\ndoes not care about. Even while this righteousness is being born in\nhim, the man will say to himself, 'Why should I be troubled about this\nthing or that? Does God care about it? No. Then why should I care? I\nmust not care. I will not care! 'If he does not know whether God cares\nabout it or not, he will say, 'If God cares I should have my desire, he\nwill give it me; if he does not care I should have it, neither will I\ncare. In the meantime I will do my work.' The man with God's\nrighteousness does not love a thing merely because it is right, but\nloves the very rightness in it. He not only loves a thought, but he\nloves the man in his thinking that thought; he loves the thought alive\nin the man. He does not take his joy from himself. He feels joy in\nhimself, but it comes to him from others, not from himself--from God\nfirst, and from somebody, anybody, everybody next. He would rather, in\nthe fulness of his content, pass out of being, rather himself cease to\nexist, than that another should. He could do without knowing himself,\nbut he could not know himself and spare one of the brothers or sisters\nGod had given him. The man who really knows God, is, and always will\nbe, content with what God, who is the very self of his self, shall\nchoose for him; he is entirely God's, and not at all his own. His\nconsciousness of himself is the reflex from those about him, not the\nresult of his own turning in of his regard upon himself. It is not the\ncontemplation of what God has made him, it is the being what God has\nmade him, and the contemplation of what God himself is, and what he has\nmade his fellows, that gives him his joy. He wants nothing, and feels\nthat he has all things, for he is in the bosom of his father, and the\nthoughts of his father come to him. He knows that if he needs anything,\nit is his before he asks it; for his father has willed him, in the\nmight and truth of his fatherhood, to be one with himself.\n\nThis then, or something like this, for words are poor to tell the best\nthings, is the righteousness which is of God by faith--so far from\nbeing a thing built on the rubbish heap of legal fiction called\nvicarious sacrifice, or its shadow called imputed righteousness, that\nonly the child with the child-heart, so far ahead of and so different\nfrom the wise and prudent, can understand it. The wise and prudent\ninterprets God by himself, and does not understand him; the child\ninterprets God by himself, and does understand him. The wise and\nprudent must make a system and arrange things to his mind before he can\nsay, _I believe_. The child sees, believes, obeys--and knows he must be\nperfect as his father in heaven is perfect. If an angel, seeming to\ncome from heaven, told him that God had let him off, that he did not\nrequire so much of him as that, but would be content with less; that he\ncould not indeed allow him to be wicked, but would pass by a great\ndeal, modifying his demands because it was so hard for him to be quite\ngood, and he loved him so dearly, the child of God would at once\nrecognize, woven with the angel's starry brilliancy, the flicker of the\nflames of hell, and would say to the shining one, 'Get thee behind me,\nSatan.' Nor would there be the slightest wonder or merit in his doing\nso, for at the words of the deceiver, if but for briefest moment\nimagined true, the shadow of a rising hell would gloom over the face of\ncreation; hope would vanish; the eternal would be as the carcase of a\ndead man; the glory would die out of the face of God--until the groan\nof a thunderous _no_ burst from the caverns of the universe, and the\ntruth, flashing on his child's soul from the heart of the Eternal,\nImmortal, Invisible, withered up the lie of the messenger of darkness.\n\n'But how can God bring this about in me?'\n\nLet him do it, and perhaps you will know; if you never know, yet there\nit will be. Help him to do it, or he cannot do it. He originates the\npossibility of your being his son, his daughter; he makes you able to\nwill it, but you must will it. If he is not doing it in you--that is,\nif you have as yet prevented him from beginning, why should I tell you,\neven if I knew the process, how he would do what you will not let him\ndo? Why should you know? What claim have you to know? But indeed how\nshould you be able to know? For it must deal with deeper and higher\nthings than you _can_ know anything of till the work is at least begun.\nPerhaps if you approved of the plans of the glad creator, you would\nallow him to make of you something divine! To teach your intellect what\nhas to be learned by your whole being, what cannot be understood\nwithout the whole being, what it would do you no good to understand\nsave you understood it in your whole being--if this be the province of\nany man, it is not mine. Let the dead bury their dead, and the dead\nteach their dead; for me, I will try to wake them. To those who are\nawake, I cry, 'For the sake of your father and the first-born among\nmany brethren to whom we belong, for the sake of those he has given us\nto love the most dearly, let patience have her perfect work. Statue\nunder the chisel of the sculptor, stand steady to the blows of his\nmallet. Clay on the wheel, let the fingers of the divine potter model\nyou at their will. Obey the Father's lightest word; hear the Brother\nwho knows you, and died for you; beat down your sin, and trample it to\ndeath.\n\nBrother, when thou sittest at home in thy house, which is the temple of\nthe Lord, open all thy windows to breathe the air of his approach; set\nthe watcher on thy turret, that he may listen out into the dark for the\nsound of his coming, and thy hand be on the latch to open the door at\nhis first knock. Shouldst thou open the door and not see him, do not\nsay he did not knock, but understand that he is there, and wants thee\nto go out to him. It may be he has something for thee to do for him. Go\nand do it, and perhaps thou wilt return with a new prayer, to find a\nnew window in thy soul.\n\nNever wait for fitter time or place to talk to him. To wait till thou\ngo to church, or to thy closet, is to make _him_ wait. He will listen\nas thou walkest in the lane or the crowded street, on the common or in\nthe place of shining concourse.\n\nRemember, if indeed thou art able to know it, that not in any church is\nthe service done that he requires. He will say to no man, 'You never\nwent to church: depart from me; I do not know you;' but, 'Inasmuch as\nyou never helped one of my father's children, you have done nothing for\nme.' Church or chapel is _not_ the place for divine service. It is a\nplace of prayer, a place of praise, a place to feed upon good things, a\nplace to learn of God, as what place is not? It is a place to look in\nthe eyes of your neighbour, and love God along with him. But the world\nin which you move, the place of your living and loving and labour, not\nthe church you go to on your holiday, is the place of divine service.\nServe your neighbour, and you serve him.\n\nDo not heed much if men mock you and speak lies of you, or in goodwill\ndefend you unworthily. Heed not much if even the righteous turn their\nbacks upon you. Only take heed that you turn not from them. Take\ncourage in the fact that _there is nothing covered, that shall not be\nrevealed; and hid, that shall not be known_.\n\n\n\n\n                          THE FINAL UNMASKING.\n\n\n_For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; and hid,\nthat shall not be known_.--Matthew x. 26; Luke xii. 2.\n\nGod is not a God that hides, but a God that reveals. His whole work in\nrelation to the creatures he has made--and where else can lie his\nwork?--is revelation--the giving them truth, the showing of himself to\nthem, that they may know him, and come nearer and nearer to him, and so\nhe have his children more and more of companions to him. That we are in\nthe dark about anything is never because he hides it, but because we\nare not yet such that he is able to reveal that thing to us.\n\nThat God could not do the thing at once which he takes time to do, we\nmay surely say without irreverence. His will cannot finally be\nthwarted; where it is thwarted for a time, the very thwarting subserves\nthe working out of a higher part of his will. He gave man the power to\nthwart his will, that, by means of that same power, he might come at\nlast to do his will in a higher kind and way than would otherwise have\nbeen possible to him. God sacrifices his will to man that man may\nbecome such as himself, and give all to the truth; he makes man able to\ndo wrong, that he may choose and love righteousness.\n\nThe fact that all things are slowly coming into the light of the\nknowledge of men--so far as this may be possible to the created--is\nused in three different ways by the Lord, as reported by his\nevangelist. In one case, with which we will not now occupy\nourselves--_Mark_ iv. 22; _Luke_ viii. 16--he uses it to enforce the\nduty of those who have received light to let it shine: they must do\ntheir part to bring all things out. In _Luke_ xii. 2, is recorded how\nhe brought it to bear on hypocrisy, showing its uselessness; and, in\nthe case recorded in _Matthew_ x. 25, he uses the fact to enforce\nfearlessness as to the misinterpretation of our words and actions.\n\nIn whatever mode the Lord may intend that it shall be wrought out, he\ngives us to understand, as an unalterable principle in the government\nof the universe, that all such things as the unrighteous desire to\nconceal, and such things as it is a pain to the righteous to have\nconcealed, shall come out into the light.\n\n'Beware of hypocrisy,' the Lord says, 'for there is nothing covered,\nthat shall not be revealed, neither hid, that shall not be known,' What\nis hypocrisy? The desire to look better than you are; the hiding of\nthings you do, because you would not be supposed to do them, because\nyou would be ashamed to have them known where you are known. The doing\nof them is foul; the hiding of them, in order to appear better than you\nare, is fouler still. The man who does not live in his own\nconsciousness as in the open heavens, is a hypocrite--and for most of\nus the question is, are we growing less or more of such hypocrites? Are\nwe ashamed of not having been open and clear? Are we fighting the evil\nthing which is our temptation to hypocrisy? The Lord has not a thought\nin him to be ashamed of before God and his universe, and he will not be\ncontent until he has us in the same liberty. For our encouragement to\nfight on, he tells us that those that hunger and thirst after\nrighteousness shall be filled, that they shall become as righteous as\nthe spirit of the Father and the Son in them can make them desire.\n\nThe Lord says also, 'If they have called the master of the house\nBeelzebub, how much more shall they call them of his household! Fear\nthem not therefore: for there is nothing covered, that shall not be\nrevealed; and hid, that shall not be known.' To a man who loves\nrighteousness and his fellow men, it must always be painful to be\nmisunderstood; and misunderstanding is specially inevitable where he\nacts upon principles beyond the recognition of those around him, who,\nbeing but half-hearted Christians, count themselves the law-givers of\nrighteousness, and charge him with the very things it is the aim of his\nlife to destroy. The Lord himself was accused of being a drunkard and a\nkeeper of bad company--and perhaps would in the present day be so\nregarded by not a few calling themselves by his name, and teaching\ntemperance and virtue. He lived upon a higher spiritual platform than\nthey understand, acted from a height of the virtues they would\ninculcate, loftier than their eyes can scale. His Himalays are not\nvisible from their sand-heaps. The Lord bore with their evil tongues,\nand was neither dismayed nor troubled; but from this experience of his\nown, comforts those who, being his messengers, must fare as he. 'If\nthey have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall\nthey call them of his household!'--'If they insult a man, how much more\nwill they not insult his servants!' While men count themselves\nChristians on any other ground than that they are slaves of Jesus\nChrist, the children of God, and free from themselves, so long will\nthey use the servants of the Master despitefully. 'Do not hesitate,'\nsays the Lord, 'to speak the truth that is in you; never mind what they\ncall you; proclaim from the housetop; fear nobody.'\n\nHe spoke the words to the men to whom he looked first to spread the\nnews of the kingdom of heaven; but they apply to all who obey him. Few\nwho have endeavoured to do their duty, have not been annoyed,\ndisappointed, enraged perhaps, by the antagonism, misunderstanding, and\nfalse representation to which they have been subjected therein--issuing\nmainly from those and the friends of those who have benefited by their\nefforts to be neighbours to all. The tales of heartlessness and\ningratitude one must come across, compel one to see more and more\nclearly that humanity, without willed effort after righteousness, is\nmean enough to sink to any depth of disgrace. The judgments also of\nimagined superiority are hard to bear. The rich man who will screw his\nworkmen to the lowest penny, will read his poor relation a solemn\nlecture on extravagance, because of some humblest little act of\ngenerosity! He takes the end of the beam sticking out of his eye to\npick the mote from the eye of his brother withal! If, in the endeavour\nto lead a truer life, a man merely lives otherwise than his neighbours,\nstrange motives will be invented to account for it. To the honest soul\nit is a comfort to believe that the truth will one day be known, that\nit will cease to be supposed that he was and did as dull heads and\nhearts reported of him. Still more satisfactory will be the unveiling\nwhere a man is misunderstood by those who ought to know him\nbetter--who, not even understanding the point at issue, take it for\ngranted he is about to do the wrong thing, while he is crying for\ncourage to heed neither himself nor his friends, but only the Lord. How\nmany hear and accept the words, 'Be not conformed to this world,'\nwithout once perceiving that what they call Society and bow to as\nsupreme, is the World and nothing else, or that those who mind what\npeople think, and what people will say, are conformed to--that is, take\nthe shape of--the world. The true man feels he has nothing to do with\nSociety as judge or lawgiver: he is under the law of Jesus Christ, and\nit sets him free from the law of the World. Let a man do right, nor\ntrouble himself about worthless opinion; the less he heeds tongues, the\nless difficult will he find it to love men. Let him comfort himself\nwith the thought that the truth must out. He will not have to pass\nthrough eternity with the brand of ignorant or malicious judgment upon\nhim. He shall find his peers and be judged of them.\n\nBut, thou who lookest for the justification of the light, art thou\nverily prepared for thyself to encounter such exposure as the general\nunveiling of things must bring? Art thou willing for the truth whatever\nit be? I nowise mean to ask, Have you a conscience so void of offence,\nhave you a heart so pure and clean, that you fear no fullest exposure\nof what is in you to the gaze of men and angels?--as to God, he knows\nit all now! What I mean to ask is, Do you so love the truth and the\nright, that you welcome, or at least submit willingly to the idea of an\nexposure of what in you is yet unknown to yourself--an exposure that\nmay redound to the glory of the truth by making you ashamed and humble?\nIt may be, for instance, that you were wrong in regard to those, for\nthe righting of whose wrongs to you, the great judgment of God is now\nby you waited for with desire: will you welcome any discovery, even if\nit work for the excuse of others, that will make you more true, by\nrevealing what in you was false? Are you willing to be made glad that\nyou were wrong when you thought others were wrong? If you can with such\nsubmission face the revelation of things hid, then you are of the\ntruth, and need not be afraid; for, whatever comes, it will and can\nonly make you more true and humble and pure.\n\nDoes the Lord mean that everything a man has ever done or thought must\nbe laid bare to the universe?\n\nSo far, I think, as is necessary to the understanding of the man by\nthose who have known, or are concerned to know him. For the time to\ncome, and for those who are yet to know him, the man will henceforth,\nif he is a true man, be transparent to all that are capable of reading\nhim. A man may not then, any more than now, be intelligible to those\nbeneath him, but all things will be working toward revelation, nothing\ntoward concealment or misunderstanding. Who in the kingdom will desire\nconcealment, or be willing to misunderstand? Concealment is darkness;\nmisunderstanding is a fog. A man will hold the door open for anyone to\nwalk into his house, for it is a temple of the living God--with some\nthings worth looking at, and nothing to hide. The glory of the true\nworld is, that there is nothing in it that needs to be covered, while\never and ever there will be things uncovered. Every man's light will\nshine for the good and glory of his neighbour.\n\n'Will all my weaknesses, all my evil habits, all my pettinesses, all\nthe wrong thoughts which I cannot help--will all be set out before the\nuniverse?'\n\nYes, if they so prevail as to constitute your character--that is, if\nthey are you. But if you have come out of the darkness, if you are\nfighting it, if you are honestly trying to walk in the light, you may\nhope in God your father that what he has cured, what he is curing, what\nhe has forgiven, will be heard of no more, not now being a constituent\npart of you. Or if indeed some of your evil things must yet be seen,\nthe truth of them will be seen--that they are things you are at strife\nwith, not things you are cherishing and brooding over. God will be fair\nto you--so fair!--fair with the fairness of a father loving his\nown--who will have you clean, who will neither spare you any needful\nshame, nor leave you exposed to any that is not needful. The thing we\nhave risen above, is dead and forgotten, or if remembered, there is God\nto comfort us. 'If any man sin, we have a comforter with the Father.'\nWe may trust God with our past as heartily as with our future. It will\nnot hurt us so long as we do not try to hide things, so long as we are\nready to bow our heads in hearty shame where it is fit we should be\nashamed. For to be ashamed is a holy and blessed thing. Shame is a\nthing to shame only those who want to appear, not those who want to be.\nShame is to shame those who want to pass their examination, not those\nwho would get into the heart of things. In the name of God let us\nhenceforth have nothing to be ashamed of, and be ready to meet any\nshame on its way to meet us. For to be humbly ashamed is to be plunged\nin the cleansing bath of the truth.\n\nAs to the revelation of the ways of God, I need not speak; he has been\nalways, from the first, revealing them to his prophet, to his child,\nand will go on doing so for ever. But let me say a word about another\nkind of revelation--that of their own evil to the evil.\n\nThe only terrible, or at least the supremely terrible revelation is\nthat of a man to himself. What a horror will it not be to a vile\nman--more than all to a man whose pleasure has been enhanced by the\nsuffering of others--a man that knew himself such as men of ordinary\nmorals would turn from with disgust, but who has hitherto had no\ninsight into what he is--what a horror will it not be to him when his\neyes are opened to see himself as the pure see him, as God sees him!\nImagine such a man waking all at once, not only to see the eyes of the\nuniverse fixed upon him with loathing astonishment, but to see himself\nat the same moment as those eyes see him! What a waking!--into the full\nblaze of fact and consciousness, of truth and violation!\n\n     To know my deed, 'twere best not know myself!\n\n\nOr think what it must be for a man counting himself religious,\northodox, exemplary, to perceive suddenly that there was no religion in\nhim, only love of self; no love of the right, only a great love of\nbeing in the right! What a discovery--that he was simply a\nhypocrite--one who loved to _appear_, and _was_ not! The rich seem to\nbe those among whom will occur hereafter the sharpest reverses, if I\nunderstand aright the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. Who has not\nknown the insolence of their meanness toward the poor, all the time\ncounting themselves of the very elect! What riches and fancied\nreligion, with the self-sufficiency they generate between them, can\nmake man or woman capable of, is appalling. Mammon, the most\ncontemptible of deities, is the most worshipped, both outside and in\nthe house of God: to many of the religious rich in that day, the great\ndamning revelation will be their behaviour to the poor to whom they\nthought themselves very kind. 'He flattereth himself in his own eyes\nuntil his iniquity is found to be hateful.' A man may loathe a thing in\nthe abstract for years, and find at last that all the time he has been,\nin his own person, guilty of it. To carry a thing under our cloak\ncaressingly, hides from us its identity with something that stands\nbefore us on the public pillory. Many a man might read this and assent\nto it, who cages in his own bosom a carrion-bird that he never knows\nfor what it is, because there are points of difference in its plumage\nfrom that of the bird he calls by an ugly name.\n\nOf all who will one day stand in dismay and sickness of heart, with the\nconsciousness that their very existence is a shame, those will fare the\nworst who have been consciously false to their fellows; who, pretending\nfriendship, have used their neighbour to their own ends; and especially\nthose who, pretending friendship, have divided friends. To such Dante\nhas given the lowest hell. If there be one thing God hates, it must be\ntreachery. Do not imagine Judas the only man of whom the Lord would\nsay, 'Better were it for that man if he had never been born!' Did the\nLord speak out of personal indignation, or did he utter a spiritual\nfact, a live principle? Did he speak in anger at the treachery of his\napostle to himself, or in pity for the man that had better not have\nbeen born? Did the word spring from his knowledge of some fearful\npunishment awaiting Judas, or from his sense of the horror it was to be\nsuch a man? Beyond all things pitiful is it that a man should carry\nabout with him the consciousness of being such a person--should know\nhimself and not another that false one! 'O God,' we think, 'how\nterrible if it were I!' Just so terrible is it that it should be Judas!\nAnd have I not done things with the same germ in them, a germ which,\nbrought to its evil perfection, would have shown itself the\ncanker-worm, treachery? Except I love my neighbour as myself, I may one\nday betray him! Let us therefore be compassionate and humble, and hope\nfor every man.\n\nA man may sink by such slow degrees that, long after he is a devil, he\nmay go on being a good churchman or a good dissenter, and thinking\nhimself a good Christian. Continuously repeated sin against the poorest\nconsciousness of evil must have a dread rousing. There are men who\nnever wake to know how wicked they are, till, lo, the gaze of the\nmultitude is upon them!--the multitude staring with self-righteous\neyes, doing like things themselves, but not yet found out; sinning\nafter another pattern, therefore the hardest judges, thinking by\ncondemnation to escape judgment. But there is nothing covered that\nshall not be revealed. What if the only thing to wake the treacherous,\nmoney-loving thief, Judas, to a knowledge of himself, was to let the\nthing go on to the end, and his kiss betray the Master? Judas did not\nhate the Master when he kissed him, but not being a true man, his very\nlove betrayed him.\n\nThe good man, conscious of his own evil, and desiring no refuge but the\npurifying light, will chiefly rejoice that the exposure of evil makes\nfor the victory of the truth, the kingdom of God and his Christ. He\nsees in the unmasking of the hypocrite, in the unveiling of the\ncovered, in the exposure of the hidden, God's interference, for him and\nall the race, between them and the lie.\n\nThe only triumph the truth can ever have is its recognition by the\nheart of the liar. Its victory is in the man who, not content with\nsaying, 'I was blind and now I see,' cries out, 'Lord God, just and\ntrue, let me perish, but endure thou! Let me live because thou livest,\nbecause thou savest me from the death in myself, the untruth I have\nnourished in me, and even called righteousness! Hallowed be thy name,\nfor thou only art true; thou only lovest; thou only art holy, for thou\nonly art humble! Thou only art unselfish; thou only hast never sought\nthine own, but the things of thy children! Yea, O father, be thou true,\nand every man a liar!'\n\nThere is no satisfaction of revenge possible to the injured. The\nseverest punishment that can be inflicted upon the wrong-doer is simply\nto let him know what he is; for his nature is of God, and the deepest\nin him is the divine. Neither can any other punishment than the\nsinner's being made to see the enormity of his injury, give\nsatisfaction to the injured. While the wronger will admit no wrong,\nwhile he mocks at the idea of amends, or while, admitting the wrong, he\nrejoices in having done it, no suffering could satisfy revenge, far\nless justice. Both would continually know themselves foiled. Therefore,\nwhile a satisfied justice is an unavoidable eternal event, a satisfied\nrevenge is an eternal impossibility. For the moment that the sole\nadequate punishment, a vision of himself, begins to take true effect\nupon the sinner, that moment the sinner has begun to grow a righteous\nman, and the brother human whom he has offended has no choice, has\nnothing left him but to take the offender to his bosom--the more\ntenderly that his brother is a repentant brother, that he was dead and\nis alive again, that he was lost and is found. Behold the meeting of\nthe divine extremes--the extreme of punishment, the embrace of heaven!\nThey run together; 'the wheel is come full circle.' For, I venture to\nthink, there can be no such agony for created soul, as to see itself\nvile--vile by its own action and choice. Also I venture to think there\ncan be no delight for created soul--short, that is, of being one with\nthe Father--so deep as that of seeing the heaven of forgiveness open,\nand disclose the shining stair that leads to its own natural home,\nwhere the eternal father has been all the time awaiting this return of\nhis child.\n\nSo, friends, how ever indignant we may be, however intensely and\nhowever justly we may feel our wrongs, there is no revenge possible for\nus in the universe of the Father. I may say to myself with heartiest\nvengeance, 'I should just like to let that man see what a wretch he\nis--what all honest men at this moment think of him!' but, the moment\ncome, the man will loathe himself tenfold more than any other man\ncould, and that moment my heart will bury his sin. Its own ocean of\npity will rush from the divine depths of its God-origin to overwhelm\nit. Let us try to forethink, to antedate our forgiveness. Dares any man\nsuppose that Jesus would have him hate the traitor through whom he came\nto the cross? Has he been pleased through all these ages with the\nmanner in which those calling themselves by his name have treated, and\nare still treating his nation? We have not yet sounded the depths of\nforgiveness that are and will be required of such as would be his\ndisciples!\n\nOur friends will know us then: for their joy, will it be, or their\nsorrow? Will their hearts sink within them when they look on the real\nlikeness of us? Or will they rejoice to find that we were not so much\nto be blamed as they thought, in this thing or that which gave them\ntrouble?\n\nLet us remember, however, that not evil only will be unveiled; that\nmany a masking misconception will uncover a face radiant with the\nloveliness of the truth. And whatever disappointments may fall, there\nis consolation for every true heart in the one sufficing joy--that it\nstands on the border of the kingdom, about to enter into ever fuller,\never-growing possession _of the inheritance of the saints in light_.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE INHERITANCE.\n\n\n_Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be\npartakers of the inheritance of the saints in light_.--Ep. to the\nColossians i. 12.\n\nTo have a share in any earthly inheritance, is to diminish the share of\nthe other inheritors. In the inheritance of the saints, that which each\nhas, goes to increase the possession of the rest. Hear what Dante puts\nin the mouth of his guide, as they pass through Purgatory:--\n\n     Perche s'appuntano i vostri desiri\n       Dove per compagnia parte si scema,\n       Invidia muove il mantaco a' sospiri.\n     Ma se l'amor della spera suprema\n       Torcesse 'n suso 'l desiderio vostro,\n       Non vi sarebbe al petto quella tema;\n     Che per quanto si dice piu li nostro,\n       Tanto possiede piu di ben ciascuno,\n       E piu di caritade arde in quel chiostro.\n\n     Because you point and fix your longing eyes\n       On things where sharing lessens every share,\n       The human bellows heave with envious sighs.\n     But if the loftiest love that dwelleth there\n       Up to the heaven of heavens your longing turn,\n       Then from your heart will pass this fearing care:\n     The oftener there the word _our_ they discern,\n       The more of good doth everyone possess,\n       The more of love doth in that cloister burn.\n\n\nDante desires to know how it can be that a distributed good should make\nthe receivers the richer the more of them there are; and Virgil\nanswers--\n\n                 Perocche tu rificchi\n       La mente pure alle cose terrene,\n       Di vera luce tenebre dispicchi.\n     Quello 'nfinito ed ineffabil bene,\n       Che lassu e, cosi corre ad amore,\n       Com' a lucido corpo raggio viene.\n     Tanto si da, quanto trova d' ardore:\n       Si che quantunque carita si stende,\n       Cresce sovr' essa l' eterno valore.\n     E quanta gente pin lassu s' intende,\n       Piu v' e da bene amare, e pin vi s' ama,\n       E come specchio, l' uno all' altro rende.\n\n                Because thy mind doth stick\n       To earthly things, and on them only brood,\n       From the true light thou dost but darkness pick.\n     That same ineffable and infinite Good,\n       Which dwells up there, to Love doth run as fleet\n       As sunrays to bright things, for sisterhood.\n     It gives itself proportionate to the heat:\n       So that, wherever Love doth spread its reign,\n       The growing wealth of God makes that its seat.\n     And the more people that up thither strain,\n       The more there are to love, the more they love,\n       And like a mirror each doth give and gain.\n\n\nIn this inheritance then a man may desire and endeavour to obtain his\nshare without selfish prejudice to others; nay, to fail of our share in\nit, would be to deprive others of a portion of theirs. Let us look a\nlittle nearer, and see in what the inheritance of the saints consists.\n\nIt might perhaps be to commit some small logical violence on the terms\nof the passage to say that 'the inheritance of the saints in light'\n_must_ mean purely and only 'the possession of light which is the\ninheritance of the saints.' At the same time the phrase is literally\n'the inheritance of the saints _in the light_;' and this perhaps makes\nit the more likely that, as I take it, Paul had in his mind the light\nas itself the inheritance of the saints--that he held the very\nsubstance of the inheritance to be the light. And if we remember that\nGod is light; also that the highest prayer of the Lord for his friends\nwas that they might be one in him and his father; and recall what the\napostle said to the Ephesians, that 'in him we live and move and have\nour being,' we may be prepared to agree that, although he may not mean\nto include all possible phases of the inheritance of the saints in the\none word _light_, as I think he does, yet the idea is perfectly\nconsistent with his teaching. For the one only thing to make existence\na good, the one thing to make it worth having, is just that there\nshould be no film of separation between our life and the life of which\nours is an outcome; that we should not only _know_ that God is our\nlife, but be aware, in some grand consciousness beyond anything\nimagination can present to us, of the presence of the making God, in\nthe very process of continuing us the live things he has made us. This\nis only another way of saying that the very inheritance upon which, as\nthe twice-born sons of our father, we have a claim--which claim his\nsole desire for us is that we should, so to say, enforce--that this\ninheritance is simply the light, God himself, the Light. If you think\nof ten thousand things that are good and worth having, what is it that\nmakes them good or worth having but the God in them? That the\nloveliness of the world has its origin in the making will of God, would\nnot content me; I say, the very loveliness of it is the loveliness of\nGod, for its loveliness is his own lovely thought, and must be a\nrevelation of that which dwells and moves in himself. Nor is this all:\nmy interest in its loveliness would vanish, I should feel that the soul\nwas out of it, if you could persuade me that God had ceased to care for\nthe daisy, and now cared for something else instead. The faces of some\nflowers lead me back to the heart of God; and, as his child, I hope I\nfeel, in my lowly degree, what he felt when, brooding over them, he\nsaid, 'They are good;' that is, 'They are what I mean.'\n\nThe thing I am reasoning toward is this: that, if everything were thus\nseen in its derivation from God, then the inheritance of the saints,\nwhatever the form of their possession, would be seen to be light. All\nthings are God's, not as being in his power--that of course--but as\ncoming from him. The darkness itself becomes light around him when we\nthink that verily he hath created the darkness, for there could have\nbeen no darkness but for the light Without God there would not even\nhave been nothing; there would not have existed the idea of nothing,\nany more than any reality of nothing, but that he exists and called\n_something_ into being.\n\nNothingness owes its very name and nature to the being and reality of\nGod. There is no word to represent that which is not God, no word for\nthe _where_ without God in it; for it is not, could not be. So I think\nwe may say that the inheritance of the saints is the share each has in\nthe Light.\n\nBut how can any share exist where all is open?\n\nThe true share, in the heavenly kingdom throughout, is not what you\nhave to keep, but what you have to give away. The thing that is mine is\nthe thing I have with the power to give it. The thing I have _no_ power\nto give a share in, is nowise mine; the thing I cannot share with\neveryone, cannot be essentially my own. The cry of the thousand\nsplendours which Dante, in the fifth canto of the 'Paradiso,' tells us\nhe saw gliding toward them in the planet Mercury, was--\n\n     Ecco chi crescera li nostri amori!\n\n     Lo, here comes one who will increase our loves!\n\n\nAll the light is ours. God is all ours. Even that in God which we\ncannot understand is ours. If there were anything in God that was not\nours, then God would not be one God. I do not say we must, or can ever\nknow all in God; not throughout eternity shall we ever comprehend God,\nbut he is our father, and must think of us with every part of him--so\nto speak in our poor speech; he must know us, and that in himself which\nwe cannot know, with the same thought, for he is one. We and that which\nwe do not or cannot know, come together in his thought. And this helps\nus to see how, claiming all things, we have yet shares. For the\ninfinitude of God can only begin and only go on to be revealed, through\nhis infinitely differing creatures--all capable of wondering at,\nadmiring, and loving each other, and so bound all in one in him, each\nto the others revealing him. For every human being is like a facet cut\nin the great diamond to which I may dare liken the father of him who\nlikens his kingdom to a pearl. Every man, woman, child--for the\nincomplete also is his, and in its very incompleteness reveals him as a\nprogressive worker in his creation--is a revealer of God. I have my\nmessage of my great Lord, you have yours. Your dog, your horse tells\nyou about him who cares for all his creatures. None of them came from\nhis _hands_. Perhaps the precious things of the earth, the coal and the\ndiamonds, the iron and clay and gold, may be said to have come from his\nhands; but the live things come from his heart--from near the same\nregion whence ourselves we came. How much my horse may, in his own\nfashion--that is, God's equine way--know of him, I cannot tell, because\nhe cannot tell. Also, we do not know what the horses know, because they\nare horses, and we are at best, in relation to them, only horsemen. The\nways of God go down into microscopic depths, as well as up into\ntelescopic heights--and with more marvel, for there lie the beginnings\nof life: the immensities of stars and worlds all exist for the sake of\nless things than they. So with mind; the ways of God go into the depths\nyet unrevealed to us; he knows his horses and dogs as we cannot know\nthem, because we are not yet pure sons of God. When through our\nsonship, as Paul teaches, the redemption of these lower brothers and\nsisters shall have come, then we shall understand each other better.\nBut now the lord of life has to look on at the wilful torture of\nmultitudes of his creatures. It must be that offences come, but woe\nunto that man by whom they come! The Lord may seem not to heed, but he\nsees and knows.\n\nI say, then, that every one of us is something that the other is not,\nand therefore knows some thing--it may be without knowing that he knows\nit--which no one else knows; and that it is every one's business, as\none of the kingdom of light, and inheritor in it all, to give his\nportion to the rest; for we are one family, with God at the head and\nthe heart of it, and Jesus Christ, our elder brother, teaching us of\nthe Father, whom he only knows.\n\nWe may say, then, that whatever is the source of joy or love, whatever\nis pure and strong, whatever wakes aspiration, whatever lifts us out of\nselfishness, whatever is beautiful or admirable--in a word, whatever is\nof the light---must make a part, however small it may then prove to be\nin its proportion, of the inheritance of the saints in the light; for,\nas in the epistle of James, 'Every good gift, and every perfect gift is\nfrom above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no\nvariableness, neither shadow of turning.'\n\nChildren fear heaven, because of the dismal notions the unchildlike\ngive them of it, who, without imagination, receive unquestioning what\nothers, as void of imagination as themselves, represent concerning it.\nI do not see that one should care to present an agreeable picture of\nit; for, suppose I could persuade a man that heaven was the perfection\nof all he could desire around him, what would the man or the truth gain\nby it? If he knows the Lord, he will not trouble himself about heaven;\nif he does not know him, he will not be drawn to _him_ by it. I would\nnot care to persuade the feeble Christian that heaven was a place worth\ngoing to; I would rather persuade him that no spot in space, no hour in\neternity is worth anything to one who remains such as he is. But would\nthat none presumed to teach the little ones what they know nothing of\nthemselves! What have not children suffered from strong endeavour to\ndesire the things they could not love! Well do I remember the pain of\nthe prospect--no, the trouble at not being pleased with the\nprospect--of being made a pillar in the house of God, and going no more\nout! Those words were not spoken to the little ones. Yet are they,\nliterally taken, a blessed promise compared with the notion of a\ncontinuous church-going! Perhaps no one teaches such a thing; but\nsomehow the children get the dreary fancy: there are ways of\ninvoluntary teaching more potent than words. What boy, however fain to\nbe a disciple of Christ and a child of God, would prefer a sermon to\nhis glorious kite, that divinest of toys, with God himself for his\nplaymate, in the blue wind that tossed it hither and thither in the\ngolden void! He might be ready to part with kite and wind and sun, and\ngo down to the grave for his brothers--but surely not that they might\nbe admitted to an everlasting prayer-meeting! For my own part, I\n_rejoice_ to think that there will be neither church nor chapel in the\nhigh countries; yea, that there will be nothing there called religion,\nand no law but the perfect law of liberty. For how should there be law\nor religion where every throb of the heart says _God_! where every\nsong-throat is eager with thanksgiving! where such a tumult of glad\nwaters is for ever bursting from beneath the throne of God, the tears\nof the gladness of the universe! Religion? Where will be the room for\nit, when the essence of every thought must be God? Law? What room will\nthere be for law, when everything upon which law could lay a _shalt\nnot_ will be too loathsome to think of? What room for honesty, where\nlove fills full the law to overflowing--where a man would rather drop\nsheer into the abyss, than wrong his neighbour one hair's-breadth?\n\nHeaven will be continuous touch with God. The very sense of being will\nin itself be bliss. For the sense of true life, there must be actual,\nconscious contact with the source of the life; therefore mere life--in\nitself, in its very essence good--good as the life of God which is our\nlife--must be such bliss as, I think, will need the mitigation of the\nloftiest joys of communion with our blessed fellows; the mitigation of\nart in every shape, and of all combinations of arts; the mitigation of\ncountless services to the incomplete, and hard toil for those who do\nnot yet know their neighbour or their Father. The bliss of pure being\nwill, I say, need these mitigations to render the intensity of it\nendurable by heart and brain.\n\nTo those who care only for things, and not for the souls of them, for\nthe truth, the reality of them, the prospect of inheriting light can\nhave nothing attractive, and for their comfort--how false a\ncomfort!--they may rest assured there is no danger of their being\nrequired to take up their inheritance at present. Perhaps they will be\nleft to go on sucking _things_ dry, constantly missing the loveliness\nof them, until they come at last to loathe the lovely husks, turned to\nugliness in their false imaginations. Loving but the body of Truth,\neven here they come to call it a lie, and break out in maudlin moaning\nover the illusions of life. The soul of Truth they have lost, because\nthey never loved her. What may they not have to pass through, what\npurifying fires, before they can even behold her!\n\nThe notions of Christians, so called, concerning the state into which\nthey suppose their friends to have entered, and which they speak of as\na place of blessedness, are yet such as to justify the bitterness of\ntheir lamentation over them, and the heathenish doubt whether they\nshall know them again. Verily it were a wonder if they did! After a\nyear or two of such a fate, they might well be unrecognizable! One is\nalmost ashamed of writing about such follies. The nirvana is grandeur\ncontrasted with their heaven. The early Christians might now and then\nplague Paul with a foolish question, the answer to which plagues us to\nthis day; but was there ever one of them doubted he was going to find\nhis friends again? It is a mere form of Protean unbelief. They believe,\nthey say, that God is love; but they cannot quite believe that he does\nnot make the love in which we are most like him, either a mockery or a\ntorture. Little would any promise of heaven be to me if I might not\nhope to say, 'I am sorry; forgive me; let what I did in anger or in\ncoldness be nothing, in the name of God and Jesus!' Many such words\nwill pass, many a self-humiliation have place. The man or woman who is\nnot ready to confess, who is not ready to pour out a heartful of\nregrets--can such a one be an inheritor of the light? It is the joy of\na true heart of an heir of light, of a child of that God who loves an\nopen soul--the joy of any man who hates the wrong the more because he\nhas done it, to say, 'I was wrong; I am sorry.' Oh, the sweet winds of\nrepentance and reconciliation and atonement, that will blow from garden\nto garden of God, in the tender twilights of his kingdom! Whatever the\nplace be like, one thing is certain, that there will be endless,\ninfinite atonement, ever-growing love. Certain too it is that whatever\nthe divinely human heart desires, it shall not desire in vain. The\nlight which is God, and which is our inheritance because we are the\nchildren of God, insures these things. For the heart which desires is\nmade thus to desire. God is; let the earth be glad, and the heaven, and\nthe heaven of heavens! Whatever a father can do to make his children\nblessed, that will God do for his children. Let us, then, live in\ncontinual expectation, looking for the good things that God will give\nto men, being their father and their everlasting saviour. If the things\nI have here come from him, and are so plainly but a beginning, shall I\nnot take them as an earnest of the better to follow? How else can I\nregard them? For never, in the midst of the good things of this lovely\nworld, have I felt quite at home in it. Never has it shown me things\nlovely or grand enough to satisfy me. It is not all I should like for a\nplace to live in. It may be that my unsatisfaction comes from not\nhaving eyes open enough, or keen enough, to see and understand what he\nhas given; but it matters little whether the cause lie in the world or\nin myself, both being incomplete: God is, and all is well. All that is\nneeded to set the world right enough for me--and no empyrean heaven\ncould be right for me without it--is, that I care for God as he cares\nfor me; that my will and desires keep time and harmony with his music;\nthat I have no thought that springs from myself apart from him; that my\nindividuality have the freedom that belongs to it as born of his\nindividuality, and be in no slavery to my body, or my ancestry, or my\nprejudices, or any impulse whatever from region unknown; that I be free\nby obedience to the law of my being, the live and live-making will by\nwhich life is life, and my life is myself. What springs from myself and\nnot from God, is evil; it is a perversion of something of God's.\nWhatever is not of faith is sin; it is a stream cut off--a stream that\ncuts itself off from its source, and thinks to run on without it. But\nlight is my inheritance through him whose life is the light of men, to\nwake in them the life of their father in heaven. Loved be the Lord who\nin himself generated that life which is the light of men!\n\n\n                        END OF THE THIRD SERIES.","title":"Unspoken Sermons, Series I., II., and III.","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":174262}