"Bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience
of Christ." 2 Cor. x. 5.
THE question may be asked, How is it possible to live as if the coming
of Christ were not far off, when our reason tells us that it probably is
distant? It may be objected that there are no grounds for expecting it
now, more than for the last eighteen hundred years; that if His long absence
is a reason for expecting it now, yet His promise of a speedy return was
a reason for expecting it in earlier times; and if the one reason has turned
out insufficient, so may the other; that if, in spite of His promise to
be speedy, He has tarried so long, He may tarry longer still; that no signs
of His coming can be greater than were abroad soon after His departure;
that, certainly, there are no such signs now; nay, that during the first
seven hundred years, and again about the year 1000, and later, there were
many more signs of Christ's coming than there are now,—more trouble of
nations, more distress, more sickness, more terror. It may be said, that
we cannot hope, and fear, and expect, and wait, as we will,—but that we
must have reasons for so doing; and that if we are persuaded, in our deliberate
judgment, that Christ's coming is not probable, we cannot make ourselves
feel as if it were probable.
Now in considering this objection, which I shall do, I may have an opportunity
of stating a great principle which obtains in Christian duty, the subjection
of the whole mind to the law of God.
1. I deny, then, that our feelings and likings are only moved according
to the dictates of what we commonly mean by reason; so far from it, that
nothing is more common, on the other hand, than to say, that reason goes
one way, and our wishes go another. There is nothing impossible, then,
in learning to look out for the day of Christ's coming more earnestly than
according to its probability in the judgment of reason. As reason may be
a right guide for our feelings and likings to go by up to a certain point,
so there may be cases in which it is unable to guide us, from its weakness;
and as it is not impossible for sinful and irreligious men to like what
their reason tells them they should not like; therefore it is not impossible
for religions men also to desire, expect, and hope, what their reason is
unequal to approve and accept. What is more common than to hear it said,
"I love a person more than I respect him"? or, "I admire him more than
I love him"? Or, again, we know how easy it is to open the mind to the
influence of some feeling or emotion, and how difficult it is to avoid
such influence; how difficult it is to get a thought out of the mind, which
reason says ought to be kept out, and which will intrude itself again and
again; how difficult to restrain anger, fear, or other passion, which yet
reason tells us should be restrained. It is, then, quite possible to have
feelings and thoughts present with us in a way which is disproportionate,
according to the judgment of reason. Or, take another instance. We know
how the mind sometimes dwells upon the chance of what is barely possible,
quite unreasonably, and often wrongly and dangerously. A number of things
may happen, one perhaps as likely as another; and yet, from weakness of
health, or excitement, it often happens that we cannot help thinking overmuch
of some one of these possible events, and getting unduly anxious lest it
should happen. Thus, if some dreadful occurrence has taken place, a fire,
or a murder, or some horrible accident, persons become frightened, lest
the same should happen to them; in a measure far exceeding what a mere
calculation of probabilities warrants. Their imagination magnifies the
danger; they cannot persuade themselves to look at things calmly, and according
to their general course. They fix their thoughts upon one particular chance,
in a way quite contrary to what reason suggests. Thus, so far from
our feelings being moved according to the strict probabilities of things,
the contrary is rather the rule. What Almighty God then requires of us
is, to do that in one instance for His sake, which we do so commonly in
indulgence of our own waywardness and weakness; to hope, fear, expect our
Lord's coming, more than reason warrants, and in a way which His word alone
warrants; that is, to trust Him above our reason. You say, that it is not
probable Christ will come at this time, and therefore you cannot expect
it. Now, I say, you can expect it. You must feel there is a chance that
He will come. Well, then, dwell on that chance; open your mind to it; treat
that chance just as you so often treat the chance of fire, or peril by
sea, or peril by land, or thieves. Our Lord says, that He shall come as
a thief in the night. Now you know that if there has been some remarkable
robbery, people are frightened far more than according to the chance of
their being themselves robbed. They are haunted by the idea; it may be
that the probability of their own houses being attempted is but small,
yet the thing itself is an object of great apprehension to them, and they
think more of the grievousness of the event apprehended, should it happen,
than of the small chance of its happening. They are moved by the risk.
And in like manner, as regards the coming of Christ; I do not say we must
be excited, or unsettled, or engrossed with the thought, but still we must
not let the long delay persuade us not to watch for it. "Though it tarry;
wait for it." If He bids us, as a matter of duty, impress the prospect
of His coming upon our imagination, He asks no hard thing; no hard thing,
that is, to the willing mind; and what we can do we are bound to do.
2. This is what first suggests itself, but it opens the way to further
thoughts. For only reflect, what is faith itself but an acceptance of things
unseen, from the love of them, beyond the determinations of calculation
and experience? Faith outstrips argument. If there is only a fair chance
that the Bible is true, that heaven is the reward of obedience, and hell
of wilful sin, it is worth while, it is safe, to sacrifice this world to
the next. It were worth while, though Christ told us to sell all that we
have and follow Him, and to pass our time here in poverty and contempt,
it were worth while on that chance to do it. This then, is what is meant
by faith going against reason, that it cares not for the measure of probabilities;
it does not ask whether a thing is more or less likely; but if there is
a fair and clear likelihood what God's will is, it acts upon it. If Scripture
were not true, we should in the next world be left where we were; we should,
in the event, be no worse off than before; but if it be true, then we shall
be infinitely worse off for not believing it than if we had believed it.
We all know the retort which the aged saint made in the story, when a licentious
youth reminded him, how he would have wasted life if there were no future
state of recompense: "True, my son," he answered, "but how much worse a
waste is yours if there is."
Faith, then, does not regard degrees of evidence. You might lay it down
as a rule, speaking in the way of reason, that we ought to have faith according
to the evidence; that the more evidence there is, the more firm it should
be; and the less evidence, the weaker will it be required of us. But this
is not the case as regards religious faith,—which accepts the Word of God
as firmly on the evidence which it is vouchsafed, as if that evidence were
doubled. This, indeed, we see to be the case as regards things of earth;
and surely what we do towards men, we may bear to do towards God. If one
whom we trust and revere told us any news, which he had perfect means of
knowing, we should believe him; we should not believe it more thoroughly
because presently another told it to us also. And in like manner, though
it is quite certain that Almighty God might have given us greater evidence
than we possess, that He speaks to us in the Bible; yet since He has given
us enough, faith does not ask for more, but is satisfied, and acts upon
what is enough; whereas unbelief is ever asking for signs, more and greater,
before it will yield to the Divine Word.
Returning to my main subject, I observe, in like manner, what is true
of faith is true of hope. We may be commanded, if so be, to hope against
hope, or to expect Christ's coming, in a certain sense, against reason.
It is not inconsistent with God's general dealings towards us, that He
should bid us feel and act as if that were at hand, which yet, if we went
by what experience tells us, we should say was not likely to be at hand.
If He bids us to believe in Him with our whole heart, whether the evidence
of His speaking to us be greater or less, why may He not bid us wait for
Him perseveringly, though the signs of His coming disappoint us, and reason
desponds? We cannot tell in such a matter what is more probable and what
is not; we can but attempt what we are told to do. And that we can do:
we can direct and fashion our feelings according to His word, and leave
the rest to Him.
3. Here, then, I am led to make a further remark; that as it is our
duty to bring some things before our minds, and contemplate them much more
vividly than reason by itself would bid us, so, again, there are other
things which it is a duty to put away from us, not to dwell upon, and not
to realize, though they be brought before us. And yet it is evident, too,
that persons might here also object, and say that it is impossible to help
being moved and influenced by what we know for certain, just as they say
that it is impossible to believe and expect what we know to be not certain.
For instance; we know that it is a duty not to be vain and conceited
about any personal advantage we may happen to possess. Yet a man might
ask, How is it possible to help it? He might say, "If persons excel in
any respect, they must know it; it is quite absurd to suppose, as a rule,
that they should not; but if they know it, how is it possible they should
not take pleasure in their own excellence, and admire themselves for it?
Admiration is the natural consequence of the sight of excellence: if persons
know they excel, they cannot help admiring themselves; and if they excel,
generally speaking, they cannot but know it; and this, whatever it be they
excel in, whether in personal appearance, or in power of speech, or in
gifts of mind, or in character, or in any other way."
But now, on the other hand, I suppose that it is quite certain that
Scripture tells us not to pride ourselves on any thing we are, any thing
we do; that is, not to indulge those feelings which, it seems, are the
natural and legitimate result of our knowing what we do know. Now what
is to be said to this? how are these opposites to be reconciled?
One answer would of course be this; that religious men know how defective,
after all, their best deeds are, or their best points of character; or
they know how much more others do; or they know their own great deficiencies
in other respects; or they know how trifling some of those points are on
which they may happen to be superior to others. But this is not a sufficient
answer; because the points in question are excellences, whether great excellences
or not, or whether or not there be others greater, or however wanting the
parties may be in other respects. And herein lies, I think, the temptation
which all persons have to self-esteem, that in a certain sense their judgment
about themselves is not wrong; not that they are not very deficient in
many things, not as if they did not know this, but that they have certain
excellences, which really are excellences, and they feel them; and the
question is, how can they help feeling them?
It may be suggested, perhaps, to account for the humility of religious
men, that, whatever personal gifts they may have, they are used to them;
and this it is which keeps them from thinking much of them. There is truth
in this remark, of course, but it does not explain why they once have not
thought much of them, viz when the sight of what they were, was not so
familiar to them as it is; and if they did, we may be sure that the effects
of their former self-conceit will remain upon them now, having become habitual.
Another and far better reason why religious persons are not self-conceited
is, that they dislike to think of whatever is good in them, and turn away
from the thought of it, whether their superiority to others be in mind
or body, in intellectual powers or in moral attainments. But there is,
I think, another more direct reason; and more connected with my present
subject.
It is this: though religious men have gifts, and though they know it,
yet they do not realize them. It is not necessary here to explain exactly
what is meant by the word "realizing;" we all understand the word enough
for my present purpose, and shall all confess that, at least, there is
an abundance of matters which men do not realize, though they ought to
do so. For instance; how loudly men talk of the shortness of this life,
of its vanity and unprofitableness, and of the claims which the world to
come has upon us! This is what we hear said daily, yet few act upon the
truths they utter; and why? because they do not realize what they are so
ready to proclaim. They do not see Him who is invisible, and His eternal
kingdom.
Well, then, what men omit to do when the doing is a duty, that they
can surely also omit to do in cases when omission is a duty. Serious men
may know indeed, if it so be, what their excellences are, whether religious,
or moral, or any other, but they do not feel them in that vivid way which
we call realizing. They do not open their hearts to the knowledge, so that
it becomes fruitful. Barren knowledge is a wretched thing, when knowledge
ought to bear fruit; but it is a good thing, when it would otherwise act
merely as a temptation. When men realize a truth, it becomes an influential
principle within them, and leads to a number of consequences both in opinion
and in conduct. The case is the same as regards realizing our own gifts.
But men of superior minds know them without realizing. They may know that
they have certain excellences, if they have them, they may know that they
have good points of character, or abilities, or attainments; but it is
in the way of an unproductive knowledge, which leaves the mind just as
it found it. And this seems to be what gives such a remarkable simplicity
to the character of holy men, and amazes others so much that they think
it a paradox or inconsistency, or even a mark of insincerity, that the
same persons should profess to know so much about themselves, and yet so
little,—that they can hear so much said about themselves, that they can
bear so much praise, so much popularity, so much deference, and yet without
being puffed up, or arrogating aught, or despising others; that they can
speak about themselves, yet in so unaffected a tone, with so much nature,
with such childlike innocence, and such graceful frankness.
Another instance of this great gift of knowing without realizing, is
afforded us in relation to subjects to which I will but allude. Men who
indulge their passions have a knowledge, different in kind from those who
have abstained from such indulgence; and when they speak on subjects connected
with it, realize them in a way in which others cannot realize them. The
very ideas which are full of temptation to the former, the words which
are painful to them to utter, all that causes them shame and confusion
of face, can be said and thought of by the innocent without any distress
at all. Angels can look upon sin with simple abhorrence and wonder, without
humiliation or secret emotion; and a like simplicity is the reward of the
chaste and holy; and that to the great amazement of the unclean, who cannot
understand the state of mind of such a one, or how he can utter or endure
thoughts which to themselves are full of misery and guilt. And hence sometimes
you find men in these days, in which the will of the natural man is indulged
to the full, taking up the writings of holy men who have lived in deserts
or in cloisters, or with an Angel's heart have ruled Christ's flock, and
broken with holy hands the bread of life, and viewing their words in their
own murky atmosphere, and imputing to them their own grossness; nay, carping
at the words of Holy Scripture, which are God's, and at the words of the
Church, as if the sacred mystery of the Incarnation had not introduced
a thousand new and heavenly associations into this world of sin.
And hence, again, you will find self-indulgent men unable to comprehend
the real existence of sanctity and severity of mind in any one. They think
that all persons must be full of the same wretched thoughts and feelings
which torment themselves. They think that none can avoid it, from the nature
of the case; only that certain persons contrive to hide what goes on in
their hearts, and, in consequence, they call them pretenders and hypocrites.
This, too, is what they also say as regards the instance which I took
first,—a man's knowledge of his gifts. They think that men who appear to
think little of themselves are conceited within, and that what is called
modesty is affectation.
I might make the same remark also as regards the absence of resentment
upon injury or insult, which characterizes a really religious man. Often,
indeed, such a one feels keenly what is done against him, though he represses
the feeling as a matter of duty; but the higher state of mind is when he
does not feel, that is, when he does not realize, that any injustice has
been done him; so that if he attempts to speak of it, it will be in the
same sort of strange, unreal, and (as I may say) forced and unnatural way
in which pretenders to religion speak of religious joy and spiritual comfort,
for he is as little at home with anger and revenge as hypocrites are with
thoughts of heaven.
Again; we may so unduly realize that a life of virtue is for our interest,
as to act on prudential motives, not from a sense of duty. And again; though
it be our duty to inquire and search out for ourselves the truth in religious
matters, yet we may so vaunt in our private judgment, and make a merit
of the exercise of it, that our search becomes almost a sin.
Here then are a number of cases, all in point, to illustrate one and
the same truth, that the Christian's character is formed by a rule higher
than that of calculation and reason, consisting in a Divine principle or
life, which transcends the anticipations and criticisms of ordinary men.
Judging by mere worldly reason, the Christian ought to be self-conceited,
for he is gifted; he ought to understand evil, because he sees and speaks
of it; he ought to feel resentment, because he is conscious of being injured;
he ought to act from self-interest, because he knows that what is right
is also expedient; he ought to be conscious and fond of the exercises of
private judgment, because he engages in them; he ought to be doubting and
hesitating in his faith, because his evidence for it might be greater than
it is; he ought to have no expectation of Christ's coming, because Christ
has delayed so long; but not so: his mind and heart are formed on a different
mould. In these, and ten thousand other ways, he is open to the misapprehensions
of the world, which neither has his feelings nor can enter into them. Nor
can he explain and defend them on considerations which all men, good and
bad, can understand. He goes by a law which others know not; not his own
wisdom or judgment, but by Christ's wisdom and the judgment of the Spirit,
which is imparted to him,—by that inward incommunicable perception of truth
and duty, which is the rule of his reason, affections, wishes, tastes,
and all that is in him, and which is the result of persevering obedience.
This it is which gives so unearthly a character to his whole life and conversation,
which is "hid with Christ in God;" he has ascended with Christ on high,
and there "in heart and mind continually dwells;" and he is obliged, in
consequence, to put a veil upon his face, and is mysterious in the world's
judgment, and "becomes as it were a monster unto many," though he be "wiser
than the aged," and have "more understanding than his teachers, because
he keeps God's commandments." 'Thus "he that is spiritual judgeth all things,
yet he himself is judged of no man;" and with him "it is a very small thing
to be judged of man's judgment," for "He that judgeth him is the Lord."
[1 Cor. ii. 15; iv. 3, 4.]
One additional remark is necessary in conclusion, with reference to
the subject with which I began, the duty of waiting for our Lord's coming.
It must not be supposed, then, that this implies a neglect of our duties
in this world. As it is possible to watch for Christ in spite of earthly
reasonings to the contrary, so is it possible to engage in earthly duties,
in spite of our watching. Christ has told us, that when He comes two men
shall be in the field, two women at the mill, "the one shall be taken,
and the other left." You see that good and bad are engaged in the same
way; nor need it hinder any one from having his heart firmly fixed on God,
that he is engaged in worldly business with those whose hearts are upon
the world. Nay, we may form large plans, we may busy ourselves in new undertakings,
we may begin great works which we cannot do more than begin; we may make
provision for the future, and anticipate in our acts the certainty of centuries
to come, yet be looking out for Christ. Thus indeed we are bound to proceed,
and to leave "times and seasons in His Father's power." Whenever He comes,
He will cut things short; and, for what we know, our efforts and beginnings,
though they be nothing more, are just as necessary in the course of His
Providence, as could be the most successful accomplishment. Surely, He
will end the world abruptly, whenever He comes; He will break off the designs
and labours of His elect, whatever they are, and give them what their dutiful
anxiety aims at, though not through it. And, as He will end, so did He
begin the world abruptly; He began the world which we see, not from its
first seeds and elements, but He created at once the herb and the fruit-tree
perfect "whose seed is in itself," not a gradual formation, but a complete
work. And with even a greater abruptness did He display His miracles when
He came and new made all things, creating bread, not corn, for the supply
of the five thousand, and changing water, not into any simpler, though
precious liquid, but into wine. And as He began without beginning, so will
He end without an ending; or rather, all that we do,—whatever we are doing,—whether
we have time for more or time for less,—yet our work, finished or unfinished,
will be acceptable, if done for Him. There is no inconsistency, then, in
watching yet working, for we may work without setting our hearts on our
work. Our sin will be if we idolize the work of our hands; if we love it
so well as not to bear to part with it. The test of our faith lies in our
being able to fail without disappointment.
Let us pray God to rule our hearts in this respect as well as in others;
that "when He shall appear, we may have confidence, and not be ashamed
before Him at His coming."
Copyright © 2000 by Bob Elder. All rights reserved.
Used with permission. See the Newman website:
http://www.newmanreader.org/index.html
