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THIS  BOOK 

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THE  SPIRIT  OF  DISCIPLINE 


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THE  SPIRIT 

OF 

DISCIPLINE 

SERMONS  PREACHED  BY 
FRANCIS    PAGET,   D.D. 

BISHOP  OF   OXFORD,  HONORARY  STUDENT  OF  CHRIST  CHURCH 
TOGETHER   WITH   AN 

INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY  CONCERNING  ACCIDIE 


ELEVENTH    IMPRESSION 


LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

39    PATERNOSTER    ROW,    LONDON 

NEW  YORK  AND  BOMBAY 

1906 

AU 


3 Ob 


QUEM      DEDIT      DOMINUS 
QUEM      RECEPIT  • 

WILLELMUM     CHURCH 
LUCEM      FIRM  AMENTUM      DESiDEKIQM 

DILECTISSIMUM  • 
AMORE  •  PROSEQUOR 


Preface 

THE  title  of  this  book  is  meant  to  point  towards 
a  thought  which  under  various  aspects  enters 
into  most  of  the  sermons  here  printed :  the 
thought  of  the  power  which  the  grace  of  God 
confers  on  men  to  extend  or  strengthen,  by 
dutiful  self-discipline,  the  empire  of  the  will. 
The  reality  of  some  such  power  is  plainly 
suggested  by  the  contrast  between  those  lives 
in  which  more  things  seem  possible  year  by 
year,  and  those  in  which  more  things  continu 
ally  seem  impossible  or  intolerable ;  while  if 
there  be  such  power  within  reach,  clearly  a 
man's  happiness  and  usefulness  depend  to  a 
great  extent  on  his  seeking  and  exercising  it. 
An  especial  task  in  which  it  may  be  exercised 
is  described  in  the  introductory  essay  which 
precedes  the  sermons. 


ipteface  to  t&e  ©econn  (ZEWtion. 

HE  who  pours  out  thanks  for  a  favourable 
verdict  runs  the  risk  of  seeming  to  betray  not 
only  a  bad  conscience,  but  also  a  poor  idea  of 
the  judge's  office.  Yet  I  cannot  refrain  from 
expressing  my  gratitude  for  the  generosity 
shown  to  me  by  those  who  have  reviewed  my 
book —  generosity  such  as  should  help  any 
man  to  work  more  humbly  and  diligently  in 
the  future. 

I  have  added  in  this  edition  one  more  sermon, 
and  a  few  fresh  notes  and  references,  chiefly 
concerning  the  subject  of  the  introductory 
essay,  the  sin  of  Accidie. 

Much  might,  I  think,  be  learnt  in  regard  to 
that  subject  by  a  careful  study  of  Spinoza's 

conception  of  sadness  and  of  joy.     I  have  no 

a  2 


X  PREFACE   TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

such  knowledge  of  his  system  as  would  enable 
me  to  cite  him  without  some  fear  lest  I  may 
by  fragmentary  quotations  misrepresent  his 
general  teaching.  But  there  seems  much  to  be 
thought  out  in  these  definitions  of  sadness : 
"Tristitia  est  hominis  transitio  a  majore  ad 
minorem  perfectionem  ; "  "  Tristitise  affectus 
actus  est ...  quo  hominis  agendi  potentia  minu- 
itur  vel  coercetur : " l  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  attempt  to  bring  together  under  the 
one  category  of  "tristitia"  conditions  so  pro 
foundly  diverse  as  those  of  hatred,  humility, 
pity,  penitence,  and  melancholy,  discloses  the 
severance  between  Christian  ethics  and  Spinoza's, 
and  appears  to  give  some  warrant  for  Mr. 
Maurice's  remark  that  "when  Spinoza  leaves 
the  absolute  for  the  concrete,  reason  for  ex- 

1  Benedict!  de  Spinoza  Ethica,  Pars  III.,  Affectuum  Definitions; 
cf.  III.  xi.  Schol.,  III.  lix.  Deraonstr.  Of.  also  Epistolse  Herberti  de 
Losinga,  Ep.  xxii.  (ed.  Anstruther,  p.  41).  "Tristitia  et  acidia 
suffocant  intentionem."  In  the  "  Life,  Letters,  and  Sermons  of  Herbert 
de  Losinga  "  (Goulburn  and  Symonds)  there  is  appended  to  the  trans 
lation  of  this  letter  an  interesting  note  on  Accidie  (vol.  i.  pp.  37-39). 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION.  XI 

perience,  he  is  away  from  home,  and  has  not 
the  right  use  of  his  powers."1 

I  am  indebted  to  the  Rev.  T.  B.  Strong  for 
having  pointed  out  to  me  a  striking  and 
beautiful  passage  in  the  "Shepherd"  of  Hennas,2 
where,  in  a  warning  against  sadness,  much 
that  was  said  in  later  days  concerning  accidie 
is  anticipated : — 

"Put  sadness  far  away  from  thee,  saith  he: 
for  truly  sadness  is  the  sister  of  half-heartedness 
and  bitterness.  .  .  Array  thee  in  the  joy  that 
always  finds  favour  in  God's  sight  and  is 
acceptable  with  Him :  yea,  revel  thou  therein. 
For  every  one  that  is  joyous  worketh  and 
thinketh  those  things  that  are  good,  and 
despiseth  sadness.  But  he  that  is  sad  doth 
always  wickedly :  first  because  he  maketh  sad 

1  F.  D.  Maurice,  «•  Moral  and  Metaphysical  Philosophy,"  ii.  425. 
Cf.  Benedict!  de  Spinoza  Ethica,  Para  III.,  Affectuum  Definitiones, 
iii.,  vii.,  xviii.,  xxvii. ;  Pars  IV.  Propp.  liii.,  liv.  Spinoza's  conceptions 
of  joy  and  sadness  are  touched  also  in  Ueberweg's  "  History  of  Philo 
sophy,"  ii.  76,  77 ;  M.  Arnold's  "  Essays  in  Criticism,  "  275,  276 ; 
Dorner's  "  System  of  Christian  Ethics,"  387. 

»  Mand.  r. 


Xii  PREFACE  TO   THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

the  Holy  Spirit  that  hath  been  given  to  man 
for  joy :  and  secondly  he  worketh  lawlessness, 
in  that  he  neither  prays  to  God  nor  gives 
Him  thanks. 

"Therefore  cleanse  thyself  from  this  wicked 
sadness,  and  thou  shalt  live  unto  God.  Yea, 
unto  God  all  they  shall  live  who  have  cast 
out  sadness  from  themselves,  and  arrayed 
themselves  in  all  joy." 

CHRIST  CHURCH,  OXFORD, 
St.  Mark's  Day,  1891. 


to  tfje  jFtftfj  OEDttion 

I  AM  ashamed  that  I  have  let  various  hindrances, 
with  bad  husbandry  of  time,  delay  my  revising 
this  book  for  a  new  edition,  and  writing  a  fresh 
preface  for  it,  until  an  attack  of  illness  has  made 
the  work  impossible  within  the  set  time.  I  am 
sorry  for  this,  because  I  wanted  to  do  justice,  if 
I  could,  to  the  suggestions  which  friends  have 
given  me  about  the  sin  of  Accidie,  and  about  its 
name.  This  I  cannot  try  to  do  at  present ;  but 
one  thing  I  may  do,  with  some  special  fitness. 
I  may  own  once  more  my  gratitude  to  all  those 
— known  by  face,  by  name,  or  by  kind  words  that 
bore  no  name — whose  friendship  and  help  have 
been  granted  to  me  through  this  book.  For  the 


XIV     ADVERTISEMENT  TO   THE  FIFTH  EDITION. 

thought  of  their  kindness,  very  poorly  deserved 
and  very  generously  bestowed,  has  often  been 
bright  among  all  the  welcome  forms  that  move 
about  in  the  quiet  spaces  of  illness  and  of  con 
valescence. 

F.  P. 

CHRIST  CHURCH,  OXFORD, 
February  3,  1893. 


Preface  to  tfce  ©etientft  CDition 

1  WOULD  use  the  opportunity  of  a  new  Edition 
to  speak  of  two  points  which  I  have  neglected 
to  notice  duly  in  this  book. 

I.  The  first  concerns  the  thought  which  the 
title  of  the  book  was  meant  to  indicate — "  the 
thought  of  the  power  which  the  grace  of  God 
confers  on  men  to  extend  or  strengthen,  by 
dutiful  self-discipline,  the  empire  of  the  will." 
The  tokens  of  that  power  are  clear :  the  proof 
of  its  readiness  and  adequacy  may  fall  within 
the  experience  of  any  man.  But  it  is  proffered, 
and  it  must  be  sought,  for  the  discipline  and 
hallowing  of  life  in  all  its  movements  and 
actions :  for  a  perfect,  not  a  partial  work.  A 
special  need  may  rouse  the  longing  for  it,  a 


Xvi         PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

special  struggle  may  seem  to  engross  its  energy ; 
but  the  desire  of  tlie  heart  that  it  garrisons, 
the  purpose  of  the  will  that  it  reinforces,  must 
be  set  towards  nothing  lower  or  narrower  than 
goodness,  the  likeness  of  Christ.  It  would  seem, 
indeed,  to  belong  naturally  to  the  power  which 
God  gives  that  it  should  be  thus  broadly  used, 
without  restriction  or  reserve :  for,  howsoever 
it  may  be  turned  at  a  particular  time  to  a 
particular  task,  its  true  place  is  at  the  centre, 
not  on  the  circumference  of  a  man's  life  ;  it  does 
not  conquer  for  us,  but  makes  us  conquerors. 
Forgetfulness  of  this  may  underlie  much  dis 
appointment  and  despondency  in  the  fight 
against  temptation:  the  effort  for  self-control 
and  self-possession  at  one  especial  point  failing 
just  because  it  is  not  simultaneously  made  at  all. 
Men  say  that  they  have  tried  again  and  again, 
and  tried  in  vain,  to  resist  a  besetting  sin,  to 
attain  a  constant  mastery  over  some  rebellious 
passion.  They  may  say  it  sincerely :  they  may 
have  really  tried :  but  the  secret  of  their  failure 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION.       xvii 

is  not  in  any  overwhelming  vehemence  of  the 
assailing  force,  nor  in  any  stinting  or  insufficiency 
of  God's  grace :  but  in  their  own  lack  of  desire 
or  will  or  watchfulness  to  deal  with  other 
passions  or  temptations,  far  removed,  perhaps, 
in  apparent  character  and  sphere,  from  the 
trial  in  which  the  defeat  and  discouragement 
is  undergone.  For  instance,  it  is  not  strange 
that  moods  of  sullen  ness  should  brood  relent 
lessly  over  the  heart  that,  though  it  hates 
its  own  gloom,  is  not  prepared  to  forgive 
wholly  some  by-gone  wrong,  or  to  give  up 
some  unreasonable  claim  for  deference:  it  is 
not  strange  that  tempers  should  be  uncertain 
when  appetites  are  undisciplined,  or  appetites 
tyrannous  when  tempers  are  bad:  it  is  not 
strange  that  thoughts  should  wander  defiantly 
in  prayer  if  there  is  no  increase  in  the  know 
ledge  of  God  to  set  against  the  increasing  host 
of  daily  cares,  no  sufficient  vigilance  against 
all  trifling  with  tortuous  ways  and  doubtful 
means  and  imperfect  sincerity,  or  no  habit  of 


xviii     PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

concentration  cultivated  in  the  mind.  We  cannot 
tell  where  the  soul  may  find  itself  betrayed,  if 
anywhere,  at  any  point  in  its  defence,  the  will 
is  treacherous.  For  the  spiritual  combat  is  one  ; 
and  the  Spirit  of  discipline  comes  to  sanctify  us 
wholly :  and  to  desire  victory  at  one  point 
while  we  are  contentedly  failing  at  another 
may  be  to  court  disaster  and  repulse  at  both. 
We  feel  the  flaw  in  St.  Augustine's  prayer  for 
a  grace  that  he  did  not  wish  vouchsafed  at 
once : l  but  there  is  a  nearer  likeness  to  it  than 
we  may  suspect  in  the  desire  that  God  may 
deliver  us  from  evil,  only  not  from  quite  all. 

II.  In  regard  to  the  first  Sermon  in  this 
Volume,  and  to  the  Introductory  Essay,  some 
defence  is  needed  for  the  assumption  that 
accidie  is  the  sin  whose  doom  is  told  by  Dante 
in  the  lines  117-126  of  the  seventh  canto  of  the 
"  Inferno."  For  this  he  nowhere  says  expressly : 

1  "At  ego  adolescenB  miser,  valde  miser,  in  exordio  ipeius 
adolescentiie  otiam  petierain  a  te  castitatem,  et  dixeram ;  '  Da  mihi 
castitatem  et  continentiam.  Bed  noli  inodo.'  Timebam  enim  ue  me 
cito  exaudiree  "  ("  Conf.,"  viii.  17). 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION.        VOX 

he  only  puts  into  the  mouths  of  those  whose 
punishment  he  there  describes  these  words — 

"  Tristi  fummo 

Nell'  aer  dolce  che  dal  sol  s'allegra, 
Portando  dentro  accidioso  fuinino ;  " 

and  several  modern  commentators  hold  that  the 
sin  which  is  thus  confessed  is  not  accidie,  but 
smothered,  smouldering  anger.1  This  opinion 
has  received  the  support  of  Dr.  Moore ;  and 
his  authority  by  itself  would  make  divergence 
need  defence. 

I  would  venture,  then,  to  urge,  in  the  first 
place,  that  great  weight  must  be  allowed  to  the 
fact  that  all  the  ancient  commentators  take 
the  lines  as  telling  of  accidie.2  For  on  such 

1  On  the  other  side  I  may  refer  to  Tommaseo,  Carlyle,  Agnelli,  and 
Vernon.  Cf.  "  Readings  on  the  Inferno,"  vol.  i.  pp.  233-238. 

1  For  this  statement  I  rely  on  the  authority  of  Scartazzini's  note  on 
the  passage  (edit.  1874).  Daniello  da  Lucca,  whose  commentary  waa 
printed  at  Venice,  in  1568,  seems  to  have  been  the  first  to  diverge  from 
the  tradition.  The  note  in  "  L'Ottimo  Comuaento  "  is  exceedingly  inte 
resting  ;  and  I  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  the  list  of  eight  remedies 
for  accidie  therein  prescribed.  They  are :  to  be  occupied  about  many 
things ;  to  consider  future  punishment ;  to  consider  the  eternal  reward ; 
the  company  of  the  good ;  the  example  of  him  who  is  not  lazy,  but 
swift  (wherefore  the  Prophet  says,  "  He  rejoiceth  as  a  giant  to  run 
his  course  ") ;  the  consideration  of  the  dangers  in  which  we  are  here ; 


XX         PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

a  point  as  this  their  authority  is  surely  at  its 
highest.  They  lived  under  the  system  of 
Christian  ethics  which  was  in  Dante's  mind :  in 
moral  treatises,  homilies,  counsels,  self-examina 
tions,  ecclesiastical  discipline,  they  must,  I 
suppose,  have  been  familiar  with  the  sevenfold 
classification  of  sins,  and,  more  or  less,  with  the 
affinities  and  subdivisions  and  connecting  links 
that  ran  through  the  list.  Doubtless  the  list 
varied  in  detail ;  but  its  variations  show  (some 
what  as  dialectic  modifications  may  in  the  case  of 
a  language)  how  real  and  living  and  practical  a 
thing  it  was  :  how  genuine  and  proper  a  form  of 
thought  to  those  who  then  used  it.  They  would 
read  the  "Commedia"  with  minds  to  which  this 
arrangement  and  diagnosis  and  delineation  of  sins 
was  known,  not  simply  as  a  subject  of  study, 


that  which  the  Lord  teaches  in  Lev.  vii.,  where  He  says,  "the  fire  on 
the  altar,"  etc.  (Query,  vi.  13,  "  The  fire  shall  ever  be  burning  upon 
the  altar ;  it  shall  never  go  out ") ;  the  sovereign  remedy,  the  grace 
of  God.  Cf.  "  Destructorium  Vitiorum "  (compiled  in  1429,  printed 
at  Nuremberg  in  1496),  pars  v.  cap.  xxii.  (For  the  knowledge  of 
this  elaborate  and  copious  work,  I  am  indebted  to  the  Rev.  T.  B. 
Strong.) 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION.        xxi 

but  as  a  matter  of  current  acceptance  in  daily 
life.  If,  then,  as  they  came  to  these  lines  and 
wrote  their  comments  on  them,  they  said  with 
one  accord  that  the  souls  swamped  in  the  filth 
were  the  souls  of  the  accidiosi ;  if  they  all  felt 
that  at  this  point  in  the  "  Inferno "  they  were 
meant  to  bethink  themselves  of  accidie,  their 
judgment  seems  hardly  to  be  set  aside. 

But,  further,  the  very  close  connection  which, 
according  to  this  view,  Dante  indicates  between 
anger  and  accidie,  is  in  accordance  with  the 
teaching  which  seems  to  have  acted  most 
strongly  on  his  mind.  Scartazzini  says  that, 
in  his  classification  of  sinners,  he  followed  in 
part  the  scheme  of  Hugh  of  St.  Victor,  shown 
in  the  "  Arbor  Vitiorum."  On  that  dismal  tree, 
"  tristitia,"  with  "  accidia "  on  one  twig  of  it, 
comes  out  of  the  branch  opposite  to  that  of 
"  ira  : "  and  in  the  preceding  treatise,  "  De  Fruc- 
tibus  Carnis,"  the  chapter  "  De  Ira  et  Comitatu 
ejus"  is  immediately  followed  by  the  chapter 

"  De  Tristitia  seu  Accidia  et  Comitatu  ejus  : "  the 

b 


XX 11       PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

"  comitatus  tristitiae  "  includes  "  rancor :  "  "  ac- 
cidia"  is  defined  as  "ex  nimia  confusione  animi 
nata  tristitia  sive  toedium,  vel  amaritudo  animi 
nimia,  qua  jucunditas  spiritalis  extinguitur  et 
quodam  desperationis  principio,  mens  in  seipsa 
subvertitur." l  Two  points  are  to  be  noted  here  ; 
not  only  the  juxtaposition2  and  affinity  of 
accidie  to  anger,  but  also  the  fact  that  "tris 
titia"  and  "aecidia"  are  spoken  of  as  though 
they  were  virtually  identical.  Further,  both 
these  points  appear  in  the  language  of  Dante's 
great  teacher,  St.  Thomas  Aquinas.  Accidie,  in 

1  Hugonis  de  Sancto  Victoro   Opera,  ii.   115,   seq.   (edit.    1588). 
Similarly,  St.  Gregory  had  placed  "tristitia"  next  to  "ira:"  and 
foremost  among  its  offspring  had  placed  "  malitia "  and  "  rancor  " 
(Moralium,  lib.  xxxi.  cap.  xlv.  §  88). — It  should  be  noted  that  the 
treatise,  "  De  Fructibus  Carnig,"  is  ascribed  to  Hugh  of  St.  Victor 
with  some  hesitation. 

2  I  am  indebted  to  Dr.  Moore  for  the  knowledge  that  the  same 
juxtaposition  is  to  be  found  also  in  St.  Bonaventura  and  in  Brunette 
Latini. — Of.  S.  Bonaventurae  Opera,  torn.  vi.  p.  64;  torn.  vii.  pp.  48, 
737.     Brunetto  Latini  "  II  Tesoretto,"  in  "  Raccolta  di  Rime  Antiche 
Toscane,"  i.  89.    The  connection  is  traced  in  the  treatise,  "  Destruo 
torium  Vitiorum,"  VI.  ii.,  "  Ira  cum  non  possit  se  vindicare  tristatur 
et  sic  ex  ea  nascitur  aecidia." — In  the  "  Tesoro  "  of  Brunetto  Latini 
"  aecidia  "  is  not  placed  in  juxtaposition  to  "  ira ;  "  but  in  the  list  of 
the  vices  that  issue  from  "  aecidia,"  the  first  is  "  malizia,"  and  the 
last  is  "diletto  del  male"  (vii.  82).     Cf.  " Confessionale  de  Santo 
Antonino,"  p.  37  (edit.  1543). 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION.      XXlii 

the  sequence  of  his  thoughts,  stands  next  in  one 
instance  to  anger,  in  another  to  hatred :  with 
envy  it  has  a  special  affinity,  in  that  both  alike 
are  forms  of  "  tristitia : " l  and  St.  Thomas  not 
only  approves  of  St.  Gregory's  substituting 
"  tristitia  "  for  "  accidia  "  in  his  list  of  sins,  but 
unhesitatingly  quotes  as  written  of  "accidia" 
what  St.  Gregory  wrote  of  "  tristitia,"  and  speaks 
himself  of  "  accidia  "  as  a  "  species  tristitise." 3 

1  Cf.  infra,  "  Introductory  Essay,"  pp.  14-16. 

8  Cf.  "Summa  Tbeologica,"  lm*  2Am  xxxv.  8;  Ixxxiv.  4;  2*1* 
2d"  xxxv.  4. — The  wide  prevalence  of  the  association  and  connection 
of  ideas  here  indicated  ia  shown  by  some  most  interesting  passages 
of  early  English  literature.  They  occur  in  volumes  published  by  the 
Early  English  Text  Society;  and  I  owe  the  knowledge  of  them  to 
the  kindness  of  Professor  York  Powell.  In  a  volume  of  homilies  of  the 
twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries,  believed  to  be  compiled  from  older 
documents  of  the  eleventh  century,  there  is  a  homily  "concerning 
eight  vices  and  twelve  abuses  of  this  age."  The  fourth  in  the  list  is 
"ira; "  the  fifth  is  "tristitia,"  that  is,  "  sorrow  of  this  world;  when 
the  man  sorroweth  altogether  too  much  for  the  loss  of  his  wealth, 
which  he  hath  loved  too  much,  and  chideth  then  with  God,  and 
increaseth  his  sin."  Over  against  this  stands  the  fifth  virtue,  "  Spiri- 
talis  Isetitia,  that  is,  ghostly  bliss,  that  the  man  rejoice  in  God  amidst 
the  sorrows  of  this  stark  world."  In  the  "  Mirror  of  St.  Edmund," 
the  third  deadly  sin  is  anger,  and  the  fourth  is  sloth,  which  makes 
a  man's  heart  heavy  and  slow  in  good  deed,  and  makes  him  to  be 
weary  in  prayer  or  holiness,  and  puts  him  in  the  wickedness  of 
despair;  for  it  slackens  the  liking  of  ghostly  love.  (In  the  Latin 
"Speculum  Spiritualium,"  which  bears  no  name,  but  is  printed 
together  with  a  treatise  by  Rolle  of  Hampole,  who  died  in  1349, 


xxiv     PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

If  these  two  points  are  borne  in  mind  and 
duly  emphasized ;  if  it  be  remembered  that 
those  whose  schemes  of  moral  theology  meant 
most  to  Dante,  had  placed  anger  and  accidie 
in  constant  neighbourhood,  and  been  wont  to 
recognize  accidie  either  under  its  own  name 
or  under  that  of  "  tristizia ; " — it  then  seems 

"  accidia  "  follows  "  ira,"  and  one  form  of  it  is  said  to  be  "  qusedam 
amaritudo  mentis,  qua  nihil  salable  libet :  tsedio  pascitur :  fastidit 
consortium  hominum.")  A  little  later  than  Dante's  time  comes  "  The 
Vision  concerning  Piers  the  Plowman."  Here  the  other  aspect  of 
accidie  takes  prominence.  It  is  represented  by  a  priest,  and  appears 
in  traits  (most  powerfully  drawn)  of  stupid  neglect,  indifference, 
forgetfulness,  and  ignoraace  about  all  acts  of  devotion,  penance,  medi 
tation,  and  charity.  It  is  a  loutish,  selfish,  gross,  shameless  sort  of 
sluggishness,  in  which  ingratitude  is  especially  marked.  A  similar,  but 
less  coarse,  type  of  accidie  is  indicated  in  the  "  Instructions  for  Parish 
Priests,"  by  John  Myrc,  where  the  questions  about  the  sin  almost  all 
point  towards  slackness  and  irreverence  about  religious  duties ;  e.g. — 

"  Hast  thou  been  slow  and  taken  no  heed 
To  teach  thy  god -children  pater-noster  and  creed?*' 

M  Hast  thou  come  to  church  late, 
And  spoken  of  sin  by  the  gate  ?  " 

"  Hast  thou  spared  for  hot  or  cold 
To  go  to  church  when  thou  were  hold  ?  " 

The  first  of  these  questions  is  curiously  illustrated  by  a  passage  in 
Eoberd  of  Brunne's  "Handlyng  Synne"  (written  1303,  founded 
on  "  Le  Manuel  des  Pechiez,"  by  William  of  Wadington),  where 
"Syre  Ely"  is  cited  as  showing  sloth  or  "accyde"  in  neglecting 
to  deal  duly  with  Hophni  and  Phinehas.  Sloth  appears  in  this 
striking  treatise  as  the  special  sin  of  rich  men. 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION.       XXV 

very  hard  to  doubt  that,  if  Dante  had  been 
asked  where  the  souls  of  the  impenitent  "ac- 
cidiosi"  were  to  be  found,  he  would  have 
pointed  towards  those  who  were  suffering  in 
the  same  circle  with  the  angry,  and  gurgling  in 
their  throats  the  gloomy  chant — 

"  Tristi  fummo 

Nel  aer  dolce  che  dal  sol  s'allegra, 
Portando  dentro  accidioso  fummo.*' 

Certainly,  if  he  did  not  intend  his  readers  at 
this  point  to  think  of  the  sin  of  accidie,  he  used 
language  curiously  apt  to  bring  about  what  he 
did  not  intend.1 

The  strongest  of  the  objections  to  the  opinion 
here  maintained  seems  that  which  is  drawn  from 
the  difference  between  the  sin  that  is  described  in 
the  seventh  canto  of  the  "  Inferno,"  where  there 

1  A  further  sign  that  these  "  tristi "  are  the  "  accidiosi,"  appears  in 
lines  125, 120— 

"  Quest'  inno  si  gorgoglian  nella  strozza, 
Che  dir  nol  posson  cou  parola  Integra." 

For  dulness,  languor,  nagging  of  the  voice,  especially  in  psalmody, 
was  a  well-marked  symptom  of  accidie.  Cf.  Beuvenuto  "  Da  Imola," 
quoted  in  VernoD,  "  Readings  on  the  Inferno,"  i.  236 ;  and  infra, 
'•  Introductory  Essay,"  pp.  12-14. 


XX VI     PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

is  no  express  mention  of  the  element  of  sloth, 
and  the  presentation  of  accidie  in  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  of  the  "  Purgatorio,"  where 
nothing  so  positive  or  malignant  as  sullenness  is 
portrayed ;  where  the  sin  seems  to  be  simply 
indifference,  or  lethargy,  or  faint-heartedness 
concerning  good — 

"  L'amor  del  bene,  scemo 
Di  suo  dover." l 

The  contrast  certainly  is  strange,  and,  at  first 
sight,  it  may  seem  abrupt.  I  have  tried,  in  the 
Introductory  Essay,3  to  show  the  links  in  the 
chain  of  thought  that  spans  it,  and  to  suggest 
some  reason  for  the  different  portrayal  of  the  sin 
where  its  doom  is  shown  in  Hell,  and  where  its 
expiation  is  shown  in  Purgatory.  What  I  would 
here  urge  is  that,  though  we  may  wonder  that 
Dante  has  done  nothing  to  mitigate  the  contrast 
or  to  help  us  to  identify  the  object  which  he 
presents  to  us  in  aspects  so  dissimilar,  the  two 
pictures  are  both  equally  derived  from  traits 

>  "Purgatorio,"  xvii.  85,  86.  «  Cf.  infra,  pp.  16-21,  41. 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION,     xxvil 

which  met  in  the  complex  idea  of  accidie  current 
in  his  day.  If  he  treats  accidie  in  one  passage 
as  a  form  of  anger,  and  in  the  other  passage  as  a 
form  of  sloth,  he  is  merely  selecting  two  aspects, 
or  elements,  which  had  been  held  together  in  the 
comprehensive  conception  of  a  single  temptation, 
a  single  offence  against  God,  at  all  events  since  the 
days  of  Cassian.  "  Eancor  "  and  "  torpor  "  stand 
side  by  side  in  Hugh  of  St.  Victor's  account  of 
the  suite  attendant  on  "  tristitia."  They  are 
offshoots  of  the  same  bough  in  his  Tree  of 
Vices;  and  the  contrast  between  ill-tempered 
gloom  and  slothful  apathy  can  hardly  have 
seemed  irreconcilable  or  unbridged  to  men  who 
were  accustomed  to  think  of  them  as  symptoms 
of  one  and  the  same  sin — the  sin,  I  believe, 
which,  in  its  extreme  development,  finds  its 
doom  in  the  Fifth  Circle  of  the  Inferno,  and, 
chastened  by  the  grace  of  penitence,  is  put  away 
on  the  Fourth  Circle  of  Purgatory.1  For  "Accidia 

1  Concerning  the  distinctions  and  stages  in  the  downward  course 
of  accidie,  cf.  S.  Thomaa  Aquinas,  S.  Th.  2d»  2<to,  xxxv. ;  "  Destruc- 
torium  Vitiorum,"  v.  i. ;  Caietanus,  "  Summula  de  Peccatis,"  pp.  15-17 
'«Hlit.  1568);  "  Confessionale  de  Santo  Antoniuo,"  p.  37. 


xxviii     PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION 

negli  antichi  non  ha  solamente  senso  d'inerzia, 
ma  d'ogni  non  buona  tristezza  e  d'ogni  malinconia 
maligna,  e  perb  pub  comprendere  anco  1'invidia 
iraconda." 1  Sometimes  it  seems  as  though  those 
ancients  had  looked  deeper  into  their  own  hearts 
than  we  are  apt  to  look  in  days  of  wider  activity 
and  more  general  information ;  and  I  venture  to 
think  that  there  is  something  beyond  a  literary 
interest  in  realizing  that,  to  Dante's  mind, 
sullenness  was  but  another  phase  of  sluggish 
indifference  to  a  man's  true  calling  and  to  the 
goodness  of  God.2 

1  Niccolb  Tommaseo,  quoted  by  Giovanni  Agnelli, "  Topo-cronografia 
del  Viaggio  Dantesco,"  pp.  50,  51. 

2  I  cannot  forego  quoting  one  more  passage  of  early  English 
ethics.    Professor  York  Powell  has  kindly  translated  it  for  me  from 
the  "  Ayenbite  of  Inwyt "  (or  "  Remorse  of  Conscience  "),  a  Kentish 
version  (by  Dan  Michel  of  Northgate)  of  a  French  treatise  composed 
in  1279  for  the  use  of  Philip  the  Second  of  France.    A  long  passage 
deals  with  the  "  disinclination  to  do  well,"  which  makes  men  have 
bad  beginning,  bad  amending,  and  worse  ending.    The  beginning  ia 
spoilt  by  lack  of  zealous  love  of  the  Lord,  by  cowardice  in  endurance, 
by  idleness,  by  heaviness  and  somnolence,  by  perverseness,  by  little 
will  and  fearfulness.     The  amending  is  spoilt  by  untruthfulness, 
sloth,  forgetf illness,  slackness,  weariness,  the  utter  failure  of  the 
recreant. — Then  come  the  six  points  of  sloth  that  bring  a  man  to  hia 
end.    "  The  first  is  disobedience,  when  the  man  will  not  do  what  he 
is  told  in  penauce,  or  when  he  is  bidden  something  that  he  thinketh 
hard  he  excuseth  himself  that  he  may  not  do  it,  or  if  he  undertakes 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SEVENTH  EDITION.      XXIX 

III.  I  had  desired  to  speak  of  the  beautiful 
chapter  upon  accidie  in  Gerard  of  Zutphen's 
treatise,  "De  Spiritualibus  Ascensionibus,"  and 
of  the  passages  that  approach  the  subject  in 
Fe'nelon's  counsels,  "  Sur  la  Dissipation  et  sur  la 
Tristesse  ; "  *  and,  lastly,  to  say  something  of  that 
noble  and  pathetic  illustration  of  the  grace  set 
over  against  accidie — the  grace  of  fortitude — 
which  is  given  in  the  pages  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
"  Journal."  But  this  preface  has  already  passed 
its  bounds  ;  and  I  will  only  cite  one  sentence  from 
Fenelon  (we  have  lately  learnt,  on  high  authority, 

it  he  doth  it  little  or  naught.  The  second  point  is  impatience,  for  as 
he  may  not  bear  anything  obediently  he  cannot  endure  patiently,  so 
that  none  dare  to  Bpeak  to  him  for  his  good.  The  third  is  grudging, 
for  when  men  speak  to  him  for  his  good  he  writheth  and  grudgeth 
and  thinketh  that  men  despise  him,  and  thereof  he  falleth  into 
sorrow,  that  is  the  fourth  vice. 

rt  And  so  greatly  doth  sorrow  overcome  him  that  all  that  men  say 
to  him,  all  that  men  do  for  him,  all  that  he  heareth,  all  that  he  seeth, 
all  this  is  a  grief  to  him,  and  so  he  falleth  into  sorrow  and  into  its 
being  a  grief  to  him  to  live;  so  that  he  himself  hasteneth  and 
deeireth  his  death.  And  that  is  the  fifth  vice. 

"  After  all  these  sorrowful  points  of  sloth,  the  Devil  giveth  him  the 
deadly  stroke,  and  putteth  him  into  wanhope  [despair].  ...  To 
such  end  sloth  leadeth  a  man.  These  be  eighteen  points  that  the 
Devil  throweth  upon  the  slothful.  It  is  no  wonder  that  he  loseth 
the  game." 

1  "  (Euvres  Spirituelles,"  torn.  i.  pp.  172-194,  edit.  1740. 


XXX       PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

his  place  among  the  guides  of  thought  and  life1): 
"  D  n'est  pas  question  de  ce  qu'on  sent,  mais  de 
ce  qu'on  veut."     It  may  be  impossible  at  times  to 
feel  what  one  would  :  it  is  not  impossible  to  will 
what  one  should ;  and  that,  if  the  will  be  real 
and  honest,  is  what  matters  most.     Unhappiness 
may   come  on   men,  and  hopes  may  fail,  and 
anxiety  or  overwork  may  take  the  spring  out  of 
life,  so  that  months  and  years  may  seem  "  as  the 
climbing  up  a  sandy  way  is  to  the  feet  of  the 
aged."     Within  the   experience   of  many   lives 
there  come  conditions  under  which  any  natural 
buoyancy   flags   and   dies   away,  and   even   the 
effect   of   grace   seems   bounded   to   endurance, 
quietness,  and  hope.     "  Heaviness  may  endure 
for    a   night ; "    and   though    it   be   but   for   a 
night,  it  is,  indeed,  heaviness.     But  all  never 
can  be  lost,  and  more  than  we  can  imagine  may 
be   gained,  if  the  purpose  of  the  will  is  kept 
towards  goodness,  towards  God :  if  honestly  we 

1  Lord  Acton,  "  On  the  Study  of  History,"  p.  13 :  "  It  is  the  vision 
of  a  higher  world  to  be  intimate  with  the  character  of  Fe'nelon," 


PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION, 

do  the  best  we  can,  if  honestly  we  long  and 
strive  to  do  better ;  never  beckoning  the  darkness 
to  us,  never  finding  a  rebellious  and  sullen  satis 
faction  in  its  depth,  never  slighting  any  light 
from  God,  any  gentleness  from  men,  any  cry  for 
our  help,  that  may  lead  us  out  again  into  the 
brightness.  "Les  decouragements  interieurs  font 
aller  plus  vlte  que  tout  le  reste,  dans  la  voie  de 
la  foi,  pourvu  qu'ils  ne  nous  arretent  point." 
"  Un  pas  fait  en  cet  e'tat  est  toujours  un  pas  de 
gdant."  "  II  n'y  a  done  qu'&  mdpriser  notre 
decouragement  et  qu'a  aller  toujours,  pour  rendre 
cet  e'tat  de  foiblesse  plus  utile  et  plus  grand  que 
celui  du  courage  et  de  la  force  la  plus  he'roique."  l 
"  In  the  way  of  Thy  judgments,  0  Lord,  have 
we  waited  for  Thee ;  to  Thy  Name  and  to  Thy 
memorial  is  the  desire  of  our  soul."  Those  who 
can  so  sustain  throughout  the  days  of  darkness 
the  dutiful  intention  of  desire  and  will,  may  find 

1  Cf.  "Speculum  Spiritualium,"  cap.  xvii.,  "Possibile  est  enim 
aliquem  multo  plus  mereri  in  pugna  laboris  pro  obtinenda  devotione 
quam  si  magnse  devotiouia  foret  sine  laborer  quia  de  isto  forsitai 
posset  extolli,  et  merit um  diminui :  de  illo  autem  cor  hurailiatur." 


XXXll     PREFACE   TO   THE  SEVENTH  EDITION. 

that,  in  the  weary  hours  of  the  night,  they 
have  been  moving  more  directly  and  more 
speedily  than  they  thought  towards  the  haven 
where  they  would  be. — For  there  is,  I  think,  in 
the  spiritual  life  an  experience  somewhat  like 
that  of  which  a  trawler  in  the  West  of  England 
told  me.  He  said  that  sometimes  through  a 
dark  night,  when  on  the  deck  the  air  is  dull  and 
heavy,  and  there  seems  to  be  a  dead  calm,  there 
may  be  wind  enough  astir,  not  many  feet  above 
the  sea,  to  catch  the  topsail  and  carry  the  sloop 
along;  so  that  at  daybreak  it  is  found  further 
on  its  course  than  the  men,  for  all  their  keen 
sense  of  seafaring,  had  ever  thought  it  could  be. 

F,  P. 

CHRIST  CHURCH, 

Lent,  1896. 


Contents 

INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

PACK 

CONCERNING  ACCIDIE, 1 

I.   THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 
"  The  sorrow  of  the  world  worketh  death."— 2  COB.  vn.  10,  <       .  51 

II.   LEISURE  THOUGHTS. 

44  Whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honest,  whatsoever  things 
are  just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever 
things  are  of  good  report;  if  there  be  any  virtue,  and  if  there  be  any  praise, 
think  on  these  things."— PHIL.  iv.  8,  .  t 69 

III.   THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 
"  Glorify  God  in  your  body."—l  COB.  vi.  20, .80 

IV.   FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 
"  Where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  i$,  there  is  liberty."—*  COB.  in.  17,        .       .     100 

V.  THE  KNOWLEDGE  OF  GOD. 
"  A"ou>  I  know  in  part;  tut  then  shall  I  know  even  as  also  lam  known."— 

1  COB.  XIII.   12,  ....  Ill 


XXXIV  CONTENTS. 

VI.    DRUDGERY  AND   HEROISM. 

FA0K 

"  I  cam*  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  Mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  Him  that 
$ent  Me."— ST.  JOHN  vi.  38 120 

VII.   THE  PERILS  OF  THE  VACANT  HEART. 

"  When  the  unclean  spirit  is  gone  out  of  a  man,  he  walketh  through  dry  places, 
seeking  rest,  and  findeth  none.  Then  he  saith,  I  will  return  into  my  house 
from  whence  I  came  out ;  and  when  he  is  come,  he  findeth  it  empty,  swept,  and 
garnished.  Then  goeth  he,  and  taketh  with  himself  seven  other  spirits  more 
wicked  than  himself,  and  they  enter  in  and  dwell  there :  and  the  last  stale  of 
that  man  is  worse  than  thejirst."—8t.  MATT.  xn.  43-45 131 

VIII.    THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS. 

"Some  fell  upon  a  rock:  and  as  soon  as  it  was  sprung  up,  it  withered  away, 
because  it  lacked  moisture." — ST.  LUKE  vm.  6. 

"  When  the  sun  was  up,  they  were  scorched;  and  became  they  had  no  root, 
they  withered  away."— ST.  MATT.  xm.  6 1^2 

IX.   HALF-HEARTEDNESS. 
•A  double-minded  man  is  unstable  in  all  his  ways."  -ST.  JAMKS  I.  8,  .       .     152 

X.   THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD. 

"  Remember  that  Jesus  Christ  of  the  seed  of  David  was  raised  from  the  dead 
according  to  my  Gospel."— 2  TIM.  n.  8, 162 


XI.   THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT  THROUGH 
FAITH  WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST. 

"  From  a  child  thou  hast  known  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  are  able  to  make 
thee  wise  unto  salvation  through  faith  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus."— 2  TIM. 
in.  15.  ....  .  174 


CONTENTS.  XXXV 

XII.    THE  POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE. 

FAflR 

"  Christ  being  raised  from  the  dead  dieth  no  more." — ROM.  vi.  9,    .        •        .     191 

XIII.   A  NEW  HEART. 

"  But  Peter  and  John  answered  and  taid  unto  them,  Whether  it  be  right  in  the 
tight  of  God  to  hearken  unto  you  more  than  unto  God,  judge  ye.  For  we  cavnof 
but  tpealt  the  things  which  we  have  seen  and  heard."— ACTS  iv.  19,  20,  .  .201 

XIV.    THE  CONTRASTS   OF  THIS  WORLD. 

'•-Son,  remember  that  thou  in  thy  lifetime  receivedst  thy  good  thivgt,  and 
likewise  Isizarus  evil  things :  but  now  he  it  comforted,  and  thou  art  tormented." 
—81.  LUXE  xvi.  25 213 

XV.    HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION. 

"  Wluit  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him  f  and  the  son  of  man,  that  Thou 
viiitesthimf"—Ps.  Tin.  4, 223 

XVI.   THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE. 

"  Freely  ye  have  received,  freely  give."— S-t.  MATT.  x.  8, 234 

XVII.   THE   RESPONSIBILITY   OF  STRENGTH. 

"  We  then  that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  the  infirmities  of  the  weak."— ROM. 
xv.  i 244 

XVIII.    OLD  AND  YOUNG. 

"I  write  unto  you,  little  children,  because  your  sins  are  forgiven  you  for 
His  frame's  sake.  I  write  unto  you,  fathers,  because  ye  have  known  Him.  that 
^t  from  the  beginning.  I  write  unto  you,  young  men,  because  ye  have  overcome 
the  wicked  one.  I  write  unto  you,  little  children,  because,  ye  have  knmvn  the 
father.  I  have  written  unto  you,  fathers,  because  ye  have  known  Him  that 


xxxvi  CONTEXTS. 

PAOB 

it  from  th€  beginning.  I  have  written  unto  you,  young  men,  because  ye  are 
strong,  and  the  Word  of  God  abideth  in  you,  and  ye  have  overcome  the  wicked 
9ne."—l  ST.  JOHN  n.  13-14, .  262 

XIX.    SIN  AND  LAW. 

"  The  sting  of  death  is  sin ;  and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law."— I  COB. 
xv.  56 279 

XX.  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS. 

"  The  light  shineth  in  darkness ;  and  the  darkness  comprehended  it  not" 
—Sr.  JOHN  i.  5 -293 

XXI.   A  GOOD  EXAMPLE. 
BISHOP  ASDRBWES:   HIS  TIME  AND  WOBK,       .»..,..,     803 


INTRODUCTORY    ESSAY. 

CONCERNING    ACCIDIE. 

"  Yea,  they  thought  scorn  of  that  pleasant  land,  and  gave 
no  credence  unto  His  word;  but  murmured  in  their  tents, 
and  hearkened  not  unto  the  voice  of  the  Lord." 

MOST  men  may  know  that  strange  effect  of  vividness 
and  reality  with  which  at  times  a  disclosure  of 
character  and  experience  in  some  old  book  seems  to 
traverse  the  intervening  centuries,  and  to  touch  the 
reader  with  a  sense  of  sudden  nearness  to  the  man 
who  so  was  tried,  so  felt  and  thought,  so  failed  or 
conquered,  very  long  ago.  We  are  prepared,  of 
course,  for  likeness,  and  even  for  monotony,  in  the 
broad  aspect  of  that  ceaseless  conflict  through  which 
men  come  to  be  and  to  show  what  they  are ;  for  the 
main  conditions  of  a  man's  probation  stand  like  birth 
and  death,  like  childhood,  and  youth,  and  age,  awaiting 
every  human  soul,  behind  the  immense  diversity  of 
outward  circumstance.  We  expect  that  the  inner 
history  of  man  will  go  on  repeating  itself  in  these 
general  traits ;  but  when,  out  of  an  age  whose  ways 

B 


2  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

imagination  hardly  represents  to  us  with  any 
clearness,  there  comes  the  exact  likeness  of  some 
feature  or  deformity  which  we  had  thought  peculiar 
to  ourselves  or  our  contemporaries,  we  may  be  almost 
startled  by  the  claim  thus  made  to  moral  kinship  and 
recognition.  We  knew  that  it  never  had  been  easy 
to  refuse  the  evil  and  choose  the  good;  we  guessed 
that  at  all  times,  if  a  man's  will  faltered,  there  were 
forces  ready  to  help  him  quietly  and  quickly  on  the 
downward  road;  but  that  centuries  ago  men  felt, 
in  minute  detail,  the  very  same  temptations,  subtle, 
complex,  and  resourceful,  which  we  to-day  find 
hiding  and  busy  in  the  darker  passages  of  our  hearts, 
is  often  some  what  unreasonably  surprising  to  us. 
For  we  are  apt,  perhaps,  to  overrate  the  intensive 
force  of  those  changes  which  have  extended  over  all 
the  surface  of  civilized  life.  We  forget  how  little 
difference  they  may  have  brought  to  that  which  is 
deepest  in  us  all.  It  is,  indeed,  true  that  the  vast 
increase  of  the  means  of  self-expression  and  self- 
distraction  increases  for  many  men  the  temptation 
to  empoverish  life  at  its  centre  for  the  sake  of  its 
ever- widening  circumference;  it  may  be  harder  to 
be  simple  and  thoughtful,  easier  to  be  multifariously 
worldly  now  than  once  it  was;  but  the  inmost 
quality,  the  secret  history,  of  a  selfish  choice  or 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  8 

a  sullen  mood,  and  the  ingredients  of  a  bad  temper, 
are,  probably,  nearly  what  they  were  in  quieter 
days ;  and  there  seems  sometimes  a  curious  sameness 
in  the  tricks  that  men  play  with  conscience,  and  in 
the  main  elements  of  a  soul's  tragedy. 

The  Bible  is  the  supreme,  decisive  witness  to  this 
profound  identity  in  the  experience,  the  discipline, 
the  needs  of  man  through  all  generations.  It  is, 
indeed,  greatly  to  be  wished  that  people  would 
realize  rather  more  adequately  the  prerogative  dis 
tinction  which  the  Bible  has  in  this  (besides  all  other 
traits  by  which  it  stands  alone),  that  it  does  thus 
speak  to  every  age ;  that,  through  the  utmost  change 
of  circumstances,  it  is  found  to  penetrate  with 
unchanged  precision  the  hidden  folds  and  depths 
of  human  character ;  that  it  can  be  at  once  universal 
and  intimate  in  its  sympathy.  It  is  a  sign  of  true 
greatness  in  a  man  if  he  can  more  freely  than  most 
men  transcend  even  the  pettier  external  differences  of 
this  world ;  but  to  be  unchecked  by  the  revolutions 
of  centuries,  and  the  severing  barriers  of  continents 
and  races,  unchecked  in  piercing  to  the  deepest 
elements  of  each  man's  being,  unchecked  in  knowing 
him,  with  all  his  grandeur  and  his  meanness,  his 
duplicity  and  folly,  his  restlessness  and  fear  and 
faint-heartedness  and  aspiration, — it  is  hard  to  think 


4  INTRO D  UCTOR  V  ESS  A  Y. 

to  whom  this  freedom  could  belong,  save  to  the  King 
of  the  ages,  the  Creator  and  the  Judge  of  all  men. 
Surely  any  one  who  realizes  how  the  life  of  Jesus 
Christ,  told  in  the  four  Gospels,  has  found  and 
formed  the  saints  of  every  generation,  and  what  the 
Psalms  have  been  to  them,  may  feel  fairly  confident 
of  this  to  start  with  —  that  in  human  life  the 
recurrent  rhythms  of  spiritual  experience  are  pro 
found  and  subtle,  and  that  the  Bible  comes  to  us 
from  One  Who,  with  unerring  and  universal  insight, 
knows  what  is  in  man.1 

This  constancy  and  freshness  of  the  Bible's  power 
for  the  discipline  of  character  is  the  central  and 
decisive  witness  to  the  substantial  constancy  of  our 
needs  and  dangers,  our  difficulties  and  capacities; 
for  in  every  age  he  who  bends  over  the  Bible  and 
peers  into  its  depths,2  may  feel  at  times  almost  as 
though  his  own  life  must  have  been  in  some  strange 
way  lived  before,  when  the  words  that  speak  to  him 
so  intimately  were  written  down.  But  elsewhere 
also,  as  one  would  expect,  one  comes  on  hints  and 
fragments  in  which  the  same  deep  constancy  is 
betrayed,  and  that  which  seemed  most  closely 

1  Cf.  W.  Bright,  "  Lessons  from  the  Lives  of  Three  Great  Fathers," 
Appendix  iii.,  and  the  Bishop  of  Derry's  "Bampton  Lectures,"  Lectures 
iy.  and  viii.  Cf.  also  Archbishop  Trench's  Hulsean  Lectures  for  1845, 
on  "  The  Fitness  of  Holy  Scripture  for  unfolding  the  Spiritual  Life  of 
Men."  •  Cf.  St.  Jameai.  25. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  5 

characteristic  of  one's  self  is  found  to  have  been 
no  less  vivid  and  intimate  in  the  experience  of  men 
severed  from  those  of  the  present  day  by  the 
uttermost  unlikeness  in  all  the  conditions  of  their 
life.  We  may  be  somewhat  surprised  when  we 
discover  how  precisely  Pascal,  or  Shakespeare,  or 
Montaigne  can  put  his  finger  on  our  weak  point, 
or  tell  us  the  truth  about  some  moral  lameness  or 
disorder  of  which  we,  perhaps,  were  beginning  to 
accept  a  more  lenient  and  comfortable  diagnosis. 
But  when  a  poet,  controversialist  and  preacher  of  the 
Eastern  Church,  under  the  dominion  of  the  Saracens, 
or  an  anchoret  of  Egypt,  an  Abbot  of  Gaul,  in  the 
sixth  century,  tells  us,  in  the  midst  of  our  letters, 
and  railway  journeys,  and  magazines,  and  movements, 
exactly  what  it  is  that  on  some  days  makes  us  so 
singularly  unpleasant  to  ourselves  and  to  others — tells 
us  in  effect  that  it  is  not  simply  the  east  wind,  or 
dyspepsia,  or  overwork,  or  the  contrariness  of  things 
in  general,  but  that  it  is  a  certain  subtle  and  complex 
trouble  of  our  own  hearts,  which  we  perhaps  have 
never  had  the  patience  or  the  frankness  to  see  as  it 
really  is;  that  he  knew  it  quite  well,  only  too  well 
for  his  own  happiness  and  peace,  and  that  he  can 
put  us  in  a  good  way  of  dealing  with  it — the  very 
strangeness  of  the  intrusion  from  such  a  quarter 


6  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

into  our  most  private  affairs  may  secure  for  him  a 
certain  degree  of  our  interest  and  attention. 

There  may  be  those  who  will  be  drawn  by  some 
such  interest  to  weigh  what  has  been  said  at  various 
times  about  the  temptation  and  the  sin  with  which 
the  first  sermon  in  this  volume  is  concerned — the 
temptation  and  the  sin  of  accidie.  The  present  writer 
was  some  years  ago  brought  to  think  a  little  about 
the  subject  by  a  striking  and  suggestive  passage  in 
the  fifth  chapter  of  Maria  Francesca  Rossetti's 
"  Shadow  of  Dante,"  and  by  the  vivid  words  quoted 
from  Chaucer  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  note  on  the  hundred 
and  twenty-third  line  of  the  seventh  canto  of  the 
"  Inferno."  The  reference  to  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  in 
the  "  Shadow  of  Dante "  led  on  to  Cassian ;  and  the 
Benedictine  Commentary  on  Cassian  pointed  to  some 
others  who  had  added  more  or  less  to  the  recognition 
of  this  "enemie  to  every  estate  of  man,"  this  deep 
and  complex  peril  of  men's  strength  and  happiness. 
It  may  be  shown  that  there  are  not  wanting,  in  the  life 
and  literature  of  the  present  day,  signs  of  the  persis 
tence  and  reality  of  that  peril ;  and  it  will  perhaps  be 
worth  while  to  gather  together  in  this  essay  some  of 
those  passages  in  which,  under  widely  diverse  circum 
stances,  and  in  generations  many  centuries  apart, 
men  have  spoken  what  may  always  seem  home- 


INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y.  1 

truths  about  the  sin  of  accidie.  No  pretence  can 
be  made  to  a  thorough  treatment  of  the  subject,  nor 
to  the  learning  which  such  a  treatment  would 
require;  but  a  few  representative  witnesses  may  be 
gathered  out  of  four  distinct  groups  of  writers,  and 
these  may  be  enough  to  show  how  steadily  the 
plague  has  hung  and  hangs  about  the  lives  of  men, 
while  they  may  perhaps  help  some  of  us  to  see  it  as 
it  is,  and  to  deal  with  it  as  we  ought. 

I.  Cassian,  whose  long  life  nearly  covers  the  latter 
half  of  the  fourth  century  and  the  former  half  of  the 
fifth,  may  be  placed  first  in  the  first  group  of  those 
who  have  written  concerning  aiojS/a,  acedia,  or  ac 
cidie.1  Trained  during  his  early  years  in  a  monastery 
at  Bethlehem,  he  had  spent  a  long  time  among  the 
hermits  of  the  Thebaid,  before  he  turned  to  his  great 
work  of  planting  in  the  far  West  the  monasticism 
of  the  East,  founding  his  two  communities  at  Mar 
seilles,  and  writing  his  twelve  books,  "De  Coeno- 
biorum  Institutes,"  2  and  his  "Collationes  Patrum  in 

1  Concerning  the  orthography  of  the  Greek  word  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  The  Latin  form  here  given  is  that  employed,  e.g.,  by  Cassian 
and  by  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  and  justly  defended  by  the  Benedictine 
Commentator  on  Cassian  :  in  Cic.  ad  Att.  xii.  45  the  Greek  word  is 
used.  The  English  form,  while,  in  common  with  the  Italian,  it  con 
ceals  the  derivation  of  the  word,  has  the  decisive  sanction  of  Dr. 
Murray's  Dictionary,  q.v. ;  cf.  also  Ducange,  t.v. 

»  Entitled  by  some,  "  De  Institutis  Renuntiantium."     On  the  life 


8  :NTROD  UCTOR  v  ESS  A  r. 

Scythica  Eremo  Commorantium."  The  tenth  book  of 
the  former  work  is  entitled  "  De  Spiritu  Acediae ; " 
and  in  the  first  chapter  of  that  book  he  gives  a  pro 
visional  and  somewhat  scanty  indication  of  its  sub 
ject.  "  Acedia  "  may  be  called  a  weariness  or  distress 
of  heart ;  it  is  akin  to  sadness ;  the  homeless  and 
solitary  hermits,  those  who  live  in  the  desert,  are 
especially  assailed  by  it,  and  monks  find  it  most 
troublesome  about  twelve  o'clock:  so  that  some  of 
the  aged  have  held  it  to  be  "the  sickness  that  de- 
stroyeth  in  the  noonday,"  the  "daemonium  meridia- 
num"  of  the  ninety-first  psalm.  But  the  most  striking 
part  of  all  that  Cassian  has  to  say  about  accidie  is  the 
description  in  the  second  chapter  of  a  monk  who  is 
suffering  from  a  bad  attack  of  the  malady.  When 
the  poor  fellow  is  beset  by  it,  he  says,  it  makes  him 
detest  the  place  where  he  is,  and  loathe  his  cell ;  and 
he  has  a  poor  and  scornful  opinion  of  his  brethren, 
near  and  far,  and  thinks  that  they  are  neglectful  and 
unspiritual.  It  makes  him  sluggish  and  inert  for 
every  task ;  he  cannot  sit  still,  nor  give  his  mind  to 
reading ;  he  thinks  despondently  how  little  progress 
he  has  made  where  he  is,  how  little  good  he  gains  or 

of  Casaian,  cf.  P.  Freeman,  "  Principles  of  Divine  Service,"  vol.  i.  pp. 
249-253,  and  I.  Gregory  Smith's  article  in  the  "  Dictionary  of  Chris 
tian  Biography."  There  is  a  very  elaborate  account  >f  his  work,  pub 
lished  at  Lyons  in  1652,  by  J.  B.  Quesnay,  S.J. 


1NTRODUCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y. 

does, — he,  who  might  so  well  direct  and  help  others 
and  who,  where  he  is,  has  nobody  to  teach  and 
nobody  to  edify.  He  dwells  much  on  the  excellence 
of  other  and  distant  monasteries ;  he  thinks  how  pro 
fitable  and  healthy  life  is  there ;  how  delightful  the 
brethren  are,  and  how  spiritually  they  talk.  On 
the  contrary,  where  he  is,  all  seems  harsh  and 
untoward;  there  is  no  refreshment  for  his  soul  to 
be  got  from  his  brethren,  and  none  for  his  body  from 
the  thankless  land.  At  last  he  thinks  he  really 
cannot  be  saved  if  he  stops  where  he  is;  and  then, 
about  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock,  he  feels  as  tired  as  if 
he  had  walked  miles,  and  as  hungry  as  if  he  had 
fasted  for  two  or  three  days.  He  goes  out  and  looks 
this  way  and  that,  and  sighs  to  think  that  there  is  no 
one  coming  to  visit  him ;  he  saunters  to  and  fro,  and 
wonders  why  the  sun  is  setting  so  slowly ;  and  so, 
with  his  mind  full  of  stupid  bewilderment  and 
shameful  gloom,  he  grows  slack  and  void  of  all 
spiritual  energy,  and  thinks  that  nothing  will  do 
him  any  good  save  to  go  and  call  on  somebody,  or 
else  to  betake  himself  to  the  solace  of  sleep.  Where 
upon  his  malady  suggests  to  him  that  there  are 
certain  persons  whom  he  clearly  ought  to  visit, 
certain  kind  inquiries  that  he  ought  to  make,  a  re 
ligious  lady  upon  whom  he  ought  to  call,  and  to 


10  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

whom  he  may  be  able  to  render  some  service ;  and 
that  it  will  be  far  better  to  do  this  than  to  sit  profit 
less  in  his  cell. 

In  two  later  chapters  Cassian  traces  some  of  the 
results  which  follow  from  the  lax  and  desultory  dis 
sipation  of  the  inner  life  that  is  thus  allowed.  But 
the  main  part  of  the  book  is  taken  up  with  the 
praises  of  hard  work,  as  the  true  safeguard  against 
accidie ;  especial  stress  being  laid  on  the  counsel  and 
example  of  St.  Paul  in  this  regard  ;  and  mention 
being  made  of  a  certain  abbot  who,  to  keep  himself 
busy  and  steady  his  thoughts  and  drive  off  this 
temptation,  toiled  all  through  the  year,  and  every 
year  burnt  all  the  produce  of  his  labour ;  the  excuse 
for  this  economic  enormity  lying  in  the  fact  that  he 
lived  so  far  from  a  town,  that  the  carriage  of  the 
produce  would  have  cost  more  than  its  market  price. 

Much,  however,  which  other  writers  link  with 
accidie  is  assigned  by  Cassian  to  sadness,  of  which 
he  speaks  in  the  preceding  book,  "  De  Spiritu 
Tristitize."  The  severance  of  sadness  from  accidie 
is  deliberately  censured  by  St.  Thomas  Aquinas ;  and 
certainly  the  sullen  gloom  which  Cassian  describes 
in  this  ninth  book  forms  a  congenial  and  integral 
part  in  the  complex  trouble  which  accidie  generally 
denotes,  while  it  is  clearly  present  in  that  picture 


INTRODUCTOR  Y  ESSA  Y.  11 

of  the  "accidious"  monk  which  has  just  been  cited 
from  Cassian  himself.  Thus  we  may  fairly  perhaps 
complete,  from  the  delineation  of  "Tristitia,"  the 
conception  of  "Acedia."  For  the  sadness  of  which 
Cassian  speaks  is  the  gloom  of  those  who  ought  not 
to  be  sad,  who  wilfully  allow  a  morbid  sombreness 
to  settle  down  on  them ;  it  is  a  mood  which  severs 
a  man  from  thoughts  of  God,  "and  suffers  him  not 
to  be  calm  and  kindly  to  his  brethren."  "  Sometimes, 
without  any  provoking  cause,1  we  are  suddenly 
depressed  by  so  great  sorrowfulness,  that  we 
cannot  greet  with  wonted  courtesy  the  coming  even 
of  those  who  are  dear  and  near  to  us,  and  all  they 
say  in  conversation,  however  appropriate  it  may  be, 
we  think  annoying  and  unnecessary,2  and  have  no 
pleasant  answer  for  it,  because  the  gall  of  bitterness 
fills  all  the  recesses  of  our  soul."  Those  who  are 
sad  after  this  fashion  have,  as  St.  Gregory  says, 
anger  already  close  to  them;  for  from  sadness  such 
as  this  come  forth  (as  he  says  in  another  place) 
malice,  grudging,  faint-heartedness,  despair,  torpor 
as  to  that  which  is  commanded,  and  the  straying  of 
the  mind  after  that  which  is  forbidden.8 


1  Of.  "Collationes  Patrum,"  Collatio  V.,  cap.  ix. 
»  Cf.  F.  W.  Faber,  "  Growth  in  Holiness,"  p.  244. 
1  S.  Gregorii,  "  Keg.  Past.,"  III.  hi. ;  '•  Moralium,"  liber  xxxi 


12  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

The  KXfyia£,  or  Scala  Paradisi,  from  which  St.  John 
of  the  Ladder  takes  his  distinctive  title,  rests  on  the 
experience  of  some  sixty  years  spent  in  the  ascetic 
life.  It  was  composed  after  the  writer  had  been 
called  from  his  solitude  as  an  anchoret,  to  become 
Abbot  of  the  Monastery  of  Mount  Sinai,  at  the  age 
of  seventy-five.  He  speaks  of  a/crjSm  with  striking 
force  and  vividness;  it  is  one  of  the  offshoots  of 
talkativeness — a  slackness  of  the  soul  and  remissness 
of  the  mind,  a  contempt  of  holy  exercise,  a  hatred  of 
one's  profession;  it  extols  the  blessedness  of  a 
worldly  life,  and  speaks  against  God  as  merciless 
and  unloving;  it  makes  singing  languid,  prayer 
feeble,  service  stubborn.  So  peculiarly  does  it  tell 
upon  the  voice,  that  when  there  is  no  psalmody,  it 
may  remain  unnoticed;  but  when  the  psalms  are 
being  sung,  it  causes  its  victim  to  interrupt  the  verse 
with  an  untimely  yawn. — Then  ajcrjSfa  is  personified. 
She  sees  the  cell  of  the  anchoret  and  laughs  to 
herself,  and  goes  and  settles  down  close  by  him. 
She  suggests  all  sorts  of  good  reasons  why  he  well 
may  leave  his  prayers  and  gad  about.  She  recalls  to 
him  the  words  of  Scripture  as  to  the  Christian  duty 
of  visiting  the  sick;  and  in  the  middle  of  his 

§§  87-89.      Cf.  S.  Isidorus  Hispalensis,  "  Quaestiones  in  V.  T.,"  in 
Deuteronomium,  xvi. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  13 

devotions  she  reminds  him  of  urgent  business  to  be 
done  elsewhere.  Lastly,  in  a  fine  and  instructive 
passage,  the  voice  of  accidie  is  heard,  acknowledging 
what  forces  are  her  allies  and  her  enemies.  "They 
who  summon  me  are  many;  sometimes  it  is  dulness 
and  senselessness  of  soul  that  bids  me  come,  some 
times  it  is  forgetfulness  of  things  above;  ay,  and 
there  are  times  when  it  is  the  excess  of  toil.  My 
adversaries  are  the  singing  of  psalms  and  the  labour 
of  the  hands ;  the  thought  of  death  is  my  enemy,  but 
that  which  kills  me  outright  is  prayer,  with  the  sure 
hope  of  glory."  l 

It  seems  strange  at  first,  but  true  to  facts  when  one 
begins  to  think,  that  accidie  should  be  thus  linked 
both  with  talkativeness  and  with  that  deadness  and 
dulness  of  the  voice  which  seems  to  be  indicated 
by  drovia  ^aAjuwSme.  Similarly  St.  Isidore  of  Seville a 
puts  gossiping  and  curiosity  together  with  listlessness 
and  somnolence  among  the  troubles  born  of  accidie ; 
and  St.  John  of  Damascus  defines  axoc  (which  the 
commentators  seem  to  identify  with  accidie)  as  a 
grief  which  engenders  voicelessness.3  The  comment 

1  S.  Joannes  Clirnacus,  "  Scala  Paradisi,"  xiii. ;  cf.  xxvii.  2. 

2  S.  Isidorua  Hispalensis,  "  Quaestiones  in  V.  T.,"  in  Dent.  cap. 
xvi. 

»  S.   Joannes  Damaso.,   "De  Orth.    Fid.,"   ii.    14,  \bry 
v.  ed.  Basil.,  1548 


14  INTRODUCTORY  £SSA}. 

appended  to  these  words  directly  applies  the  defini 
tion  to  the  sin  of  accidie,  which  is  "a  sorrowful 
ness  so  weighing  down  the  mind  that  there  is  no 
good  it  likes  to  do.  It  has  attached  to  it  as  its 
inseparable  comrade  a  distress  and  weariness  of  soul, 
and  a  sluggishness  in  all  good  works,  which  plunges 
the  whole  man  into  lazy  languor,  and  works  in  him 
a  constant  bitterness.  And  out  of  this  vehement  woe 
springs  silence  and  a  flagging  of  the  voice,  because 
the  soul  is  so  absorbed  and  taken  up  with  its  own 
indolent  dejection,  that  it  has  no  energy  for  utter 
ance,  but  is  cramped  and  hampered  and  imprisoned 
in  its  own  confused  bewilderment,  and  has  not  a 
word  to  say." 

II.  Concerning  the  witness  of  two  mediaeval 
teachers,  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  and  Dante,  something 
has  been  said  in  the  course  of  the  first  sermon  in  this 
volume;  and  the  writer  has  no  hope  of  speaking  at 
all  worthily  about  those  profound,  majestic  ways  of 
thought  in  which  they,  with  their  great  companions 
and  disciples,  move.  He  would  only  try  to  suggest 
for  inquiry  or  consideration  three  points  which  seem 
especially  needed  to  supplement  what  he  was  trying  to 
convey  in  the  sermon. 

(a)  The  first  is  the  affinity  which  St.  Thomas  marks 
between  accidie  and  envy.  Both  alike  are  forms 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  15 

of  sinful  gloom,  antagonists  to  that  joy  which 
stands  second  in  the  bright  list  of  the  effects  of 
Caritas.  But  the  joy  that  comes  of  Caritas  is 
twofold :  there  is  the  joy  that  is  found  in  God,  the 
quiet  exultation  of  the  soul  that  knows  His  goodness 
and  His  love,  the  joy  of  loving  Him  ;  and  there  is  also 
the  joy  which  concerns  one's  neighbour's  good,  the 
gladness  of  the  soul  that  feels  a  brother's  welfare  or 
happiness  exactly  as  its  own,  and  freely,  simply 
yields  to  the  delight  of  seeing  others  rightly  glad. 
Neither,  it  may  be,  can  perfectly  be  realized  in  this 
life ;  but  neither  is  unknown — that  is  begun  in  "  the 
way,"  which  is  to  be  made  perfect  in  "  the  country."  l 
And  over  against  these  two  fair  gifts  of  pure  and 
self-forgetful  joy  there  stand,  in  hard  and  awful 
contrast,  the  two  unlovely  sorts  of  sinful  gloom : a 
the  gloom  of  accidie,  which  is  "tristitia  de  bono 
divino" — a  sorrowful  despondency,  or  listlessness 
concerning  the  good  things  which  God  hath  prepared 
for  them  that  love  Him  ;  and  the  gloom  of  envy, 
which  is  "  tristitia  de  bono  proximi " — the  gloom  of 
him 

u  Who  so  much  fears  the  loss  of  power, 
Fame,  favour,  glory  (should  his  fellow  mount 

1  Of.  S.  Th.  2dft  2<la%  xxviii.  3. 

•  Cf.  S.  Th.  2J*  2J<%  xxviii.,  xxxv.  (ad  tn»7.),  xxxvL 


16  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

Above  liim),  and  so  sickens  at  the  thought, 
He  loves  their  opposite :  "  l 

the  gloom  of  the  soul  that  sullenly  broods  over  the 
prosperity  of  others  till  their  success  seems,  to  its 
sick  fancy,  like  a  positive  wrong  against  itself.  Thus 
envy  may  stand  side  by  side  with  accidie ;  and  in 
both  we  see  that  sorrow  of  the  world,  that  heavy, 
wilful,  wasteful  sadness,  which  is  as  alien  from  the 
divinely  quickened  sorrow  of  repentance  as  it  is  from 
the  divinely  quickened  joy  of  love. 

(6)  In  the  second  place,  there  seems  to  be  reality  and 
justice,  as  well  as  comfort,  in  the  distinction  which 
St.  Thomas  draws  in  answering  the  question  whethei 
accidie  is  a  deadly  sin: — the  distinction  between  its 
complete  and  incomplete  development.  Fully  formed, 
discerned  and  recognized  by  the  reason,  and  deepened 
by  its  assent,  it  is  a  deadly  sin,  driving  from  the 
heart  the  characteristic  joy  of  the  spiritual  life,  and 
setting  itself  in  irreconcilable  antagonism  to  that 
love  which  is  inseparably  linked  with  the  Divine  in 
dwelling.  "The  fruit  of  the  Spirit  is  love,  joy, 
peace ; "  and  these  cannot  live  in  the  heart  that 
deliberately  yields  itself  up  to  a  despondent  renun 
ciation  of  all  care  and  hope  and  effort  concerning  its 

1  Dante,  "  Purgatorio,"  xvii.  118-120  (Cary's  translation).  Cf.  Ar. 
Rhet,  ii.  x.  1,  with  Mr.  Cope's  note. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  17 

true  calling  and  its  highest  good.  But  there  is  also 
a  venial  sort  of  accidie:  a  reluctance  that  is  not 
deliberate,  nor  confirmed  and  hardened  by  a  wilful 
choice;  a  sloth  engendered  by  the  persistent  hang 
ing  back  of  a  man's  lower  nature,  which  only  a 
continuous  exertion  will  keep  up  to  the  level  or 
ambition  of  the  higher  life.1 — It  is  with  a  curious 
answer  that  St.  Thomas  meets  the  contention  that 
accidie  can  never  be  a  deadly  sin  because  it  violates 
no  precept  of  the  Law  of  God.  It  violates,  he 
replies,  the  commandment  concerning  the  hallowing 
of  the  seventh  day :  for  the  moral  import  of  that 
commandment  is  to  bid  us  rest  in  the  Lord;  and 
gloominess  concerning  the  good  which  is  of  God  is 
contrary  to  that  rest.2 

(c)  The  different  aspect  of  the  sin  of  accidie  in  the 
"Inferno,"  where  it  has  plunged  on  into  the  very 
depths  of  sullenness  and  gloom  and  wrath,  and  in  the 
"  Purgatorio,"  where  only  thoughts  of  sloth  and  of 
lukewarmness  are  prominent,  is  remarkable  ;  and  the 
contrast  seems  to  find  its  explanation  in  that  view 
of  the  various  stages  towards  the  finishing8  of  the 

1  Of.  A.  Lehmkulil,  •«  Tlieologia  Moralis,"  vol.  i.  §  740. 

*  S.  Th.  2da  2dae,  xxxv.  3,  ad  primum.    Cf.  also,  as  bearing  on  St. 
Thomas'  conception  of  acedia,  S.  Th.  lma,  Ixiii.  2,  ad  secundum ;  2d« 
2da«,  clviii.  5;  and  "  Qnoestiones  de  Malo,"  Qu.  xi. 

*  St.  James  i.  15. 


18  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

sin  which  is  presented  by  St.  Thomas.  Dante's 
teaching  as  to  its  beginning  is  given  towards  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  canto ;  and  it  is  very  clearly 
brought  out  by  Mr.  Vernon  in  his  "  Readings  in  the 
Purgatorio."  "Virgil  begins  to  discourse  at  con 
siderable  length  on  the  origin  and  cause  from  which 
the  seven  principal  sins  are  derived,  and  he  says  that 
love  is  the  cause  of  all."  "  He  apparently  means 
that  pride,  envy,  and  anger  arise  from  the  love  of 
evil  against  one's  neighbour ;  accidia,  or  sloth,  from 
a  tardy  desire  of  discerning  and  acquiring  the  true 
good.  The  three  remaining  sins,  avarice,  gluttony, 
and  self-indulgence,  spring  from  an  excessive  love 
or  desire  of  what  is  not  the  true  good."  Similarly 
Mr.  Vernon  quotes  Benvenuto  as  saying  that  "  accidia 
is  a  defective  love  of  the  highest  good,  which  we 
ought  to  seek  for  ardently.  It  is,  therefore,  a  kind 
of  negligence,  a  tepid  lukewarm  condition,  and  as  it 
were  a  contempt  for  acquiring  the  desirable  amount 
of  goodness."1  And  so  the  last  two  instances  of 
accidie,  which  are  brought  before  us  in  the  eighteenth 
canto,  are  instances  in  which  a  great  vocation  was 
dismally  forfeited  through  faint  heartedness,  through 
lack  of  faith  and  courage.  For  accidie  was  a  part, 

1  W.  W.  Vernon,  "  Readings  in  the  Purgatorio  of  Dante,"  i.  455. 
Of.  M.  F.  Rossetti,  "A  Shadow  of  Dante,"  pp.  114,  117. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  19 

at  least,  of  their  sin  who  "  would  not  go  up  "  to  win 
"  that  pleasant  land,"  but  "  murmured  in  their  tents ; " 
to  whom  God  sware  "  that  they  should  not  enter  into 
His  rest,"  "because  of  unbelief;"  and  of  their  sin,  too, 
who  forewent  the  glory  of  "  a  share  in  founding  the 
great  Roman  Empire,"  the  degenerate,  slothful  band, 
who  stayed  behind  in  Sicily — 

"Who  dared  not  hazard  lifo  for  future  fame."  * 

The  various  phases  of  restlessness  and  discontent, 
of  sullenness,  and  hardening,  and  resentment,  and 
rebellion,  through  which  the  defective  love  of  good 
passes  into  the  horrid,  dismal  mood,  which  is  shown 
in  the  seventh  canto  of  the  "  Inferno,"  are  described 
by  St.  Thomas  when  he  is  answering  the  question 
whether  accidie  ought  to  be  set  down  as  a  capital 
sin.2  But  they  are  shown,  somewhat  less  syste 
matically,  it  may  be,  yet  with  the  finest  power  and 
vividness,  by  Chaucer,  whose  account  of  accidie,  in 
"The  Persones  Tale,"  may  fitly  stand  with  those 
which  have  been  cited  in  this  second  group.  It 
seems  as  though  nothing  could  be  more  forcible  and 
arresting  than  the  picture  he  has  drawn  of  it;  in 
which  this  especially  is  noteworthy,  that  from  the 
first  he  fastens  on  the  traits  of  irritation  and  ill 

»  Verg.,^En.,  v.  751. 

*  6.  Th.  2d«  2dae,  xxxv.  4,  "  Qurestiones  de  Malo,"  Qu.  xi.  4. 


20  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

temper  as  essentially  characteristic  of  it.  "Bitter- 
nesse  is  mother  of  accidie;"  and  "accidie  is  the  anguish 
of  a  trouble1  herte,"  and  "maketh  a  man  hevy, 
thoughtful,  and  wrawe." 2  Then,  in  four  stages,  the 
great  misery  and  harmf  ulness  of  the  sin  is  shown.  "  It 
doth  wrong  to  Jesu  Crist,  inasmoche  as  it  benimeth 3 
the  service  that  men  shulde  do  to  Crist  with  alle 
diligence;"  to  the  three  estates,  of  innocence,  of 
sinf ulness,  of  grace  alike,  "is  accidie  enemie  and 
contrary,  for  he  loveth  no  besinesse  at  all ; "  it  is  "  eke 
a  ful  gret  enemie  to  the  livelode  of  the  body,  for  it 
ne  hath  no  purveaunce  ayenst  temporal  necessitee ; " 
and  fourthly,  it  "is  like  hem  that  ben  in  the  peine 
of  helle,  because  of  hir  slouthe  and  of  hir  hevinesse." 
That  listless,  joyless,  fruitless,  hopeless,  restless 
indolence,  more  tiring  and  exacting  than  the  hardest 
work,  more  sensitive  in  its  dull  fretfulness  than  any 
state  of  bodily  suffering, — how  apt  and  terrible  a 
forecast  it  presents  of  their  fierce  sullenness  who 
can  come  to  hate  love  itself  for  being  what  it  is! 
The  rest  of  Chaucer's  stern  portrayal  of  "  this  roten 
sinne1  consists  of  a  long  list  of  all  the  vices  that 
follow  in  its  train;  and  a  dismal  crew  they  are. 
"Slouthe,  that  wol  not  suffre  no  hardnesse  ne  no 
penance;"  and  "wanhope,  that  is,  despeir  of  the 
1  i.e.  dark,  gloomy.  *  i.e.  peevish,  angry.  *  i.e.  taketh  away. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  21 

mercy  of  God."  (And  "sothly,  he  that  despeireth 
him  is  like  to  the  coward  champion  recreant,  that 
flieth  withouten  nede.  Alas !  alas !  nedeles  is  he 
recreant,  and  nedeles  despeired.  Certes,  the  mercy 
of  God  is  ever  redy  to  the  penitent  person,  and  is 
above  all  His  werkes.")  "  Than  cometh  sompnolence, 
that  is,  sluggy  slumbring,  which  maketh  a  man  hevy 
and  dull  in  body  and  in  soule;"  "negligence  or 
rechelessness  that  recketh  of  nothing,"  "whether 
he  do  it  well  or  badly ; "  "  idelnesse,  that  is  the  yate * 
of  all  harmes,"  "the  thurrok2  of  all  wicked 
though tes ;  "  "  tarditas,  as  whan  a  man  is  latered, 
or  taryed,  or  he  wol  tourne  to  God  (and  certes,  that 
is  a  gret  folie);"  "lachesse,8  that  is,  he  that  whan 
he  beginneth  any  good  werk,  anon  he  wol  forlete 
it  and  stint ; "  "a  maner  coldnesse,  that  freseth  all 
the  herte  of  man ; "  "  undevotion,  thurgh  which  a 
man  is  so  blont  that  he  may  neyther  rede  ne  sing  in 
holy  Chirche,  ne  travaile  with  his  hondes  in  no  good 
werk ; "  "  than  wexeth  he  sluggish  and  slombry,  and 
sone  wol  he  be  wroth,  and  sone  is  enclined  to  hate 
and  to  envie;"  "than  cometh  the  sinne  of  worldly 
sorwe  swiche  as  is  cleped  tristitia,  that  sleth  a  man, 
as  sayth  Seint  Poule." 

Such  are  the  main  points  in  Chaucer's  wonderful 

1  i.q.  gate,  '  i.q.  the  hold  of  a  ship.  •  Slackness. 


22  INTRO D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  K 

delineation  of  the  subtle,  complex  sin  of  accidie. 
In  strength  of  drawing,  in  grasp  of  purpose,  in 
moral  earnestness,  in  vivid  and  disquieting  pene 
tration,  it  seems  to  the  present  writer  more  remark 
able  and  suggestive  than  any  other  treatment  of  the 
subject  which  he  has  found;  or  equalled  only  by 
the  endless  significance  of  that  brief  passage,  where 
the  everlasting  misery  of  those  who  wilfully  and 
to  the  end  have  yielded  themselves  to  the  mastery  of 
this  sin  is  told  by  Dante  in  the  "  Inferno."  1 

III.  Two  voluminous  writers  concerning  accidie  at 
a  later  date  (one  in  the  seventeenth,  the  other  in  the 
eighteenth  century)  bring  into  prominence  certain 
points  of  interest ;  while,  with  a  great  elaboration  of 
detail,  they  show  some  loss  of  power  and  reality  and 
impressiveness  in  the  general  conception :  the  element 
of  sloth  being  developed  and  emphasized  somewhat  to 
the  overshadowing  of  all  other  traits  and  tendencies. 

The  curious  work  entitled  "Tuba  Sacerdotalis," 
and  published  by  Marchantius  (a  pupil  of  Cornelius 
a  Lapide,  and  a  priest  of  the  Congregation  of  St. 
Charles)  about  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury,  sets  a  high  example  of  consistency  in  the  use 
of  metaphors ;  for  its  closely  printed  folio  pages,  to 
the  number  of  109,  are  steadily  ruled  by  the  one  idea 
1  Cf.  iufra,  Sermon  I.  pp.  51 ,  52. 


INTRO D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y.  23 

of  representing  the  seven  deadly  sins  as  the  seven 
walls  of  Jericho,  and  showing  how  they  are  to  be 
thrown  down  by  the  trumpet  of  the  preacher's  voice. 
In  the  case  of  each  wall,  its  metaphorical  dimensions 
are  carefully  described,  its  height  of  structure  and 
depth  of  foundations,  its  breadth  (with  the  bricks  of 
which  it  is  composed)  and  its  length,  or  circum 
ference.1  Then  appear  the  seven  trumpets  at  whose 
blast  it  is  to  fall;  seven  utterances  from  the  Law, 
the  Sapiential  Books,  the  Prophets,  the  Gospels,  the 
Epistles,  the  conscience  of  man,  the  judgment  of  God ; 
and  then,  with  a  bold  extension  of  the  unbroken 
metaphor,  seven  battering-rams  are  brought  forward, 
in  the  form  of  seven  effective  considerations  for  the 
demolition  of  that  particular  wall.  Lastly,  there  is 
in  regard  to  each  wall  a  spiritual  application  of  the 
curse  pronounced  in  the  Book  of  Joshua  upon  him 
who  should  rebuild  Jericho ; 2  and  a  description  of  the 
corresponding  wall  in  the  sevenfold  circuit  round 
Jerusalem.  It  seems  a  quaint,  cramped  plan  for 
saying  what  one  wants  to  say ;  though  possibly  sorpe 
of  our  literary  methods  may  have  graver  faults.  But 
if  one  finds  it  hard  to  understand  the  mind  to  which 

1  Each  wall  is  also  regarded  as  being  especially  under  the  care  of 
one  evil  spirit ;  the  wall  of  accidie  being,  for  some  reason,  entrusted  to 
Behemoth. 

*  Josh.  vi.  26 ;  1  Kings  xvi.  3*. 


24.  INTRODUCTOR Y  ESSA  Y. 

this  seemed  the  best  scheme  for  an  ethical  treatise,  the 
signs  of  power  and  penetration  and  insight,  and  the 
modern-looking  passages  on  which  one  comes,  are 
surely  thereby  made  the  more  remarkable.  And  as, 
in  the  nine  chapters  of  his  seventh  Tractate,  Mar- 
chantius  describes  in  every  detail  and  dimension  the 
great  wall  of  accidie,  so  high  that  it  shuts  out  the 
light  of  God,  and  hides  from  those  whom  it  encloses 
all  His  love  and  mercy;  so  deeply  founded  that  it 
reaches  right  down  to  despair;1  built  broad  and 
strong,  with  diverse  kinds  of  stones  and  bricks, 
such  as  lukewarmness,  love  of  comfort,  sleepiness, 
leisureliness,  delay,  inconstancy ;  and  drawn  out  to  an 
immense  length  by  the  multitude  of  hands  that  toil  in 
building  it : — as  he  expounds  all  this  with  a  good  deal 
of  care,  learning,  and  shrewdness,  he  says  so  many 
things  worth  thinking  of  that  one  may  almost  forget 
the  pedantic  form  in  which  his  work  is  cast.  Perhaps 
the  finest  passage  is  that  "  De  Septemplici  Ariete 
Murum  Acedias  Evertente,"  where  he  dwells  on  seven 
thoughts  which  ought  to  dislodge  this  sin  from  its 
place  in  a  man's  heart :  the  thought  of  our  Saviour's 
ceaseless,  generous  toil  for  us;  of  the  labours  of  all 
His  servants,  saints,  and  martyrs ;  of  the  unwearied 

1  Cf.  the  very  striking  passage  on  hardness  of  heart,  in  the  fourth 
paragraph  of  the  third  chapter. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  25 

activity  of  all  creation,  from  the  height  where,  about 
the  throne,  the  living  creatures  rest  not  day  and 
night,  down  to  herbs  and  plants  continually  pressing 
on  by  an  instinctive  effort  to  their  proper  growth ; 
the  thought  that  came  home  so  vividly  to  St.  Francis 
Xavier,  of  the  immense  energy  and  enterprise  of  those 
who  seek  the  wealth  of  this  world,  "  in  their  genera 
tion  wiser  than  the  children  of  light ; "  the  thought 
of  the  shortness  of  this  life  and  the  urgency  of  its 
tasks,  because  "there  is  no  work,  nor  device,  nor 
knowledge,  nor  wisdom  in  the  grave;"  the  thought 
of  one's  own  past  sins,  with  the  need  that  they  entail ; 
and  lastly,  the  thought  of  heaven  and  of  hell. 

There  are  some  suggestive  words  in  another  and  a 
less  ambitious  work  by  the  same  author,  his  "  Resolu- 
tiones  Quoestionum  Pastoralium,"  where,  in  dealing 
with  the  question,  "Of  what  sort  is  the  sin  of  accidie? " 
he  indicates  a  distinction  analogous  to  that  drawn 
by  St.  Thomas,  between  its  incomplete  and  complete 
forms,  and  says,  "His  sin  is  deadly  who  is  gloomy 
and  downcast  by  the  deliberate  consent  of  his  will, 
because  he  was  created  for  grace,  for  good  deserts,  for 
glory." l  The  words  may  point,  perhaps,  to  a  reason 
why  the  conception  of  "accidie"  seems  to  belong 

1  Marchantii  Hortus  Pastorum,  etc.,  p.  996  (ed.  1661).  Cf.  also  the 
*  Praxis  Catechistica,"  pp.  1026,  1027. 


26  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

especially  to  Christian  ethics;  why  one  finds  (so  far 
as  the  present  writer  is  aware)  nothing  like  so  full 
and  serious  a  recognition  of  the  temper  it  denotes  in 
Theophrastus,1  for  instance,  or  in  Aristotle.  The  true 
perversity  and  wrong-heartedness  of  gloom  and  sullen 
brooding  could  not  be  realized  until  the  true  joy  for 
which  the  love  of  God  had  made  man  was  disclosed : 
and  the  wickedness  of  a  listless,  cowardly,  despondent 
indolence  might  seem  less  before  men  fully  knew  to 
what  they  were  called  by  God,  and  to  what  height  He 
bade  their  ventures,  efforts,  aspirations,  rise;  before 
they  knew  by  what  means  and  at  what  a  cost  the 
full  power  of  attainment  had  been  brought  within  the 
reach  of  those  who  truly  seek  it.  It  was  the  revela 
tion  of  these  things  in  the  faith  of  Jesus  Christ  that 
gave  distinctness  to  the  great  duty  of  hopefulness  and 
joy,  and  corresponding  clearness  and  seriousness  to 
the  sin  of  accidie. 

"  Exterminium  Acedise  "  is  the  title  of  a  volume  of 
addresses  for  a  retreat  of  three  days*  duration,  pub 
lished  by  Francis  Neumayr,  a  Jesuit,  in  1755.a  One 

1  The  fte^lfMoipos,  or  grumbler,  who  "  represents  the  passive  form 
of  discontent,"  comes-  nearest  to  the  idea  among  the  Characters   of 
Theophraatus ;  but  the  interval  of  difference  is  wide  and  manifold  and 
•significant. 

2  The  writer  is  indebted  to  the  Kev.  R.  W.  Randall  for  the  know 
ledge  of  this  book.    Of.  "  Retreat  Addresses  and  Meditations,"  by 
R.  W.  Randall,  p.  xix. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  27 

finds  here  the  appearance,  at  least,  of  another  sort  of 
artificiality ;  and  it  is  not  easy  to  be  reconciled  to 
the  elaborate  preparation  of  effects  of  sudden  impulse, 
somewhat  like  those  . 

"  In  the  off-hand  discourse 
Which  (all  nature,  no  art) 
The  Dominican  brother,  these  three  weeks, 
Was  getting  by  heart."  1 

But,  in  spite  of  touches  which  may  thus  jar  upon 
one  here  and  there,  the  book  is  certainly  impressive 
and  remarkable;  and  there  is  teaching  in  the  very 
fact  that  the  author  could  choose  this  one  sin  to  be 
the  central  subject  of  meditation  and  self-examina 
tion  throughout  the  exercises  of  the  three  days.  His 
one  text,  as  it  were,  for  all  his  addresses  is  that  bid 
ding  of  our  Lord's  which  most  directly  challenges 
the  desultory,  listless,  nerveless  languor  of  the  "ac- 
cidious:"  "Strive  (contendite)  to  enter  in  at  the 
strait  gate : " 2  and  he  shows  how  accidie  is  "  the  foe 
of  those  three  adverbs  "  which  should  characterize  our 
serving  God — speedily,  seriously,  steadily ;  and  how 
sorrow,  love,  and  fear  should  help  to  drive  it  from 
our  hearts ;  while  he  marks  how  vast  a  multitude  of 
lives  are  ruined  by  the  sin,  and  how  few  people  ever 
speak  of  it,  or  seem  conscious  of  its  gravity.  But  the 

1  R.  Browning,  "  The  Englishman  in  Italy,"  y.  64. 
•  St.  Luke  xiii.  24. 


28  INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y. 

freshest  and  most  interesting  part  of  his  book  is  that 
in  which  he  deals  with  the  excuses  of  those  clergy 
who  "enjoyed  bad  health,"  and  made  some  bodily 
weakness  or  indisposition  the  excuse  for  a  great  deal 
of  accidie.  This  excuse  is  attacked  with  that  sort 
of  downright  and  inconsiderate  good  sense  which 
directed  the  discipline  of  many  English  homes  half 
a  century  ago,  and  which,  while  it  may  often  have 
involved  some  harshness  and  suffering,  yet  surely 
fought  off  from  very  many  lives  the  intractable  misery 
of  imagined  ailments.  Let  us  listen  to  the  relent 
lessly  healthy  Neumayr.  "I  hear  some  one  com 
plaining,  'I  don't  mind  work.  But  what  am  I  to 
do  ?  Again  and  again,  when  I  should  like  to  work, 
I  can't.  I  am  indisposed/1  Now,  this  objection  I 
must  answer  with  care,  because  there  is  scarcely  any 
corner  into  which  accidie  as  it  flees  betakes  itself 
with  greater  security  against  its  pursuers.  I  ask, 
therefore,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  pretext,  '  I  am 
indisposed '  ?  Do  you  mean,  '  I  am  not  able/  or  '  I  do 
not  like '  to  work  ?  If  you  mean  the  former,  then 
this  abnormal  inability  must  be  due  to  a  change  that 
has  taken  place,  either  in  the  solid  or  in  the  liquid 
parts  of  the  body."  These  two  sorts  of  changes  are 

1  "Non  Bum  dispositus."      The  phrase  is,  perhaps,  intentionally 
ambiguous.     Vide  Ducange,  s.r  Indispositus. 


INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y.  29 

discussed  according  to  the  pathology  with  which 
Neumayr  was  acquainted;  any  damage  to  the  solid 
parts  must  be  seriously  and  thoroughly  treated, 
"morboque  vacandum  esse  sana  Ratio  imperat;" — a 
disorder  of  the  liquid  parts  (specified  as  "huinores, 
sanguis,  phlegma,  bilis  ")  may  be  due  to  any  one  of 
many  diverse  causes  ;  and  if  it  does  not  yield  to  change 
of  diet  and  a  good  night's  sleep,  then,  says  Neumayr, 
try  patience :  let  the  love  of  the  Cross  come  in ;  and 
when  the  lower  nature  says,  "  I'm  indisposed,"  let  the 
generous  soul  make  answer,  "Then  you  must  not 
be."1  "Truly,"  he  continues  in  a  later  passage, 
"  truly  the  desire  of  a  long  life  hinders  very  many 
from  a  happy  life :  for  only  by  toiling  can  we  win 
a  happy  life,  and  they  who  love  life  dread  toil,  lest 
they  may  hurt  their  health.  So  do  we  love  to  be 
deceived.  I,  too,  myself  have  hugged  like  maxims : 
'Spare  thyself.  Take  care  of  thy  health/  'My 
strength  is  not  the  strength  of  stones,  nor  is  my 
flesh  like  brass.'  '  A  living  dog  is  better  than  a 
dead  lion.'  Bah  !  who  so  beguiled  me  that  I  did  not 
hear  the  hissing  of  the  serpent  in  such  words  ?  Who 
talks  like  that  save  accidie  itself  ? "  "  My  Saviour,  let 
my  days  be  few,  if  only  they  may  be  well  filled,2  But 

-  "  Exterminium  Acediae,"  pp.  142,  143  (ed.  1758). 

•  *  Fauci  aint  dies  raei,  modo  ploni  eiiit "  (ibid.,  p.  168X 


30  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

art  not  Thou  the  Lord  of  life  ?  I  pray  Thee,  then, 
grant  me  a  long  life ;  but  for  no  other  end  than  this,  that 
I  may  redeem  the  time  which  I  have  lost  by  accidie." 
Yet  one  more  passage  must  be  quoted  from  this 
writer  before  the  witness  of  the  present  day  is  heard 
— a  passage  which  may  be  at  least  suggestive  of  some 
disquieting  thoughts  for  many  of  us.  He  has  been 
speaking  of  that  call  to  strenuous  co-operation  with 
Divine  grace  which  comes  to  us  because  we  are  human 
beings ;  and  then  of  that  especial  challenge  to  a 
vigorous  life,  a  brave  self-mastery,  which  comes  to  men 
in  the  prerogative  dignity  of  their  sex.  And  yet,  are 
men  really  more  brave,  more  strenuous  than  women 
in  self-discipline  and  self-sacrifice?  "Certainly  the 
greater  part  of  our  teachers  favour  the  opinion  that 
there  are  more  women  than  men  in  the  way  of  sal 
vation  ;  and  that  not  so  much  because  many  of  them 
show  more  love  than  men  for  a  secluded  life,  nor 
because  they  have  more  time  for  prayer,  and  are 
kept  apart  from  the  perilous  duties  which  men  have 
to  bear,  but  because  they  do  violence  to  their  own 
wishes  more  than  men  do;  and  that  is  seen  in  the 
manly  chastity  of  virgins,  in  the  patience  of  wives,  in 
the  constancy  of  widows." l 

1  "  Id  quod  satis  docet  virilis  tot  virginum  continentia,  tot  uzorum 
patientia,  tot  viduartira  constantia  "  (ibid.,  p.  210). 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  31 

Without  presuming  to  follow  the  speculation  that 
there  is  in  these  words  as  to  the  hidden  things  of 
God,  we  surely  may  find  something  to  think  about 
in  the  reason  that  is  suggested  for  the  writer's 
venturesome  opinion;  there  is  some  truth  in  that 
thought  concerning  human  life,  and  the  division  of 
its  real  burdens,  which  the  Jesuit  put  before  his 
brethren  in  their  retreat  a  century  and  a  half  ago. 

IV.  Professor  Henry  Sidgwick,  in  his  "  Outlines  of 
the  History  of  Ethics,"  after  saying  that  the  list  of 
the  deadly  sins  "  especially  represents  the  moral  ex 
perience  of  the  monastic  life,"  adds  that  "  in  particular 
the  state  of  moral  lassitude  and  collapse,  of  discontent 
with  self  and  the  world,  which  is  denoted  by  '  Acedia/ 
is  easily  recognizable  as  a  spiritual  disease  peculiarly 
incident  to  the  cloister."1  The  brief  description  of 
the  predominant  elements  in  the  sinful  temper  of 
accidie  is  excellent ;  but  the  apparent  implication  that 
the  noxious  growth  is  indigenous  among  monks,  and 
rarely  found  elsewhere,  seems  disputable,  and,  for 
lack  of  due  qualification,  likely  to  be  misleading.3 

1  H.  Sidgwick,  «  Outlines  of  the  History  of  Ethics,"  iii.  §  5,  ad  fin . 

*  It  is  interesting  to  contrast  Mr.  Ruskin's  emphasis  on  Dante's  juxta 
position  of  Anger  and  Sorrow  in  the  seventh  canto  of  the  "Inferno." 
"There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  more  notable  in  this  most  interesting 
system"  (i.e.  the  system  of  the  seven  circles  into  which  the  nether 
world  is  divided)  "  than  the  profound  truth  couched  under  the  attach- 


32  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

Doubtless  it  is  true  that  a  special  and  very  virulent 
form  of  accidie  was  often  to  be  found  in  monasteries, 
among  "such  as  gave  themselves  to  a  one-sidedly 
contemplative  life,  without  having  the  power  or  the 
calling  for  it,  and  who  were  filled  with  a  disgust  of 
all  things,  even  of  existence,  while  even  the  highest 
religious  thoughts  became  empty  and  meaningless  to 
them."  l  Cassian  and  St.  John  Climacus  show  full 
consciousness  of  this ;  and  one  may  well  believe  that 
in  the  Spanish  cloister,  into  which  Mr.  Browning  got 
so  vivid  and  terrible  a  glimpse,  a  long  indulgence  of 
this  sin  in  its  worst  forms  preceded  that  rancorous 

ment  of  BO  terrible  a  penalty  to  sadness  or  sorrow.  It  is  true  that 
idleness  does  not  elsewhere  appear  in  the  scheme,  and  is  evidently 
intended  to  be  included  in  the  guilt  of  sadness  by  the  word  '  acci- 
dioso ; '  but  the  main  meaning  of  the  poet  is  to  mark  the  duty  of 
rejoicing  in  God,  according  both  to  St.  Paul's  command  and  Isaiah's 
promise,  'Thou  meetest  him  that  rejoiceth  and  worketh  righteous 
ness.'  I  do  not  know  words  that  might  with  more  benefit  be  borne 
with  us,  and  set  in  our  hearts  momentarily  against  the  minor  regrets 
and  rebelliousnesses  of  life,  than  these  simple  ones— 

*  Tristi  fummo 

Nell'  aer  dolce,  che  del  sol  s*  allegro, 
Or  ci  attristiam,  nella  belletta  ne/jra.' 

*  We  once  were  sad, 

In  the  sweet  air,  made  gladsome  by  the  sun ; 
Now  in  these  murky  settlings  are  we  sad.' "  * 
1  H.  Martensen,  "Christian  Ethics  (Individual),"  Eng.  trans.,  p. 
378.     Of.  the  following  page  for  a  careful  qualification  of  that  which 
might  seem  to  be  here  implied. 

*  J.  Ruskin,  "The  Stones  of  Venice,"  ii.  325  (ed.  1886). 


INTROD  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  K.  33 

hate  which  fastened  on  poor  Brother  Lawrence,  in 
his  intolerable  harmlessness  and  love  of  gardening.1 
But  it  would  be  incautious  and,  the  present  writer 
believes,  profoundly  and  perilously  untrue,  if  any  one 
were  to  think  that  the  temptation  and  the  sin  belong 
to  a  bygone  age,  or  need  not  to  be  thought  about  and 
fought  against  in  the  present  day,  even  under  such 
circumstances  as  may  seem  to  have  least  of  the 
cloister  or  of  asceticism  in  them.  It  may  have 
changed  its  habit,  covered  its  tonsure,  and  picked  up 
a  new  language;  but  it  is  the  same  old  sin  which 
centuries  ago  was  wrecking  lives  that  had  been  dedi 
cated  to  solitude  and  to  austerity,  to  prayer  and 
praise ;  the  same  that  Cassian  saw  in  Egypt,  and  St. 
Gregory  in  Rome — that  St.  Thomas  analysed  in  one 
way,  and  Chaucer  in  another;  the  same  as  that  of 
which  Dante  marks  the  sequel  in  those  who  have  and 
in  those  who  have  not  entered  on  the  way  of  penitence. 
Clearly  the  grounds  for  such  an  assertion  as  this 
can  be  but  very  partially  adduced  :  in  large  part  they 
must  be  furnished  to  each  man  by  his  own  experience 
of  life  and  his  own  conscience.2  But  there  are  some 

1  R.  Browning's  "  Poetical  Works,"  vi.  26. 

8  There  is  much  that  is  very  clever  and  suggestive  in  the  chapter 
upon  "  Spiritual  Idleness,"  in  F.  W.  Faber's  "  Growth  in  Holiness." 
But,  to  the  present  writer's  mind,  it  is  a  book  marred  by  many 
blouiahet, 


34  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

fragments  of  more  general  and  external  witness  which 
may  be  here  alleged 

Poetry  may  not  to  the  legal  mind  be  evidence  ;  and 
there  may  not  always  be  a  valid  inference  from  the 
self  -disclosure  of  poets  to  the  character  of  their  age  ; 
there  may,  perhaps,  be  some  who  would  say  that  even 
monks  are  not  more  abnormal  in  their  experience 
than  poets.1  But,  nevertheless,  it  surely  is  a  signifi 
cant  fact  that  so  very  many  of  the  chief  and  most 
characteristic  poets  of  our  age  have  seemed  to  speak 
of  a  temper  very  like  accidie,  as  having  been  at  times 
a  besetting  peril  of  their  work  and  life.  It  is  seen 
in  Wordsworth,  in  the  conflict  and  crisis  of  his  soul, 
after  the  shock  of  the  French  Revolution,  when,  he 

says  — 

"  I  lost 

All  feeling  of  conviction,  and,  in  fine, 
Sick,  wearied  out  with  contrarieties, 
Yielded  up  moral  questions  in  despair. 

This  was  the  crisis  of  that  strong  disease, 
This  the  soul's  last  and  lowest  ebb  ;  I  drooped, 
Deeming  our  blessed  reason  of  least  use 
When  wanted  most."  8 

There  are  passages  in  the  "  Christian  Year  "  8  and  in 


1  Kov<j>ov  7ct/J  XPVP-o-   "xonjT-fis  t<rn  /col  vrfiv'bv  KOI  Ifp6vt  not 

pOV  ol6s  T6  TTOltiv,   TTplv  Uv  fvQfOS  T€  "yej/TJTCtt    KO.I   6K(f>p(DV  Kai   6  VOVS 

eV  avTif  fvfi  (Plat.  Ion.,  534,  B). 

f  "  The  Prelude,"  bk.  xi.    Cf.  Mr.  John  Morley's  Introduction,  pp. 
li,  lii. 

»  Third  Sunday  after  Easter. 


1NTRODUCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y.  35 

the  "  Lyra  Innocentium " l  which  could  hardly  have 
been  written  save  by  one  who  himself  had  felt  the 
power,  at  once  penetrating  and  oppressive,  of  the 
moods  which  are  described ;  but,  in  two  letters  to  Sir 
John  Coleridge,  Keble  takes  away  all  doubt  upon  the 
subject,  and  tells  very  frankly  and  very  touchingly 
the  severity  of  his  struggle  against  "  a  certain  humour 
calling  itself  melancholy ;  but,  I  am  afraid,  more  truly 
entitled  proud  and  fantastic,  which  I  find  very  often 
at  hand,  forbidding  me  to  enjoy  the  good  things,  and 
pursue  the  generous  studies  which  a  kind  Providence 
throws  so  richly  in  my  way ;  .  .  .  a  certain  perverse 
pleasure,  in  which,  perhaps,  you  may  not  conceive 
how  any  man  should  indulge  himself,  of  turning  over 
in  my  thoughts  a  huge  heap  of  blessings,  to  find  one 
or  two  real  or  fancied  evils  (which,  after  all,  are  sure 
to  turn  out  goods)  buried  among  them."  2 — In  all  the 
strangely  manifold  wealth  of  Archbishop  Trench's 
work,  certain  of  his  poems  seem  to  stand  apart  with 
a  distinctive  power  for  the  help  of  many  troubled 
souls ;  and  some  of  us,  it  may  be,  have  to  thank  him 
most  of  all  for  this— that  he  had  the  courage  and  the 

1  iv.  10,  "  111  Temper." 

f  Sir  J.  D.  Coleridge, "  Memoir  of  the  Rev.  J.  Keble,"  pp.  66,  68. 
It  seems  interesting  and  encouraging  to  compare  with  this  self-dis 
closure  the  witness  which  others  bear  to  Mr.  Keble's  "frank,  gay 
humility  of  soul."  Of.  R.  W.  Church, "  The  Oxford  Movement,"  p.  23. 


36  INTROD  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y. 

charity  to  let  men  see  not  only  the  songs  he  wrote 
when  he  had  won  his  victory  over  the  besetting 
gloom,  but  also  those  which  came  out  of  a  time  when 
he  hardly  knew  which  way  the  fight  might  go — a  time 

"  Of  long  and  weary  days, 
Full  of  rebellious  askings,  for  what  end, 
And  by  what  power,  without  our  own  consent, 
Caught  in  this  snare  of  life  we  know  not  how, 
We  were  placed  here,  to  suffer  and  to  sin, 
To  be  in  misery,  and  know  not  why ; M 

a  time  in  which  he  knew 

"  The  dreary  sickness  of  the  soul, 
The  fear  of  all  bright  visions  leaving  us, 
The  sense  of  emptiness,  without  the  sense 
Of  an  abiding  fulness  anywhere ; 
When  all  the  generations  of  mankind, 
With  all  their  purposes,  their  hopes  and  fears, 
Seem  nothing  truer  than  those  wandering  shape* 
Cast  by  a  trick  of  light  upon  a  wall, 
And  nothing  different  from  these,  except 
In  their  capacity  for  suffering." 

"  Our  own  life  seemed  then 
But  as  an  arrow  flying  in  the  dark, 
Without  an  aim,  a  most  unwelcome  gift, 
Which  we  might  not  put  by." l 

Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  in  the  "  Scholar-Gipsy,"  shows 
with  rare,  pathetic  beauty  how  such  miseries  as  these 
are  fastened  into  the  "  strange  disease  of  modern 

1  R.  C.  Trench,  Poems:  "On  leaving  Rome."  Cf.  also  "Ode  to 
Sleep,"  and  "  Despondency  ; "  and  "  Letters  and  Memorials,"  chapters 
iii.  and  vi.  An  Essay  by  Mr.  Gladstone  ("  Gleanings  of  Past  Years," 
rol.  ii.  p.  101)  seems  to  show  that  the  utmost  intensity  of  such  misery 
was  reached  by  Giacomo  Leopard! 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  37 

life;"1  and  Lord  Tennyson,  in  his  fine  and  thoughtful 
poem,  "  The  Two  Voices,"  tells  the  course  of  that  great 
battle  which  so  many  hearts  have  known,  and  the 
strength  of  that  victory  which  all  might  win,  fighting 
against  "  crazy  sorrow,"  against  sullen  thoughts,  until 

"  The  dull  and  bitter  voice  was  gone." 

But  surely  no  poet  of  the  present  day,  and  none  per 
haps  since  Dante,  has  so  truly  told  the  inner  character 
of  accidie,  or  touched  more  skilfully  the  secret  of  its  sin- 
fulness  than  Mr.  Kobert  Louis  Stevenson,  in  the  grace 
ful,  noble  lines  which  he  has  entitled  "  The  Celestial 
Surgeon  " — 

"  If  I  have  faltered  more  or  less 
In  my  great  task  of  happiness ; 
If  I  have  moved  among  my  race 
And  shown  no  glorious  morning  face ; 
If  beams  from  happy  human  eyes 
Have  moved  me  not ;  if  morning  skies, 
Books,  and  my  food,  and  summer  rain 
Knocked  on  my  sullen  heart  in  vain ; — 
Lord,  thy  most  pointed  pleasure  take 
And  stab  my  spirit  broad  awake ; 
Or,  Lord,  if  too  obdurate  I, 
Choose  Thou,  before  that  spirit  die, 
A  piercing  pain,  a  killing  sin, 
And  to  my  dead  heart  run  them  in."  * 

"  Sullen  were  we  in  the  sweet  air,  that  is  gladdened  by 
the  sun,  carrying  lazy  smoke  within  our  hearts ;  now 

1  Of.  also  "  Growing  Old  ; "  a  poem  which  it  is  interesting' to  compare 
with  one  on  "  Latter  Years,"  in  "lona  and  other  Verses,"  by  W.  Bright. 
8  B.  L.  Stevenson,  "  Underwoods,"  No.  xxii. 


88  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

lie  we  sullen  here  in  the  black  mire."1  Surely  the 
fourteenth  and  the  nineteenth  centuries  are  not  very 
far  apart  in  their  understanding  of  the  nature  and 
the  misery  of  accidie.  It  may  have  found  its  way 
very  easily  to  the  cells  of  anchorets  and  monks ;  but 
it  is  not  very  far  from  many  of  us,  in  the  stress  and 
luxury  and  doubt  of  our  day. 

One,  indeed,  there  is,  and  he  the  one  whom  many 
hold  to  be  the  greatest  poet  of  our  day,  who  seerns  to 
show  in  all  his  work  no  personal  knowledge  of  such 
cloudy  moods  as  gather  round  a  man  in  accidie.  In 
reading  what  Mr.  Browning  has  left  us,  there  is  a 
sense  of  security  somewhat  like  that  with  which 
those  who  had  the  happiness  of  knowing  him  always 
looked  forward  to  meeting  him,  to  being  greeted  by 
him ;  a  confident  expectation  of  being  cheered  by  the 
generous  and  hopeful  "  geniality  of  strength." a  It 
has  been  well  said  that  "  in  this  close  of  our  troubled 
century,  the  robust  health  of  Robert  Browning's 
mind  and  body  has  presented  a  singular  and  a  most  en 
couraging  phenomenon." 8  Whatever  may  be  denied  to 
him  or  criticized  in  him,  this  surely  may  be  claimed 
without  misgiving  by  those  who  have  learnt  from  him 

1  Dante,  "  Inferno,"  vii.  121-124. 

»  E.  Goase,  "  Robert  Browning  :  Personalia,"  p.  82. 

»  Id,  ibid.,  p.  91. 


INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y.  39 

and  loved  him — that  he  never  failed  to  make  effort 
seem  worth  while.  To  many  of  our  poets  we  may 
owe  this  debt,  that  they  have  rebuked  despondency 
and  helped  us  to  dispel  it :  Mr.  Browning's  beneficence 
lies  in  this — that  he  shows  us  how  a  thoughtful  man 
may  keep  his  work  untouched  by  it.  It  is,  indeed,  a  high 
standard  of  courage  that  he  sets  before  us  on  the  last 
page  he  gave  us,  in  the  epilogue  to  his  verses,  and  to 
his  life ;  but  it  is  a  standard  by  which  we  need  not 
fear  to  try  his  work ;  for  he  teaches  us  in  truth  as 

«*  One  who  never  turned  his  back  hut  marched  breast  forward, 

Never  doubted  clouds  would  break ; 

Never  dreamed,  though  right  were  worsted,  wrong  would  triumph ; 
Held  we  fall  to  rise,  are  baffled  to  fight  better, 

Sleep  to  wake."  * 

V.  No  words  could  seem  more  apt  than  these  to  carry 
us  forward  to  thoughts  of  that  high  grace  which  stands 
out  foremost  among  the  antagonists  of  accidie;  and  such 
thoughts  may  point  towards  a  further  ground  for 
doubting  whether  some  forms  of  accidie  may  not  even 
be  among  the  peculiar  dangers  of  the  present  day. 

"  Ayenst  this  horrible  sinne  of  accidie,  and  the 
braunches  of  the  same,  ther  is  a  vertue  that  is  called  for- 
titudo  or  strength,  that  is,  an  affection  thurgh  which  a 
man  despiseth  noyous  thinges.  This  vertue  enhaun- 

1  B.  Browning,  «•  Asolando,"  p.  157.  Cf.  "Prospice:"  Poetical 
Works,  vii.  168 ;  and  also  the  last  two  pages  of  an  article  on  "  Robert 
Browning"  in  the  Church  Quarterly  Review  of  July,  1890, 


40  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

seth  and  enforceth  the  soule,  right  as  accidie  abateth 
and  maketh  it  f eble :  for  this  fortitudo  may  endure 
with  long  sufferance  the  travailles  that  ben  covenable." 
"  Certes  this  vertue "  (in  its  first  kind,  which  •'  is 
cleped  magnanimitee,  that  is  to  say  gret  corage ") 
"  maketh  folk  to  undertake  hard  and  grevous  thinges 
by  hir  owen  will,  wisely  and  resonably."  l 

"  A  virtue  that  is  called  strength  " — the  wise  and 
reasonable  undertaking  of  hard  things.  One  sees 
directly  how  the  excellence  of  which  Chaucer  so 
speaks  is  indeed  the  very  contrary  of  that  despondent 
and  complaining  listlessness,  that  self-indulgent,  un 
aspiring  resignation  to  one's  moral  poverty,  which  is 
at  the  heart  of  accidie.  In  accidie  a  man  exaggerates 
the  interval  and  the  difficulties  which  lie  between 
himself  and  high  attainment ;  he  measures  the  weight 
of  all  tasks  by  his  own  disinclination  for  them ;  his 
way  "  is  as  an  hedge  of  thorns,"  and  with  increasing 
readiness  he  says,  "  There  is  a  lion  without ;  I  shall  be 
slain  in  the  streets."  He  teaches  his  circumstances 
to  answer  him  according  to  his  reluctance;  the  real 
hardness  of  that  which  is  noble  seems  in  his  imagi 
nation  nearer  and  nearer  to  impossibility;  with  in 
creasing  shamelessness  he  declines  the  venture  which 

1  Chaucer,  "The  Persones  Tale:   Remedium  Accidias."     Of.  St. 
Thomas  Aquinas,  S.  Th.,  2d»  2*»,  Qu.  oxxiii.,  cxxviii.,  cxxxix.,  cxJ. 


1NTRODUCTOR  Y  ESSA  K  41 

is  an  element  in  most  things  that  are  worth  doing,  and 
a  condition  of  all  spiritual  progress ;  and  so  he  settles 
down  into  a  deepening  despondency  concerning  that 
good  to  which  God  calls  him,  a  refusal  to  aspire,  or  to 
venture,  or  to  toil  towards  a  higher  life.  And  from 
such  despondency  the  more  positive  traits  of  accidie 
are  seldom  very  far  removed ;  resentment,  fretfulness, 
irritation,  anger,  easily  find  access  to  a  heart  that  is  re 
fusing  to  believe  in  the  reasonableness  of  lofty  aims, 
and  lazily  contenting  itself  with  a  low  estimate  of  its 
hopes,  its  powers,  and  its  calling.  Plainly  that  which 
men  are  losing,  that  of  which  they  are  falling  out  of 
sight,  when  they  sink  back  into  this  dangerous  and 
dismal  plight,  is  the  grace,  the  virtue,  the  sense  of  duty 
and  of  shame,  which  should  lead  them  to  the  wise  and 
reasonable  undertaking  of  hard  things.  They  ought  to 
be  steadily  repelling  the  temptation  to  think  any  fresh 
thing  impossible  or  indispensable  to  them.  For  it  is 
a  temptation  which  comes  on  apace  when  once  a  man 
has  begun  to  yield  it  ground ;  it  is  a  temptation 
which  does  more  than  many  which  may  look  uglier 
to  make  life  fruitless  and  expensive  and  unhappy; 
and  it  is  a  temptation  which  finds  useful  allies  among 
the  characteristic  troubles  of  the  present  day.  Surely 
it  is  a  time  of  risk  that  comes  to  many  men,  in  the 
ways  of  modern  life  and  modern  medicine,  when 


42  INTRO D  UCTOR  Y  £SSA  Y. 

the  pressure  of  their  work  or  the  unsteadiness  of 
their  nervous  system  has  begun  to  make  them  watch 
their  own  sensations,  and  look  out  too  attentively  for 
signals  of  fatigue.  It  may  even  be  as  harmful  to 
make  too  much  as  it  is  to  make  too  little  of  such 
signals ;  they  may,  indeed,  be  well  marked  and  heeded, 
as  'warning  us  that  the  undertaking  of  hard  things 
should  be  wisely  and  reasonably  limited ;  but  there 
is  apt  to  be  a  pitiful  loss  of  liberty  and  worth  and 
joy  out  of  any  life  in  which  they  come  to  command 
an  ever-increasing  deference,  encroaching  more  and 
more  upon  the  realm  of  will,  discouraging  a  man  from 
ventures  he  might  safely  make,  and  filching  from 
him  bit  by  bit  that  grace  of  fortitude  which  is  the 
prophylactic  as  well  as  the  antidote  for  accidie.1 

But  there  is  another  way,  more  serious  and  more 
direct,  in  which  the  sin  of  accidie  gathers  power  and 
opportunity  out  of  the  conditions  of  the  present  day. 
The  moral  influence  of  any  form  of  unbelief  which  is 
largely  talked  about,  reaches  far  beyond  the  range  of 

1  "Comparez  la  vie  d'un  homme  asservi  a  telles  imaginations,  a 
celle  d'un  laboureur  se  laissant  aller  aprez  eon  appetit  naturel, 
mesurant  les  choses  au  seul  sentiment  present,  sans  science  et  sans 
prognostique,  qui  n'a  du  mal  quo  lorsqu'il  1'a ;  ou  1'aultre  a  souvent 
la  pierre  en  1'ame  avant  qu'il  1'aytaux  reins;  comme  s'il  n'estoit 
point  assez  a  temps  pour  souffrir  le  mal  lorsqu'il  y  sera,  il  1'anticipe 
par  fantasie,  et  luy  court  au  devant "  ("  Essais  de  Montaigne,"  ii.  12  ; 
vol.  iii.  p.  128,  ed.  1820). 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  43 

its  intellectual  appeal ;  it  is  felt  more  widely  than  it 
is  understood ;  in  many  cases  it  gets  at  the  springs  of 
action  without  passing  through  the  mind.  And  this 
is  likely  to  come  about  with  especial  readiness  when 
the  prevalent  type  of  unbelief  makes  little  demand 
for  precise  knowledge  or  positive  statement,  and 
easily  enters  into  alliance  with  the  general  inclination 
of  human  nature.  The  practical  effect  of  agnosticism 
is  favoured  by  these  advantages,  and  it  mixes  readily 
with  that  pervading  atmosphere  of  life  which  tells 
for  so  much  more  in  the  whole  course  of  things  than 
any  definite  assertion  or  any  formal  argument. 
Hooker  noticed  long  ago  that  trait  of  human  faulti- 
ness  which  is  always  ready  to  befriend  suggestions 
such  as  those  of  agnosticism.  "  The  search  of  know 
ledge  is  a  thing  painful,  and  the  painfulness  of  know 
ledge  is  that  which  maketh  the  will  so  hardly 
inclinable  thereunto.  The  root  hereof,  Divine  male 
diction  ;  whereby  the  instruments  being  weakened 
wherewithal  the  soul  (especially  in  reasoning)  doth 
work,  it  pref erreth  rest  in  ignorance  before  wearisome 
labour  to  know." l  It  is  very  easy  to  translate  into 
the  sphere  of  action  that  renunciation  of  sustained 
and  venturesome  and  exacting  effort  which  in  the 
sphere  of  thought  is  sometimes  called  agnosticism ; 
1  R.  Hooker,  "  Of  the  Lawa  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  I.  vii.  7. 


44  INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y. 

and  so  translated  it  finds  many  tendencies  prepared 
to  help  its  wide  diffusion.  If  "  the  search  of  know 
ledge  is  a  thing  painful,"  the  attainment  of  holiness 
does  not  come  quickly  or  naturally  to  men  as  they 
now  are ;  and  it  is  not  strange  that  while  many  are 
denying  that  it  is  possible  to  know  God,  many  more 
are  renouncing  the  attempt  to  grow  like  Him.  Two 
brilliant  and  thoughtful  writers,1  with  equal  though 
diverse  opportunities  of  studying  some  of  the  most 
stirring  life  of  our  day,  in  Boston  and  in  Birmingham, 
have  marked,  with  impressive  coincidence  of  judgment, 
how  widely  spread  among  us  is  the  doubt  whether 
high  moral  effort  is  worth  while,  or  reasonable.2  "  We 
are  so  occupied  with  watching  the  developments  of 
fatalistic  philosophy  in  its  higher  and  more  scientific 
phases,  that  I  think  we  often  fail  to  see  to  what  an 
extent  and  in  what  unexpected  forms  it  has  found 
its  way  into  the  life  of  men,  and  is  governing 
their  thoughts  about  ordinary  things.  The  notion  of 
fixed  helplessness,  of  the  impossibility  of  any  strong 
power  of  a  man  over  his  own  life,  and,  along  with 
this,  the  mitigation  of  the  thought  of  responsibility 
which,  beginning  with  the  sublime  notion  of  a  man's 

1  Mr.  Phillips  Brooks  and  Dr.  E.  W.  Dale. 

*  Like  witness  is  borne  from  another  quarter  by  M.  Raoul  Allier,  in 
a  book  containing  much  that  is  vigorous  and  suggestive,  "  Les  Defail- 
lances  de  la  Volonte  au  temps  present"  (Paris :  Fischbacher,  1891.) 


INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y.  45 

being  answerable  to  God,  comes  down  to  think  of 
him  only  as  bound  to  do  his  duty  to  society,  then 
descends  to  consider  him  as  only  liable  for  the  harm 
which  he  does  to  himself,  and  so  finally  reaches  the 
absolute  abandonment  of  any  idea  of  judgment  or 
accountability  whatever, — all  this  is  very  much  more 
common  than  we  dream." l  There  is  something  very 
terrible  and  humiliating  in  the  swiftness  with  which 
a  great  deal  of  energy  and  aspiration  is  unstrung  the 
moment  even  a  light  wreath  of  mist  passes  over  the 
aspect  of  the  truths  that  held  it  up.  So  much  less 
time  and  reasoning  and  probability  may  suffice  for 
the  relaxation  of  a  high  demand  than  were  required 
to  enforce  its  recognition.  And  thus  the  thinnest 
rumour  of  negative  teaching  seems  enough  in  some 
cases  to  take  the  heart  out  of  a  man's  struggle  against 
sloth  or  worldliness.  If  a  considerable  number  of 
articles  in  magazines  imply  that  it  is  impossible  to 
know  God,  it  does  not  seem  worth  while  to  get  up 

1  Phillips  Brooks,  "Lectures  on  Preaching,"  p.  222.  Of.  R.  W. 
Dale,  "Nine  Lectures  on  Preaching,"  p.  195:  "The  issue  of  the 
controversy  largely  depends,  for  the  moment,  upon  the  vigour  and 
authority  of  conscience,  and  upon  the  ardour  and  vehemence  of  those 
moral  affections  which  are  the  allies  of  conscience  and  the  strong 
defenders  of  her  throne.  .  .  .  Teach  men  that  it  is  the  prerogative 
of  human  nature  to  force  and  compel  the  most  adverse  circum  stances 
to  give  new  firmness  to  integrity  and  new  fire  to  enthusiasm."  Cf. 
also  p.  241,  for  a  striking  passage  on  the  duty  of  joy 


46  INTRO  D  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y. 

half  an  hour  earlier  in  the  morning  to  seek  Him 
before  the  long  day's  work  begins;  if,  in  various 
quarters  and  on  various  grounds,  the  claims  of  Christ 
are  being  set  aside  or  disregarded,  then,  though  the 
arguments  against  those  claims  may  never  have  been 
carefully  examined,  the  standard  of  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  begins  to  seem  more  than  can  be  expected 
of  a  man ;  and  if  it  is  often  hinted  that  sins  which 
Christianity  absolutely  and  unhesitatingly  condemns 
may  be  condoned  in  an  ethical  system  which  takes 
man  as  it  finds  him,  and  recognizes  all  the  facts  of 
human  nature,  the  resolute  intention  of  the  will  is 
shaken,  and  the  clear,  cherished  purpose  of  a  pure 
and  noble  life  recedes  further  and  further,  till  it 
almost  seems  beyond  the  possibility  of  attainment, 
beyond  the  range  of  reasonable  ambition.  And  so 
there  settles  down  upon  the  soul  a  dire  form  of 
accidie ;  the  dull  refusal  of  the  highest  aspiration  in 
the  moral  life ;  the  acceptance  of  a  view  of  one's  self 
and  of  one's  powers  which  once  would  have  appeared 
intolerably  poor,  unworthy,  and  faint-hearted;  an 
acquiescence  in  discouragement,  which  reaches  the 
utmost  depth  of  sadness  when  it  ceases  to  be  regret 
ful  ;  a  despondency  concerning  that  goodness  to  which 
the  love  of  God  has  called  men,  and  for  which  His 
grace  can  make  them  strong. 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  47 

Surely  it  is  true  that,  amidst  all  the  stir  and 
changefulness  which  makes  our  life  so  vastly  different 
from  that  of  which  Cassian,  for  instance,  wrote, 
there  are  many  whose  alacrity,  endurance,  courage, 
hopefulness  in  pressing  on  towards  goodness,  in 
"laying  hold  on  the  eternal  life,"  is,  insensibly 
perhaps,  relaxed  and  dulled  by  causes  such  as  these ; 
whether  by  the  encroachment  of  imaginary  needs 
upon  the  rightful  territory  of  a  resolute  will,  or  by 
the  suspicion,  hardly  formulated  or  recognized,  it 
may  be,  yet  none  the  less  enfeebling,  that  Christianity 
has  set  the  aim  of  moral  effort  unreasonably  high, 
that  men  have  been  struggling  towards  a  goal  which 
they  were  never  meant  to  think  of,  and  that  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  try  for  such  a  state  of  heart  and  mind 
as  the  Bible  and  the  saints  propose  to  us.  And 
wherever  any  such  renunciation  is  being  made,  there 
is  the  beginning  of  accidie;  for  that  listlessness  or 
despondency  concerning  the  highest  life  has  always 
been  a  distinctive  note  of  it.  It  would  be  cruelly  and 
obviously  unjust  to  link  the  sin  too  closely  with  such 
tendencies  as  have  here  been  indicated  There  are 
very  many  who  go  on  (not  knowing,  it  may  be,  by 
Whose  strength  they  persevere),  bravely  lifting  up  the 
aim  and  effort  of  their  life  high  above  the  reach  of 
doubts  which  yet  they  cannot  dissipate;  there  are 


48  INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY. 

very  many  who,  professing  full  belief  of  all  that  can 
give  worth  and  hope  and  seriousness  to  a  man's  life, 
yet  yield  their  joyless  hearts  to  sloth  or  sullenness, 
as  though  the  love  of  God  had  brought  no  call  to 
strive,  no  strength  for  victory,  no  hope  of  glory 
among  the  trials  of  this  world.  All  that  is  here 
asserted  is  that  there  are  characteristic  troubles  of 
our  age  which  easily  fall  in  with  the  assailing  force 
of  accidie;  that  the  evidence  of  its  persistence  does 
not  lie  wholly  in  individual  experience;  and  that  it 
would  be  unwise  to  think  that  we  may  abate  in  any 
way  our  watchfulness  against  it. 

And  now,  as  ever,  over  against  Accidie  rises  the 
great  grace  of  Fortitude ;  the  grace  that  makes  men 
undertake  hard  things  by  their  own  will  wisely  and 
reasonably.  There  is  something  in  the  very  name  of 
Fortitude  which  speaks  to  the  almost  indelible  love 
of  heroism  in  men's  hearts;  but  perhaps  the  truest 
Fortitude  may  often  be  a  less  heroic,  a  more  tame 
and  business-like  affair  than  we  are  apt  to  think. 
It  may  be  exercised  chiefly  in  doing  very  little 
things,  whose  whole  value  lies  in  this,  that,  if  one 
did  .not  hope  in  God,  one  would  not  do  them;  in 
secretly  dispelling  moods  which  one  would  like  to 
show ;  in  saying  nothing  about  one's  lesser  troubles 
and  vexations;  in  seeing  whether  it  may  not  be 


INTRODUCTORY  ESSAY.  49 

best  to  bear  a  burden  before  one  tries  to  see 
whither  one  can  shift  it;  in  refusing  for  one's  self 
excuses  which  one  would  not  refuse  for  others.  These, 
anyhow,  are  ways  in  which  a  man  may  every  day 
be  strengthening  himself  in  the  discipline  of  Forti 
tude;  and  then,  if  greater  things  are  asked  of  him, 
he  is  not  very  likely  to  draw  back  from  them.  And 
while  he  waits  the  asking  of  these  greater  things, 
he  may  be  gaining  from  the  love  of  God  a  hidden 
strength  and  glory  such  as  he  himself  would  least  of 
all  suspect ;  he  may  be  growing  in  the  patience  and 
perseverance  of  the  saints.  For  most  of  us  the  chief 
temptation  to  lose  heart,  the  chief  demand  upon  our 
strength,  comes  in  the  monotony  of  our  failures,  and 
in  the  tedious  persistence  of  prosaic  difficulties ;  it  is 
the  distance,  not  the  pace,  that  tries  us.  To  go  on 
choosing  what  has  but  a  look  of  being  the  more  ex 
cellent  way,  pushing  on  towards  a  faintly  glimmering 
light,  and  never  doubting  the  supreme  worth  of  good 
ness  even  in  its  least  brilliant  fragments, — this  is  the 
normal  task  of  many  lives ;  in  this  men  show  what 
they  are  like.  And  for  this  we  need  a  quiet  and  sober 
Fortitude,  somewhat  like  that  which  Botticelli  painted, 
and  Mr.  Ruskin  has  described.  Let  us  hear,  by  way 
of  ending  for  this  essay,  his  description  of  her.1 
1  J,  Buskin,  "Mornings  in  Florence,"  iii.  57,  58. 


50  1NTROD  UCTOR  Y  ESS  A  Y. 

"What  is  chiefly  notable  in  her  is — that  you 
would  not,  if  you  had  to  guess  who  she  was,  take 
her  for  Fortitude  at  all  Everybody  else's  Forti 
tudes  announce  themselves  clearly  and  proudly. 
They  have  tower-like  shields  and  lion-like  helmets, 
and  stand  firm  astride  on  their  legs,  and  are  confi 
dently  ready  for  all  comers. 

"  But  Botticelli's  Fortitude  is  no  match,  it  may  be, 
for  any  that  are  coming.  Worn,  somewhat ;  and  not 
a  little  weary,  instead  of  standing  ready  for  all 
comers,  she  is  sitting,  apparently  in  reverie,  her 
fingers  playing  restlessly  and  idly — nay,  I  think, 
even  nervously — about  the  hilt  of  her  sword. 

"  For  her  battle  is  not  to  begin  to-day ;  nor  did  it 
begin  yesterday.  Many  a  morn  and  eve  have  passed 
since  it  began — and  now — is  this  to  be  the  ending 
day  of  it  ?  And  if  this — by  what  manner  of  end  ? 

"That  is  what  Sandro's  Fortitude  is  thinking, 
and  the  playing  fingers  about  the  sword-hilt  would 
fain  let  it  fall,  if  it  might  be ;  and  yet,  how  swiftly 
and  gladly  will  they  close  on  it,  when  the  far-off 
trumpet  blows,  which  she  will  hear  through  all  her 
reverie ! " 


CHRIST  OHUROH, 
Christmas,  189tt 


I. 

THE  SORROW    OF  THE  WORLD.1 

"  The  sorrow  of  the  world  worketh  death." 

2  COB,  vii.  10. 

WHEN  Dante  descends  to  the  Fifth  Circle  of  the 
Inferno,  he  finds  there  a  black  and  loathsome  marsh, 
made  by  the  swarthy  waters  of  the  Stygian  stream 
pouring  down  into  it,  dreary  and  turbid,  through  the 
cleft  which  they  have  worn  out  for  themselves.  And 
there,  in  the  putrid  fen,  he  sees  the  souls  of  those 
whom  anger  has  ruined;  and  they  are  smiting  and 
tearing  and  maiming  one  another  in  ceaseless,  sense 
less  rage.2  But  there  are  others  there,  his  master  tells 
him,  whom  he  cannot  see,  whose  sobs  make  those 
bubbles  that  he  may  mark  ever  rising  to  the  surface 
of  the  pool — others,  plunged  further  into  the  filthy 

1  It  is  hoped  that  this  sermon  differs  widely  enough  from  the 
preceding  essay,  both  in  substance  and  in  treatment,  to  warrant  its 
insertion  here,  in  spite  of  the  recurrence  in  it  of  some  thoughts  already 
touched. 

«  "  Inferno,"  vii.  100-116. 


52        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

swamp.  And  how  do  they  recall  the  sin  that  has  thrust 
them  down  into  that  uttermost  wretchedness  ?  "  Fixed 
in  the  slime,  they  say, '  Gloomy  were  we  in  the  sweet 
air,  that  is  gladdened  by  the  sun,  carrying  sullen, 
lazy  smoke  within  our  hearts;  now  lie  we  gloomy 
here  in  the  black  mire/  This  hymn  they  gurgle 
in  their  throats,  for  they  cannot  speak  it  in  full 
words."  J 

Surely  it  is  a  tremendous  and  relentless  picture  of 
unbroken  sullenness — of  wilful  gloom  that  has  for 
ever  shut  out  light  and  love;  of  that  death  which 
the  sorrow  of  the  world  worketh. 

"The  sorrow  of  the  world."  No  discipline  or 
chastening  of  the  soul;  no  grief  that  looks  towards 
God,  or  gropes  after  His  Presence  in  the  mystery  of 
pain ;  no  anguish  that  even  through  the  darkness — 
aye,  even,  it  may  be,  through  the  passing  storms  of 
bitterness  and  impatience — He  can  use  and  sanctify, 
for  the  deepening  of  character,  the  softening  of 
strength,  the  growth  of  light  and  peace.  No,  none 
of  these ;  but  a  sorrow  that  is  only  of  this  world, 
that  hangs  in  the  low  and  misty  air — a  wilful  sorrow 
that  men  make  or  cherish  for  themselves,  being,  as 
Shakespeare  says,  "  as  sad  as  night  only  for  wanton- 

1  "Inferno,"  vii.  121-126;  vide  Mr.  Carlyle's  translation,  almost 
exactly  followed  here. 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD.        53 

ness." l  This  is,  surely,  the  inner  character  of  "  the 
sorrow  of  the  world."  This  makes  its  essential  con 
trast  with  the  sorrow  that  could  be  Divine;  the 
sorrow  that  Christ  shared  and  knows  and  blesses; 
the  grief  with  which  He  was  acquainted.  This  is 
the  sorrow  that  worketh  death ;  the  sorrow  that  the 
great  poet  of  the  things  unseen  sets  close  by  anger. 
Let  us  try  to  think  about  it  for  a  little  while. 

The  sin  whose  final  issue,  in  those  who  wholly 
yield  their  souls  to  it,  with  utter  hardness  and 
impenitence,  Dante  depicts  in  the  passage  which  I 
have  quoted — the  sin  whose  expiation,  in  those  who 
can  be  cleansed  from  it,  he  describes  in  the  eighteenth 
canto  of  the  "  Purgatorio  "  2 — was  known  in  his  day, 
and  had  been  known  through  many  centuries  of 
human  experience,  by  a  name  in  frequent  use  and 
well  understood.  It  was  ranged,  by  writers  on 
Christian  ethics,  on  the  same  level  with  such  sins 
as  hatred,  envy,  discord ;  with  pride,  anger,  and  vain 
glory  ;  it  would  be  recalled  in  self-examination  by 
any  one  who  was  taking  pains  to  amend  his  life 
and  cleanse  his  heart ;  it  was  known  as  prominent 
and  cruel  among  a  man's  assailants  in  the  spiritual 
combat,  Through  all  the  changeful  course  of  history, 
nothing,  I  suppose,  has  changed  so  little  as  the 

»  «  King  John,"  IV.  i  15.  *  "  Purgatorio,"  xyiii.  91-138. 


54        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

conditions  and  issues  of  that  combat.  And  yet  now 
the  mention  of  this  sin  may  sound  strange,  if  not 
unintelligible,  to  many  of  us ;  so  that  it  seems  at 
first  as  though  it  might  belong  essentially  to  those 
bygone  days  when  men  watched  and  fought  and 
prayed  so  earnestly  against  it;  and  there  is  no  one 
word,  I  think,  which  will  perfectly  express  its  name 
in  modern  English.  But  we  know  that  the  devil 
has  no  shrewder  trick  than  to  sham  dead ;  and  so  I 
venture  to  believe  that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  look 
somewhat  more  closely  at  a  temptation  which  seems 
to  be  now  so  much  less  feared  than  once  it  was. 

I.  The  sin  of  "  acedia,"  or,  according  to  the  some 
what  misleading  form  which  the  word  assumed  in 
English,  "  accidie,"  had,  before  Dante's  time,  received 
many  definitions ;  and  while  they  agree  in  the  main, 
their  differences  in  detail  show  that  the  evil  was 
felt  to  be  subtle  and  complex.  As  one  compares 
the  various  estimates  of  the  sin,  one  can  mark  three 
main  elements  which  help  to  make  it  what  it  is 
— elements  which  can  be  distinguished,  though  in 
experience,  I  think,  they  almost  always  tend  to  meet 
and  mingle ;  they  are  gloom  and  sloth  and  irritation. 
The  first  and  third  of  the  three  seem  foremost  in 
Dante's  thoughts  about  the  doom  of  accidie;  the 
second  comes  to  the  front  when  he  is  thinking  how 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE    WORLD.  55 

the  penitent  may  be  cleansed  from  it  in  the  inter 
mediate  state..  Gloom  and  sloth — a  sullen,  heavy, 
dreary  mist  about  the  heart,  chilling  and  darkening 
it,  till  the  least  thing  may  make  it  fretful  and  angry ; 
— such  was  the  misery  of  the  "  accidiosus."  So 
one  Father  is  quoted  as  defining  the  sin  to  be 
"  fastidium  interni  boni " — "  a  distaste  for  the  soul's 
good ; "  another  calls  it  "  a  languid  dejection  of 
body  and  soul  about  the  praiseworthy  exercise  of 
virtues ; "  and  another,  "  a  sluggishness  of  the  mind 
that  cares  not  to  set  about  good  works,  nor  to  keep 
them  up." *  And  so,  too,  in  later  times,  it  was  said 
to  be  "a  certain  sadness  which  weighs  down  the 
spirit  of  man  in  such  wise  that  there  is  nothing 
that  he  likes  to  do ; "  or  "  a  sadness  of  the  mind 
which  weighs  upon  the  spirit,  so  that  the  person 
conceives  no  will  towards  well-doing,  but  rather  feels 
it  irksome."2  So  Chaucer  also,  "Accidie  or  slouth 
maketh  a  man  hevy,  thoughtful,  and  wrawe.  Envie 
and  ire  make  bitterness  in  heart,  which  bitterness  is 
mother  of  accidie,  and  benimeth  [or  taketh  away] 
the  love  of  all  goodness  :  than  is  accidie  the  anguish 
of  a  trouble  heart.  ...  Of  accidie  cometh  first  that  a 

1  Cf.   Commentator    on    Oassian,    "De    Coenobiorum    Institutis," 
Lib.  z. 
1  Quoted  by  M.  F.  Roseetti,  "  A  Shadow  of  Dante,"  p.  51. 


56        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

man  is  annoyed  and  encumbered  for  to  do  any  good 
ness.  .  .  .  For  accidie  loveth  no  besinesse  at  all."1 
Lastly,  let  me  cite  two  writers  who  speak  more 
fully  of  the  character  and  signs  and  outcome  of  the 
sin. 

The  first  is  Cassian,  who  naturally  has  a  great 
deal  to  say  about  it.  For  all  the  conditions  of  a 
hermit's  life,  the  solitude,  the  sameness,  the  austerity, 
the  brooding  introspection,  in  which  he  lived,  made 
it  likely  and  common  that  this  should  be  his  beset 
ting  sin ;  and  Cassian  had  marked  it  as  such  during 
the  years  he  spent  among  the  solitaries  of  the 
Egyptian  deserts.  In  that  book  of  his  "  Institutes  " 
which  he  devotes  to  it,2  he  defines  it  as  a  weariness 
or  anxiety  of  heart,  a  fierce  and  frequent  foe  to  those 
who  dwell  in  solitude ;  and  elsewhere  he  speaks  of 
it  as  a  sin  that  comes  with  no  external  occasion,  and 
often  and  most  bitterly  harasses  those  who  live  apart 
from  their  fellow-men.  There  is  something  of  humour 
and  something  of  pathos  in  the  vivid  picture  which 
he  draws  of  the  hermit  who  is  yielding  to  accidie: 
how  utterly  all  charm  and  reality  fade  for  him  out 
of  the  life  that  he  has  chosen — the  life  of  ceaseless 
prayer  and  contemplation  of  the  Divine  Beauty ;  how 

1  Quoted  by  Mr.  Carlyle  on  "  Inferno,"  vii.  121-126. 
«  Lib.  x.,  "  De  Spiritu  Acediaj." 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE   WORLD.  57 

he  hates  his  lonely  cell,  and  all  that  he  has  to  do 
there;  how  hard,  disparaging  thoughts  of  others, 
who  live  near  him,  crowd  into  his  mind ;  how  he 
idles  and  grumbles  till  the  dull  gloom  settles  down 
over  heart  and  mind,  and  all  spiritual  energy  dies 
away  in  him.1 

It  is  a  curious  and  truthful-seeming  sketch,  pre 
senting  certain  traits  which,  across  all  the  vast 
diversity  of  circumstance,  may  perhaps  claim  kindred 
with  temptations  such  as  some  of  us  even  now  may 
know. 

But  of  far  deeper  interest,  of  surer  and  wider  value, 
is  the  treatment  of  acedia  by  St.  Thomas  Aquinas. 
The  very  place  which  it  holds  in  the  scheme  of  his 
great  work  reveals  at  once  its  true  character,  the 
secret  of  its  harmfulness,  its  essential  antagonism  to 
the  Christian  life,  and  the  means  of  resisting  and 
conquering  it. — "  The  fruit  of  the  Spirit,"  wrote  St. 
Paul  to  the  Galatians,  "  is  love,  joy,  peace."  And 
so  Aquinas  has  been  speaking  of  love,  joy,  peace, 
and  pity,  as  the  first  effects  upon  the  inner  life  of 
that  caritas  which  is  the  form,  the  root,  the  mother, 
of  all  virtues.2  Caritas,  that  true  friendship  of  man 

1  The  description  is  cited  at  greater  length  in  the  "  Introductory 

ssay." 

*  S.  Th.  2ds  2dae,  xxvii.-xxx. 


58  THE  SORROW  OF  THE   WORLD. 

with  God;  that  all-embracing  gift  which  is  the  fulfil 
ling  of  the  Law ;  that  "  one  inward  principle  of  life," 
as  it  has  been  called,  "  adequate  in  its  fulness  to  meet 
and  embrace  the  range  of  duties  which  externally 
confront  it ; " — caritas,  which  is  in  fact  nothing  else 
but  "  the  energy  and  the  representative  of  the  Spirit 
in  our  hearts," l  expands  and  asserts  itself,  and  makes 
its  power  to  be  known  by  its  fruits  of  love,  joy,  peace, 
and  pity  in  the  character  of  man.  Mark,  then,  how 
joy  springs  out  at  once  as  the  unfailing  token  of  the 
Holy  Spirit's  presence,  the  first  sign  that  He  is  having 
His  Own  way  with  a  man's  heart.  The  joy  of  the 
Lord,  the  joy  that  is  strength,  the  joy  that  no  man 
taketh  from  us,  the  joy  wherewith  we  joy  before  God, 
the  abundant  joy  of  faith  and  hope  and  love  and 
praise, — this  it  is  that  gathers  like  a  radiant,  foster 
ing,  cheering  air  around  the  soul  that  yields  itself 
to  the  grace  of  God,  to  do  His  holy,  loving  Will. — But, 
over  against  that  joy,8  different  as  winter  from  sum 
mer,  as  night  from  day,  aye,  even  as  death  from  life, 
looms  the  dreary,  joyless,  thankless,  fruitless  gloom 
of  sullenness,  the  sour  sorrow  of  the  world,  the  sin  of 
accidie ;  the  wanton,  wilful  self -distressing  that  numbs 
all  love  and  zeal  for  good ;  that  sickly,  morbid  weari- 

1  J.  H.  Newman,  "  Lectures  on  Justification,"  p.  53. 
•  &.  Th.  2£»  2da«,  xxxv. 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD.        59 

ness  in  which  the  soul  abhors  all  manner  of  meat,  and 
is  even  hard  at  death's  door ;  that  woful  lovelessness 
in  which  all  upward  longing  fails  out  of  the  heart 
and  will — the  sin  that  is  opposed  to  the  joy  of  love. 
So  St.  Thomas  speaks  of  accidie,  and  so  he  biings 
it  near,  surely,  to  the  conscience  of  many  men  in 
every  age. 

II.  Yes,  let  us  put  together  in  thought  the  traits 
which  meet  in  the  picture  of  accidie ;  let  us  think  of 
it  in  its  contrast  with  that  brightness  of  spiritual  joy 
which  plays  around  some  lives,  and  makes  the  name 
less,  winning  beauty  of  some  souls — ay,  and  even 
of  some  faces — and  we  may  recognize  it,  perhaps,  as 
a  cloud  that  has  sometimes  lowered  near  our  own 
lives ;  as  a  storm  that  we  have  seen  sweeping  across 
the  sky  and  hiding  the  horizon,  even  though,  it  may 
be,  by  God's  grace  only  the  edge  of  it  reached  to 
us — only  a  few  drops  fell  where  we  were.  Heaviness, 
gloom,  coldness,  sullenness,  distaste  and  desultory 
sloth  in  work  and  prayer,  joylessness  and  thankless- 
ness, — do  we  not  know  something  of  the  threatenings, 
at  least,  of  a  mood  in  which  these  meet  ?  The  mood 
of  days  on  which  it  seems  as  though  we  cannot 
genuinely  laugh,  as  though  we  cannot  get  rid  of  a 
dull  or  acrid  tone  in  our  voice ;  when  it  seems  impos 
sible  frankly  to  "  rejoice  with  them  that  do  rejoice," 


60        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

and  equally  impossible  to  go  freely  out  in  any  true, 
unselfish  sympathy  with  sorrow ;  days  when,  as  one 
has  said,  "everything  that  everybody  does  seems 
inopportune  and  out  of  good  taste ; " l  days  when  the 
things  that  are  true  and  honest,  just  and  pure,  lovely 
and  of  good  report,  seem  to  have  lost  all  loveliness 
and  glow  and  charm  of  hue,  and  look  as  dismal  as  a 
flat  country  in  the  drizzling  mist  of  an  east  wind; 
days  when  we  might  be  cynical  if  we  had  a  little 
more  energy  in  us;  when  all  enthusiasm  and  con 
fidence  of  hope,  all  sense  of  a  Divine  impulse,  flags 
out  of  our  work ;  when  the  schemes  which  we  have 
begun  look  stale  and  poor  and  unattractive  as  the 
scenery  of  an  empty  stage  by  daylight ;  days  when 
there  is  nothing  that  we  like  to  do — when,  without 
anything  to  complain  of,  nothing  stirs  so  readily  in 
us  as  complaint.  Oh,  if  we  know  anything  at  all 
of  such  a  mood  as  this,  let  us  be  careful  how  we  think 
of  it,  how  we  deal  with  it ;  for  perhaps  it  may  not  be 
far  from  that  "  sorrow  of  the  world  "  which,  in  those 
who  willingly  indulge  and  welcome  and  invite  its 
presence,  "  worketh  death." 

III.  It  occurs  to  one  at  once  that  this  misery  of 
accidie  lies  on  the  border-line  between  the  physical 
and  the  spiritual  life ;  that  if  there  is  something  to  be 
»  F.  W.  Faber,  «  Growth  in  Holiness,"  p.  244. 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD.        61 

said  of  it  as  a  sin,  there  is  also  something  to  be  said 
of  it  as  an  ailment.  It  is  a  truth  that  was  recog 
nized  long  ago  both  by  Cassian  and  by  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  who  expressly  discusses  and  dismisses  this 
objection  against  regarding  accidie  as  a  sin  at  all.1 
Undoubtedly  physical  conditions  of  temperament  and 
constitution,  of  weakness,  illness,  harassing,  weariness, 
overwork,  may  give  at  times  to  such  a  mood  of  mind 
and  heart  a  strange  power  against  us ;  at  times  the 
forces  for  resistance  may  seem  frail  and  few.  It  is 
a  truth  which  should  make  us  endlessly  charitable, 
endlessly  forbearing  and  considerate  and  uncritical 
towards  others ;  but  surely  it  is  a  truth  that  we 
had  better  be  shy  of  using  for  ourselves.  It  will  do 
us  no  harm  to  over-estimate  the  degree  in  which 
our  own  gloom  and  sullenness  are  voluntary;  it 
will  do  us  very  great  harm  to  get  into  the  way  of 
exaggerating  whatever  there  may  be  in  them  that 
is  physical  and  involuntary.  For  the  border-line 
over  which  accidie  hovers  is,  practically,  a  shifting 
and  uncertain  line,  and  "  possunt  quia  posse  videntur  " 
may  be  true  of  the  powers  upon  either  side  of  it.  We 
need  not  bring  speculative  questions  out  of  their 
proper  place  to  confuse  the  distinctness  of  the  prac 
tical  issue.  We  have  ample  warrant,  by  manifold 

1  S.  Th.  2dt  2d8e,  xxxv.  1,  ad  2aum. 


62        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

evidence,  by  clear  experience,  for  being  sure  for  our 
selves  that  the  worth  and  happiness  of  life  depend 
just  on  this — that  in  the  strength  which  God  gives, 
and  in  the  eagerness  of  His  service,  the  will  should 
ever  be  extending  the  range  of  its  dominion,  ever 
refusing  to  be  shut  out  or  overborne,  ever  restless  in 
defeat,  ever  pushing  on  its  frontier.  Surely  it  has 
been  the  secret  of  some  of  the  highest,  noblest  lives 
that  have  helped  the  world,  that  men  have  refused 
to  make  allowances  for  themselves ;  refused  to  limit 
their  aspiration  and  effort  by  the  disadvantages  with 
which  they  started ;  refused  to  take  the  easy  tasks 
which  their  hindrances  might  seem  to  justify,  or  to 
draw  premature  boundaries  for  the  power  of  their 
will  As  there  are  some  men  to  whom  the  things 
that  should  have  been  for  their  wealth  are,  indeed,  an 
occasion  of  falling,  so  are  there  others  to  whom  the 
things  that  might  have  been  for  their  hindrance  are 
an  occasion  of  rising ;  "  who  going  through  the  vale 
of  misery  use  it  for  a  well,  and  the  pools  are  filled 
with  water." — And  "  they  shall  go  from  strength  to 
strength  " — in  all  things  more  than  conquerors  through 
Him  Who  loveth  them;  wresting  out  of  the  very 
difficulties  of  life  a  more  acceptable  and  glorious 
sacrifice  to  lift  to  Him ;  welcoming  and  sanctifying 
the  very  hindrances  that  beset  them  as  the  conditions 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD.        63 

of  that  part  which  they,  perhaps,  alone  can  bear  in 
the  perfecting  of  His  saints,  in  the  edifying  of  the 
body  of  Christ.  And  in  that  day  when  every  man's 
work  shall  be  made  manifest,  it  may  be  found, 
perhaps,  that  none  have  done  Him  better  service 
than  some  of  those  who,  all  through  this  life,  have 
been  His  ambassadors  in  bonds. 

IV.  Lastly,  then,  brethren,  let  me  speak  very  simply 
of  three  ways  in  which  we  may,  God  helping  us, 
extend  and  reinforce  the  power  of  our  will  to  shut 
out  and  drive  away  this  wasteful  gloom,  if  ever  it 
begins  to  gather  round  us ;  three  ways  of  doing  battle 
against  this  sin  of  accidie. 

(1)  In  the  first  place,  it  will  surely  be  a  help,  a  help 
we  all  may  gain,  to  see  more,  to  think  more,  to 
remember  and  to  understand  more,  of  the  real,  plain, 
stubborn  sufferings  that  others  have  to  bear ;  to 
acquaint  ourselves  afresh  with  the  real  hardships  of 
life,  the  trials,  and  anxieties,  and  privations,  and 
patience  of  the  poor — the  unfanciful  facts  of  pain. 
For  "blessed  is  he  that  considereth  the  poor  and  needy; 
the  Lord  shall  deliver  him  in  the  time  of  trouble."  It 
is  one  part  of  the  manifold  privilege  of  a  parish 
priest's  life  that  day  by  day  he  has  to  go  among 
scenes  which  almost  perforce  may  startle  him  out 
of  any  selfish,  wilful  sadness : — 


64        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

"  When  sorrow  all  our  heart  would  ask, 
We  need  not  shun  our  daily  task, 

And  hide  ourselves  for  calm ; 
The  herbs  we  seek  to  heal  our  woe 
Familiar  by  our  pathway  grow, 

Our  common  air  is  balm." l 

Of  old  it  was  thought  to  be  the  work  of  tragedy 
that  the  spectator  should  be  lifted  to  a  higher  level, 
where  action  and  passion  are  freer  and  larger,  so  that 
he  might  be  ashamed  to  go  home  from  the  contem 
plation  of  such  sorrows  to  pity  or  alarm  himself  about 
little  troubles  of  his  own.2  But  if  the  disasters  of  the 
stage  could  teach  men  to  be  brave  and  quiet  under 
trials  that  were  less  indeed,  but  still  were  real,  how 
much  more  should  that  great  ceaseless  tragedy  of 
actual  anguish  and  distress  that  day  and  night  goes 
on  around  us,  rouse  and  shame  us  all  out  of  the  idle, 
causeless  gloom  that  sometimes  hangs  about  men's 
hearts  ? 

Those  are  very  noble  words  of  one  who  in  our  day 
has  frankly  and  faithfully  shared  with  the  world 
his  own  profound  experience  both  of  despondency 
and  of  deliverance.  "  Suffer  me  not,  0  Lord,  suffer 
me  not  to  forget  how  at  the  very  moment  when,  it 
may  be,  I  am  thus  playing  with  a  fantastic  grief,  it 

1  "  Christian  Year,"  First  Sunday  after  Easter. 
*  Of.  Timocles  in    Meineke's  "Poetarum   Comicorum  Grseccrum 
Fragmenta,"  p.  613 ;  and  Arist.  Poetica :  vi,  ad  init. 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE   WORLD.  65 

is  actually  faring  with  multitudes  of  my  fellows, 
many  times  better  and  truer  and  holier  than  myself. 
Think,  O  my  soul,  of  all  those — the  mourners  who 
have  survived  everything,  even  hope  itself,  the 
incurables  who  pace  the  long  halls  of  pain  in  the 
vast  hospital  of  this  world ;  its  deposed,  discrowned, 
and  disinherited,  for  whom  all  the  ornament  of  life  has 
for  ever  departed,  perhaps  by  their  own  fault,  perhaps 
by  that  of  others,  but  in  either  case  gone,  and  so 
gone  that  it  never  can  come  back  again;  long  pain 
the  road  by  which,  and  death  the  goal  to  which,  they 
must  travel." x  Surely  the  sin  of  accidie  seems  most 
hateful  and  unmanly  in  the  presence  of  such  thoughts 
as  these. 

(2)  There  is  another  very  safe  and  simple  way  of 
escape  when  the  dull  mood  begins  to  gather  round  one, 
and  that  is  to  turn  as  promptly  and  as  strenuously 
as  one  can  to  whatever  work  one  can  at  the  moment 
do.  If  the  energy,  the  clearness,  the  power  of  inten 
tion,  is  flagging  in  us,  if  we  cannot  do  our  best  work, 
still  let  us  do  what  we  can — for  we  can  always  do 
something ;  if  not  high  work,  then  low ;  if  not  vivid 
and  spiritual  work,  then  the  plain,  needful  drudgery. 
Virgil's  precept  has  its  place  in  every  way  of  life, 
and  certainly  in  the  inner  life  of  all  men — 

1  B.  0.  Trench,  "  Brief  Thoughts  and  Meditations,"  p.  113. 

P 


66        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

"  Frigidus  agricolam  si  quando  continet  imber, 
Multa,  forent  quse  mox  ccelo  properanda  sereno, 
Maturare  datur." l 

When  it  is  dull  and  cold  and  weary  weather  with 
us,  when  the  light  is  hidden,  and  the  mists  are  thick, 
and  the  sleet  begins  to  fall,  still  we  may  get  on  with 
the  work  which  can  be  done  as  well  in  the  dark  days 
as  in  the  bright;  work  which  otherwise  will  have 
to  be  hurried  through  in  the  sunshine,  taking  up  its 
happiest  and  most  fruitful  hours.  When  we  seem 
poorest  and  least  spiritual,  when  the  glow  of  thank 
fulness  seems  to  have  died  quite  away,  at  least  we 
can  go  on  with  the  comparatively  featureless  bits  of 
work,  the  business  letters,  the  mechanism  of  life,  the 
tasks  which  may  be  almost  as  well  done  then  as  ever. 
And  not  only,  as  men  have  found  and  said  in  every 
age,  is  the  activity  itself  a  safeguard  for  the  time, 
but  also  very  often,  I  think,  the  plainer  work  is  the 
best  way  of  getting  back  into  the  light  and  warmth 
that  are  needed  for  the  higher.  Through  humbly  and 
simply  doing  what  we  can,  we  retrieve  the  power 
of  doing  what  we  would.  It  was  excellent  advice  of 
Mr.  Keble's,  "  When  you  find  yourself  overpowered  as 
it  were  by  melancholy,  the  best  way  is  to  go  out,  and 
do  something  kind  to  somebody  or  other."  a 

1  Virg.  Georg.  I.  259-261. 

1  "  Letters  of  Spiritual  Counsel,"  p.  6.    Of.  an  expression  quoted  in 


THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD.        67 

(3)  But  there  is  yet  one  way,  above  all  other  way&, 
I  think,  in  which  we  ought  to  be  ever  gaining  fresh 
strength  and  freedom  of  soul  to  rise  above  such  moods 
of  gloom  and  discontent;  one  means  by  which  we  should 
be  ever  growing  in  the  steadiness  and  quiet  intensity 
of  the  joy  of  love.  It  is  the  serious  and  resolute  con 
sideration  of  that  astounding  work  of  our  redemption 
which  the  Love  of  God  has  wrought  at  so  immense  a 
cost.  It  is  strange  indeed — it  would  be  inconceivable 
if  it  were  not  so  very  common — that  a  man  can  look 
back  to  Calvary  and  still  be  sullen;  that  he  can  believe 
that  all  that  agony  was  the  agony  of  God  the  Son, 
willingly  chosen  for  the  Love  of  sinful  men,  and  still 
be  thankless  and  despondent.  Strange  that  he  should 
be  sullen  still,  when  he  believes  that  that  eternal  and 
unwearied  Love  is  waiting,  even  during  the  hours  of 
his  gloom  and  hardness — waiting,  watching  at  his  dull, 
silent  heart,  longing  for  the  change  to  come ;  longing 
just  for  that  turn  of  the  will  which  may  let  in  again 
the  glad  tide  of  light  and  joy  and  health.  Strange 
that  any  one  should  be  able  to  think  what  a  little 
while  we  have  in  which  to  do  what  little  good  we 
may  on  earth,  before  the  work  is  all  sealed  up  and 
put  aside  for  judgment,  and  yet  take  God's  great 

Mr.  F.  Parnell's  "  Counsels  of  Happiness,  Usefulness,  Goodness,"  p.  4  : 
(<  When  I  dig  a  man  out  of  trouble,  the  hole  he  leaves  behind  him  is 
the  grave  in  which  I  bury  my  own  trouble." 


68        THE  SORROW  OF  THE  WORLD. 

trust  of  life,  and  wilfully  bid  the  heaven  be  dark  at 
noon,  and  wrap  himself  in  an  untimely  night  wherein 
no  man  can  work.  Strange,  most  strange,  that  any 
one  should  believe  that  this  world  is  indeed  the  place 
where  he  may  begin  to  train  his  soul  by  grace  for  an 
everlasting  life  of  love  and  praise  and  joy,  prepared 
for  him  in  sheer  mercy  by  Almighty  God,  and  still 
be  sullen.  Ah  !  surely,  it  can  only  be  that  we  forget 
these  things ;  that  they  are  not  settled  deep  enough 
in  our  hearts;  that  in  the  haste  of  life  we  do  not 
think  of  them,  or  let  them  tell  upon  us.  For  other 
wise  we  could  hardly  let  our  hearts  sink  down  in  any 
wilful,  wanton  gloom,  or  lower  our  eyes  from  that 
glory  of  the  western  sky  which  should  ever  brighten 
our  faces  as  we  press  towards  God ;  that  glory  which 
our  Blessed  Lord  was  crucified  to  win  for  us;  that 
glory  whither  the  high  grace  of  God  the  Holy  Ghost 
has  been  sent  forth  to  lead  us. 


II. 

LEISURE  THOUGHTS. 

"  Whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things  are  honett, 
whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,  what 
soever  things  are  lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report ; 
if  there  be  any  virtue,  and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on 
these  things." 

PHIL.  iv.  8. 

"  THINK  on  these  things  " — consider  these  things,  and 
keep  the  current  of  your  thoughts  set  towards  them : 
let  your  minds  be  busy  with  them ;  and  let  them  tell 
on  all  your  view  of  life.  Such  seems  to  be  the 
force  of  the  word  which  St.  Paul  rather  strangely 
uses  here.1  He  is  giving  a  rule,  I  believe,  in  regard 
to  a  part  of  our  life  and  a  field  of  self-discipline 
which  deserves  far  more  care  than  it  often  gets.  He 
does  not  seem  to  be  speaking  of  thought  with  an 
immediate  regard  to  action,  for  his  advice  as  to 
outward  conduct  is  given  in  the  next  verse ;  nor  is 
he  speaking  here  of  meditation  as  a  religious  exercise, 
for  the  lines  of  thought  to  which  he  points  would 

1  ravra,  \oyi£e<rOf. 


70  LEISURE   THOUGHTS. 

seem  too  wide  and  general  for  that.  Rather,  he  is 
telling  us,  I  think,  how  we  ought  to  set  and  train  and 
discipline  our  minds  to  use  their  leisure ;  how  they 
ought  to  behave,  so  to  speak,  when  they  are  not  on 
special  duty,  when  there  is  no  present  task  to  occupy 
them.  There  are  spaces  day  by  day  in  almost  every 
life  when  the  attention  is  not  demanded  for  any 
definite  object ;  when  we  are  or  may  be  free  to  think 
of  what  we  will.  They  are  the  times  in  which  some 
people  are  simply  listless,  and  hardly  conscious  of 
thinking  at  all ;  some  build  castles  in  the  air ;  some 
think  of  their  ambition,  or  of  the  scraps  of  praise 
that  they  have  heard  ;  some  of  their  anxieties ;  some 
of  their  grievances;  some  of  their  dislikes;  some, 
happily,  of  their  hobbies ;  some,  very  unhappily,  of 
their  health;  and  some,  one  must  fear,  of  thoughts 
that  are  wholly  ruinous  and  shameful. — It  is  this 
"  no  man's  land,"  this  unclaimed,  fallow  ground  that 
St.  Paul  would  have  rescued  from  its  uselessness  or  mis 
use  ;  and  he  points  us  to  the  right  and  wholesome  use 
for  it :  "  Whatsoever  things  are  true,  whatsoever  things 
are  honest,  whatsoever  things  are  just,  whatsoever 
things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  whatso 
ever  things  are  of  good  report ;  if  there  be  any  virtue, 
and  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these  things." 
I.  Surely  it  is  a  matter  of  greatest  moment,  a  matter 


LEISURE   THOUGHTS.  71 

well  worth  some  real  pains  and  firmness  with  our 
selves,  if  we  can  indeed  so  set  the  ordinary  drift  and 
habit  of  our  minds ;  so  form  or  transform  by  God's 
grace  their  ordinary  inclination.  Not  only  because 
to  Him  all  hearts  are  open,  and  fiom  Him  no  secrets 
are  hid — that  would  be  reason  enough — but  there  is 
yet  more.  There  is  the  tremendous  power  of  habit ; 
the  constant,  silent  growth  with  which  it  creeps  and 
twines  about  the  soul,  until  its  branches  clutch  and 
grip  like  iron  that  which  seemed  so  securely  stronger 
than  their  little  tentative  beginning.  So  the  mind 
spoils  its  servants,  till  they  become  its  masters ;  and 
the  leisure  time  of  life  may  be  either  a  man's  garden  or 
his  prison. — Thus  there  is,  perhaps,  nothing  on  which 
the  health  and  happiness  and  worth  of  life  more 
largely  turn  than  on  this — that  the  habitual  drift,  the 
natural  tendency  of  our  unclaimed  thought,  should  be 
towards  high  and  pure  and  gladdening  things.1 

And  then,  yet  again,  we  may  learn  the  importance 
of  our  leisure  thoughts,  if  we  remember  the  certainty 
of  our  unconscious  self -revealing.  That  inner  world 
of  wilful  imaginations  and  of  cherished  desires  is  not 
so  wholly  hidden  from  others  as  we  may  sometimes 
fancy.  We  may  believe  that  we  can  keep  it  quite 

1  Ofa  &v  tro\\a.Kis  ^avraaB-y^  TOIO.VTT)  trot  fcrrai  y  Sidvota'  Pdirrerai 
yap  virb  ru>v  <pavTaffit2v  77  ^ux^- — ^.  Aurelius  Antoninus,  "  Commen- 
tarii,"  V.  xvi. 


72  LEISURE   THOUGHTS. 

apart  from  our  outward  life — that  we  can  huddle  it 
all  out  of  sight  when  we  meet  and  deal  with  our 
fellow-men;  but  the  habits  of  the  mind  will  quite 
surely  tell,  sooner  or  later,  more  or  less  clearly,  on 
those  subtle  shades  of  voice  and  bearing  and  expres 
sion  by  which,  perhaps,  men  most  often  and  most 
nearly  know  one  another.  "  Out  of  the  abundance 
of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh ; "  and  not  only  out 
of  that  which  at  the  time  a  man  may  choose  for 
utterance: — "his  heart  gathereth  iniquity  to  itself; 
and  when  he  goeth  abroad,  he  telleth  it."  It  is  a 
grave  and  anxious  thought,  surely,  that  there  is  this 
law  of  unconscious  self -revealing  in  human  life  ;  that, 
whether  we  wish  it  or  no,  what  we  are,  or  what  we 
fain  would  be  and  are  striving  to  become,  within,  will 
come  out  somehow,  even  in  this  world,  forestalling 
in  part  that  bare  and  utter  disclosure  when  this  world 
is  done  with.  We  have  all  known,  I  trust,  something 
of  that  gracious  and  unstudied  radiance  which  issues 
forth  from  a  pure  and  true  and  loving  character ; 
that  air  of  joy  and  health  which  some  men  seem  to 
bring  with  them  wherever  they  are;  the  inevitable 
self -betrayal  of  moral  beauty,  of  fair  thoughts  and 
hopes  within.  Must  it  not  be  true  that  (however  it 
may  be  checked  and  counteracted  by  the  grace  of 
God,  or  by  the  ministry  of  angels)  there  is  also  some 


LEISURE   THOUGHTS.  73 

unconscious  effluence  of  gloom,  distrust,  unkindness, 
or  impurity  from  the  mind  that  is  habitually  allowed 
to  drift  in  its  solitude  or  leisure  towards  uncomely,  or 
greedy,  or  suspicious  thoughts  ?  The  inner  habit  is 
always  tending  to  work  its  way  out.  "  Do  not  think/' 
wrote  a  great  Bishop  of  our  day,  "  that  what  your 
thoughts  dwell  upon  is  of  no  matter.  Your  thoughts 
are  making  you.  We  are  two  men,  each  of  us — what 
is  seen,  and  what  is  not  seen.  But  the  unseen  is  the 
maker  of  the  other."  l 

Perhaps  I  have  said  more  than  was  needed  about 
the  obvious  importance  of  the  leisure  habits  of  our 
minds,  their  drift  and  tendency  in  unclaimed  times. 
But  somehow,  I  think,  many  do  forget  how  much 
it  matters  what  they  mostly  think  of  when  they  may 
be  thinking  of  whatever  they  choose.  And  then 
there  are  many  things  that  tend  to  make  us  listless 
and  careless  in  the  matter.  It  needs,  for  some  of  us 
at  least,  a  good  deal  of  watchfulness  and  effort.  And 
the  demands  that  must  be  met  in  daily  life  are  many ; 
and  we  are  tired  or  lazy,  and  it  seems  hard  if  we 
may  not  sometimes  think  of  nothing  particular.  And 
then,  just  as  many  people  repeat  unkind  or  foolish 

'.  Bishop  Steere,  ".Notes  of  Sermons,"  let  series,  p.  273.  The  writer 
desires  to  acknowledge  an  especial  debt  to  these  fresh  and  thoughtful 
Notes, 


74  LEISURE   THOUGHTS. 

things  because  they  have  nothing  particular  to  say, 
so  in  many  minds  the  vacant  spaces  are  invaded 
by  thoughts  which  had  better  never  come,  which 
would  not  have  come  if  the  room  had  not  been 
empty. 

II.  So,  then,  let  us  go  on  to  see  what  kind  of 
thoughts  St.  Paul,  taught  by  the  Holy  Ghost,  Who 
knows  us  wholly,  through  and  through,  would  have 
us  make  at  home  in  our  minds  and  hearts. 

He  gives  us  a  wide  choice.  The  list  is  by  no  means 
limited  to  what  is  ordinarily  called  sacred  or  religious ; 
it  includes  all  bright  and  pure  and  generous  thoughts 
— all  that  makes  up  the  best  grace  and  helpfulness 
of  life.  "  Whatsoever  things  are  true : "  all  that  is 
frank  and  straightforward  and  sincere — that  has  no 
cowardice,  no  fear  of  coming  to  the  light.  "  What 
soever  things  are  grave : "  not  with  that  sham  gravity 
which  so  often  discredits  the  word;  not  with  the 
gravity  of  self-importance,  or  narrowness,  or  gloom ; 
but  with  a  free  and  noble  reverence  for  ourselves 
(since  God  has  made  us  and  dwells  in  us),  and  for  all 
that  is  great  and  reverend  around  us — the  grace  of 
thought  that  guards  us  from  mere  stupid  flippancy.1 
"  Whatsoever  things  are  righteous : "  so  that  in  all 
our  thoughts  we  may  be  exactly  doing  justice  to 
1  Of.  Phillips  Brooks,  "  Lectures  on  Preaching,"  pp.  54-59. 


LEISURE  THOUGHTS.  75 

others ;  giving  them  credit  for  all  the  good  we  know 
or  well  may  hope  of  them ;  making  allowance  for 
the  difficulties  we  cannot  measure;  casting  out  all 
scornfulness  and  all  suspicion ;  and  using,  in  all  our 
thoughts  of  our  fellow-men,  that  generosity  which  is 
simple  j  ustice.  "  Whatsoever  things  are  pure : "  all  that 
is  innocent  and  safe  and  guileless ;  all  the  simple  and 
spiritual  beauty  that  we  can  find  in  nature  or  in  art ;  all 
that  can  stay  fearless  and  unchecked  in  the  presence 
of  the  perfect  and  eternal  purity  of  Christ  our  Lord : 
for  so  may  we  be  growing  in  that  only  steadfast 
strength,  the  strength  of  a  stainless  mind.  And  then 
St.  Paul  yet  further  widens  out  the  kind  of  thoughts 
we  are  to  welcome  and  habituate  in  our  hearts.  "  All 
that  is  lovable,  and  all  that  is  attractive : "  all  that 
adds  to  the  courtesy  and  kindliness  of  life ;  all  that 
will  make  good  men  glad  to  be  with  us,  and  bring  a 
bit  of  cheering  and  encouragement,  of  gentleness  and 
sympathy  to  anxious  or  wounded  souls;  all  that 
rightly  wins  for  us  the  love  of  men,  and  opens  out 
their  hearts  to  us,  and  makes  them  trust  us  with  the 
knowledge  of  their  highest  life. 

But  yet,  again,  St.  Paul  has  something  more  to  add. 
He  will  leave  out  nothing  which  can  keep  our  minds 
astir  with  harmless,  gladdening  thoughts ; l  he  would 

1  Cf.  Bishop  Lightfoot,  in  loco. 


76  LEISURE   THOUGHTS. 

not  slight  the  virtues  or  excellences  of  which  men 
talked  even  in  the  heathen  society  of  his  day ;  nay, 
the  mind  may  well  be  busy  in  its  leisure  about  any 
honourable  strength  or  skill  that  can  win  men's 
praise;  the  doing  well  in  any  worthy  and  unselfish 
rivalry — it  may  be  intellectual,  or  it  may  be  athletic 
(I  think  he  would  have  said,) — "  If  there  be  any 
excellence,  or  if  there  be  any  praise,  think  on  these 
things," 

III.  Such  is  the  fair  and  ample  list  that  St.  Paul 
commends  to  us ;  such  are  the  things  with  which  he 
would  have  us  train  and  occupy  our  minds.  It  is, 
I  think,  a  sphere  of  self-discipline  in  which  many 
of  us  have  much  to  learn;  much  need  of  stronger, 
steadier  self-mastery  than  we  have  yet  attained. 

For  plainly  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  much 
more  worth  gaining  than  the  happiness  of  a  mind 
that  tends  to  dwell  on  pure  and  generous  thoughts. 
All  through  our  hours  of  waking,  thoughts  of  one  kind 
or  another  must  be  thronging  through  our  minds ;  and 
by  God's  grace  we  may  do  much  to  determine  of  what 
kind  they  shall  be.  And  all  experience  would  teach  us 
to  expect  that  every  year,  if  we  are  not  careful,  it 
will  grow  harder  to  change  the  habitual  bearing,  the 
ingrained  likes  and  dislikes  which  give  tone  and 
direction  to  our  leisure  thoughts;  we  might  win 


LEISURE   THOUGHTS.  77 

now,  perhaps,  with  a  little  firmness  of  self-discipline, 
that  which  some  few  years  hence  we  may  have  to  fight 
for  inch  by  inch,  and  may  hold  only  with  constant 
effort  and  distress.  And  certainly  these  mental  ways 
and  habits  of  which  the  Apostle  speaks  to  us  will 
make  the  gladness  of  whatever  leisure  and  loneliness 
and  silence  may  come  in  the  years  of  life  that  may 
be  still  before  us. — Ah  !  but  there  is  something  more 
than  this — a  deeper,  higher  reason  for  striving 
after  such  self-mastery,  for  watching  over  all  the 
habits  of  our  minds.  It  is  a  wonderful  happiness  if 
we  tend  instinctively  to  bright  and  clear  and  whole 
some  thoughts;  but  yet,  I  think,  St.  Paul  is  here 
marking  out  for  us  only  the  beginning  of  that  which 
may  be ;  he  is  only  showing  us  how  to  get  our  minds 
ready,  as  it  were,  for  that  which  God  may  have  in 
store  for  us.  For  it  is  in  pure  and  bright  and  kindly 
lives  that  the  grace  of  God  most  surely  takes  root 
downward,  and  bears  fruit  upward ;  that  the  presence 
of  our  Lord  unfolds  the  fulness  of  its  power,  and 
achieves  its  miracles  of  transforming  love.  He 
works  unstayed,  untroubled,  in  the  soul  that  has  been 
trained  to  think  in  all  its  leisure  times  of  true  and 
high  and  gentle  thoughts.  He  enters  in  and  stays 
there,  "not  as  a  wayfaring  man,  but  as  a  willing, 
welcome  Guest  in  a  house  that  has  been  prepared  and 


78  LEISURE   THOUGHTS. 

decked  and  furnished  as  He  loves  to  see  it.  There 
the  surpassing  brightness  of  His  presence  issues  forth 
unchecked,  and  there  the  will  of  His  great  love  is 
freely  wrought. — Yes,  and  there  too  the  Voice  of  God 
is  clearly  heard.  There  is  no  knowing  whither  God 
might  call  us,  if  only  we  would  keep  our  minds,  by 
His  help,  free  and  true  to  hear  His  bidding  when  it 
comes.  He  may  have  for  any  one  of  us  a  task,  a 
trust,  higher  far  than  we  can  ask  or  think;  some 
work  for  His  love's  sake  amidst  the  sufferings  of 
this  world;  some  special  opportunity  of  witnessing 
for  Him,  or  of  ministering  to  our  fellow-men,  of  win 
ning  to  Him  those  who  know  Him  not.  And  on  the 
drift  and  tone  which  our  minds  are  now  acquiring 
it  may  depend  whether,  when  the  time  comes,  we 
recognize  our  work  or  not ;  whether  we  press  forward 
with  the  host  of  God,  or  dully  fall  away,  it  may  be, 
into  the  misery  of  a  listless,  aimless  life. 

Oh,  then,  brethren,  for  your  own  sakes,  for  the 
sake  of  your  own  chief  happiness,  for  the  sake  of 
a  world  that  needs  your  help,  for  the  sake  of  God, 
Who  seeks  your  love  that  He  may  crown  your  joy, 
be  trying  day  by  day,  with  watchfulness  and  prayer, 
to  gain  continually  more  of  this  high  self-mastery  in 
thought ;  to  set  the  current  of  your  thinking  as  St. 
Paul  would  have  it  flow ;  to  turn  it  right  away  from 


LEISURE   THOUGHTS.  79 

all  impurity,  suspicion,  sullenness,  jealousy,  self- 
deception,  or  ambition,  and  to  guide  it  wholly  towards 
those  pure  and  bright  and  thankful  ways  where  ifc 
may  pass  on  surely  into  the  peace  of  God,  into  the 
light  of  His  countenance  and  the  welcome  of  His 
love, 


in. 

THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.1 

"  Glorify  God  in  your  body." 

1  COB.  vi.  20S 

IN  this  brief  command  St.  Paul  sums  up  the  practical 
outcome  of  the  argument  with  which  he  has  been 
occupied.  These  few  words  will  stick  in  men's 
memories ;  they  may  tell  on  thought  and  action  at 
innumerable  points ;  they  fix  the  true  aim  in  a  task 
that  has  got  miserably  tangled  and  perplexed.  And 
so  St.  Paul  ends  with  them  this  division  of  his  letter ; 
for  it  seems  evident  that  the  words  which  follow 
them  in  our  version  did  not  form  part  of  the  original 
text. 

I.  "Glorify  God  in  your  body."  The  demand  is 
closely  linked  with  the  thoughts  of  the  foregoing 
verses ;  and  though  it  clearly  reaches  far  beyond  the 
subject  with  which  they  are  especially  concerned,  it 

1  The  writer  has  repeated  and  amplified  some  of  the  thoughts  of 
ihie  sermon  in  an  essay  in  "  Lux  Mundi,"  on  Sacraments. 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  81 

is  in  them  that  we  must  learn  the  depth  and  intensity 
of  its  meaning.  For  it  is  the  positive  rule  involved 
in  those  great  truths  with  which  St.  Paul  has  been 
meeting  the  sophistry  used  by  some  to  palliate  a  most 
degrading  sin. 

It  is  not  necessary  for  us  to  examine  in  detail  their 
arguments,  or  their  bold  misuse  of  St.  Paul's  own 
language.  It  is  enough  at  present  to  follow  him  as 
he  drags  to  light  the  fundamental  and  fatal  error  of 
their  position.  That  error  was  a  shamefully  inadequate 
idea  of  the  human  body  ;  of  its  meaning  and  purpose 
and  capacity.  Men  who  talked  as  they  did  must, 
plainly  and  avowedly,  be  thinking  of  the  body  as 
incapable  of  anything  above  the  level  or  beyond  the 
limits  of  this  world;  as  adapted  to  find  its  full 
occupation  and  satisfaction  among  the  things  of 
sense ;  as  having  neither  use,  nor  hope,  nor  fellowship 
in  any  higher  life;  as  sensitive  to  no  transforming 
power  from  above.  In  their  estimate  the  body  itself 
had  no  greater  importance  than  such  as  was  indicated 
by  its  transient  desires  and  processes  of  nourishment 
during  this  short  stage  in  its  development.  They 
thought  that  its  career  lay  wholly  between  birth  and 
death,  and  that  the  only  forces  to  which  it  could 
answer  were  the  ordinary  conditions  of  animal  ex 
istence;  and,  with  the  ruinous  confidence  of  moral 

Q 


82  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

short-sightedness,  they  made  up  a  corresponding 
theory  as  to  its  proper  treatment  and  occupation. 
The  beginning  and  the  end  of  the  body,  they  said, 
all  its  life  and  use  and  receptivity,  is  here,  is 
sensuous.  And  so  they  saw  nothing  terrible  in 
taking  it  and  imprisoning  it  here ;  in  surrendering 
it  wholly  to  earthliness;  in  shutting  out  all  voices 
and  all  light  that  might  have  reached  it  from  above, 
and  deeming  that  in  silence  and  in  darkness  it  might 
find  the  fulfilment  of  its  purpose;  since  it  was  only 
meant  to  grovel  and  enjoy  itself  after  the  fashion  of 
its  kindred,  with  the  beasts  that  perish.  So  they 
seemed  to  think  who,  in  the  congenial  air  of  Corinth, 
were  constructing  a  system  of  Christian  ethics  in 
which  sins  of  impurity  should  be  treated  as  matters 
of  indifference.  And  it  is  against  the  fatal  tyranny 
of  such  insolent  ignorance  that  St.  Paul  displays  the 
truth,  in  all  its  liberating  strength ;  the  truth  which 
determines  the  bearing  of  Christianity  on  the  life  of 
the  body.  There  are,  indeed,  more  things  in  heaven 
and  earth  than  are  dreamt  of  in  that  philosophy  of 
complacent  self-degrading. 

"  The  body  is  not  for  fornication,  but  for  the  Lord ; 
and  the  Lord  for  the  body."  Decisively,  abruptly, 
universally,  all  is  changed  when  that  is  seen.  No 
contrast  could  be  more  absolute  or  more  transforming 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  83 

At  once  the  full  light  of  Easter  flashes  out  upon  the 
gross  darkness  of  the  guilty  conscience,  blinded  and 
stupefied  by  the  lie  that  it  has  begun  to  love.  "  The 
body  is  . , ,  for  the  Lord ;  and  the  Lord  for  the  body." 
In  the  risen  humanity  of  the  Incarnate  Son,  com 
plete  and  spiritual,  is  revealed  its  ultimate  purpose. 
Through  whatever  processes  of  preparation  and 
development  it  has  reached  its  present  condition,  yet 
greater  changes  lie  before  it ;  the  meaning  of  its  union 
with  a  living  spirit,  a  spirit  that  can  know  God,  is 
not  yet  disclosed.  For  Christ  will  change  the  body 
of  our  humiliation  so  that  it  shall  be  conformable  to 
the  Body  of  His  glory. 

Not,  then,  for  a  mere  transient  purpose  of  discipline 
or  probation,  and  far  less  for  a  ministry  of  sensual 
gratification,  do  we  find  ourselves  in  this  world  so 
mysteriously,  so  inextricably,  united  with  a  material 
frame.  There  is  a  deep  and  wonderful  prophecy  in 
that  inscrutable  interaction  of  soul  and  body  which 
may  sometimes  startle,  or  bewilder,  or  distress  us ; 
it  hints  at  the  hope  of  the  body,  the  opportunity  of 
the  soul;  it  means  that  the  body  also  is  accessible 
to  the  Divine  life;  that  there  are  avenues  by 
which  the  power  of  the  Resurrection  can  invade  it ; 
that  it  is  capable  of  a  transfiguration ;  that  for 
it  too  the  Lord  from  heaven  is  a  quickening  Spirit. 


84  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

And  on  that  belief  rests  first  of  all  an  astounding 
hope.  For,  as  St.  Paul  continues,  "God  hath  both 
raised  up  the  Lord,  and  will  also  raise  up  us  by  His 
own  power ; "  or,  as  he  elsewhere  expresses  the  same 
truth,  "  He  that  raised  up  Christ  from  the  dead  shall 
also  quicken  your  mortal  bodies  by  His  Spirit  that 
dwelleth  in  you."  The  Holy  Sepulchre  was  empty 
upon  Easter  Day ;  the  Body  which  the  Word  of  God 
had  taken  in  the  Virgin's  womb  had  passed  on  into 
a  new  sphere  and  manner  of  being ;  through  suffering 
and  death  it  had  been  brought  to  perfection;  by  a 
change  which  could  not  but  be  inscrutable  to  us, 
it  had  become  a  spiritual  Body,  wholly  penetrated 
and  transformed  by  the  unhindered  glory  of  God. 
And  thus  in  the  Resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ  had 
been  made  known  the  transforming  power  that  can 
bring  a  human  body  to  the  state  for  which  the  love 
of  God  has  fashioned  and  prepared  it. — And  surely, 
even  if  this  were  all,  if  men  only  knew  that  a  frame 
like  their  own  had  been  so  dealt  with,  and  that  the 
hope  of  such  a  change  was  set  before  them  also,  the 
knowledge  might  make  them  reverent  and  expectant 
and  watchful  in  the  ordering  of  the  bodily  life ;  they 
could  not  dare  to  dishonour  or  enslave  that  in  whose 
likeness  so  great  a  glory  had  been  once  revealed,  that 
for  which  so  transcendent  a  destiny  might  be  in  store. 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  85 

II.  But  this  is  very  far  from  being  all;  there  is 
something  else  to  be  remembered  in  this  matter  which 
is  yet  more  quickening  and  controlling  than  the  most 
splendid  hope  could  be.  For  St.  Paul  goes  on  to 
appeal  to  two  well-known  axioms  of  the  Church's 
teaching,  as  amplifying  and  bringing  right  into  the 
heart  of  daily  life  the  truth  which  must  dispel  the 
sophistry  of  his  Corinthian  antagonist.  He  need  not 
dwell  upon  these  axioms,  he  need  only  just  recall 
them;  for  they  are  the  primary  and  characteristic 
notes  of  Christian  faith  and  life ;  they  are  absolutely 
essential  to  the  reasonableness  of  its  initial  ceremony, 
and  of  all  its  highest  acts ;  so  that,  if  they  are  for 
gotten  or  denied,  Christianity  loses  at  once  its  hold  on 
life,  and  recedes  into  the  distance,  attenuated  and 
impoverished,  and  dwindling  into  a  mere  matter  for 
speculative  or  poetic  treatment.  They  are  the  closely 
united  truths  of  the  present  fellowship  of  Christians 
with  the  risen  humanity  of  Christ,  and  of  the  indwell 
ing  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  "Know  ye  not  that  your 
bodies  are  members  of  Christ  ? "  "  Know  ye  not  that 
your  body  is  the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost  Which  is 
in  you  ? "  These  are  the  present  facts  in  which  the 
higher  possibility,  the  spiritual  calling  of  the  body,  is 
made  known.  Even  now  Christ  leaves  not  Himself 
without  witness  in  its  life ;  even  here  it  may  receive 


86  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

the  presence,  it  may  yield  to  the  power,  of  the  Spirit 
by  Whom  it  shall  be  raised,  incorruptible  and  wholly 
spiritual,  at  the  last  day.  There  is  a  continuity, 
howsoever  it  may  be  hindered  or  threatened,  in  the 
perfecting  of  a  human  nature ;  it  is  wrought  by  the 
same  Agent  and  the  same  Instrument  from  the  begin 
ning  to  the  endless  end ;  from  the  first  stirring  of  the 
Holy  Spirit's  influence  to  the  day  when  spirit,  soul, 
and  body  are  presented  blameless  before  the  throne 
of  God.  The  change  begins  on  earth:  already  the 
body  is  for  the  Lord,  to  be  uplifted  by  His  power, 
informed  by  His  Spirit,  possessed  and  realized  in 
His  service ;  and  already  the  Lord  is  for  the  body. 
In  His  glory  He  abideth  not  alone.  He  rose  again 
for  us.  His  risen  and  ascended  Manhood,  taken 
wholly  into  the  conditions  of  spiritual  existence,  is 
now  the  unfettered  organ  of  His  eternal  life,  the 
free  and  all-sufficing  means  whereby  He  visiteth 
the  earth  and  blesseth  it;  whereby,  remaining  in 
Himself,  He  maketh  all  things  new,  and  in  all 
ages,  entering  into  holy  souls,  maketh  them  friends, 
aye,  and  children  of  God.  "He  rose  again  for  our 
justification."  He  has,  as  one  has  said,  "elevated 
His  material  nature  to  be  for  evermore  the  instrument 
of  spiritual  action."  His  risen  Body,  free  and  un 
hindered  now  at  the  disposal  of  the  Spirit,  is  "a 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  87 

real  centre  of  energy  for  the  transformation  of  our 
lives." 1  And  it  is  an  energy  which,  issuing  from  His 
complete  and  perfect  Manhood,  is  borne  by  the  in 
dwelling  Spirit  to  every  part  of  our  human  nature ; 
here  and  now  beginning  that  which  may  hereafter 
be  fulfilled  and  known  ;  here  and  now  making  strange 
things  possible  even  in  the  body  of  our  humiliation ; 
hinting  at  changes  which  can  but  be  begun  on  earth  ; 
achieving  in  some  the  earnest  of  the  future  victory ; 
interrupting  all  that  we  call  natural  with  fragments 
of  the  true  nature  that  as  yet  we  know  but  dimly 
and  in  part ;  disturbing  any  narrow  and  premature 
completeness  with  unaccountable  traits  of  "  somewhat 
above  capacity  of  reason,  somewhat  divine  and 
heavenly,  which "  reason  "  with  hidden  exultation 
rather  surmiseth  than  conceiveth ; "  2  and  sending 

"  Through  all  this  fleshly  dress 
Bright  shoots  of  everlastingness."  * 

Not  only  is  the  body  for  the  Lord  hereafter — here 
after  to  be  raised  to  that  perfection  whither  He  through 
suffering  has  passed  before — but  here  also  and  already 

1  Cf.  B.  M.  Benson,  "  The  Life  beyond  the  Grave,"  p.  23 ;  and  W. 
Milligan,  "The  Resurrection  of  our  Lord,"  p.  130.     To  these  two 
books  the  writer  is  indebted  for  much  help  in  regard  to  the  subject  of 
this  sermon. 

2  Hooker,  I.  xi.  4. 

•  H.  Vaughan,  "Silex  Sciiitillans,"  p.  34:  "The  Betreate." 


88  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

it  may  be  reached,  and  touched,  and  cleansed,  and 
quickened  by  the  mysterious  energy  of  His  Manhood ; 
it  may  own  the  brightness  and  the  dominion  of  His 
Presence,  as  the  Holy  Spirit  dwelling  in  it  reveals  its 
unsuspected  capacity  of  life  and  freedom,  and  raises 
it  into  closer  union  with  its  risen  Lord. 

III.  Such  is  in  part  the  import  of  those  truths  with 
which  St.  Paul  rebukes  the  Corinthian  apologist  for 
sensuality.  He  could  appeal  to  them  as  certain  to 
be  in  the  front  of  every  Christian's  mind ;  as  secure 
of  an  immediate  recognition  by  any  one  who  bore 
Christ's  Name.  Must  we  not  own  that,  quite  apart 
from  anything  which  is  ordinarily  called  loss  of  faith, 
they  do  not  now  hold  the  place  which  he  demands 
and  presumes  for  them  in  Christian  thought  ?  That 
our  very  bodies  may  be  affected  by  a  real  energy 
from  the  indwelling  of  the  Spirit  of  Christ,  and 
the  communication  of  His  risen  Manhood;  that 
the  power  of  His  Resurrection  may  extend  even 
to  the  physical  conditions  of  our  life;  that,  very 
slowly  and  partially,  it  may  be,  with  limits  that 
are  soon  reached,  and  hindrances  that  will  not  yield, 
yet,  for  all  that,  very  truly  and  practically,  the 
redemption  of  our  body  may  be  begun  on  earth; 
— surely  these  thoughts  are  stranger  to  many  of  us 
than  they  were  to  St.  Paul  and  to  his  converts; 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  89 

stranger  than  they  should  be ;  stranger  than  they 
have  been  to  many  who  were  far  removed  from 
mysticism  and  incapable  of  unreality.  For  instance, 
few  of  us,  I  venture  to  think,  are  quite  ready  for  such 
words  as  these  of  Hooker's,  "  Doth  any  man  doubt 
but  that  from  the  flesh  of  Christ  our  very  bodies  do 
receive  that  life  which  shall  make  them  glorious  at 
the  latter  day,  and  for  which  they  are  already  ac 
counted  parts  of  His  blessed  Body  ?  Our  corruptible 
bodies  could  never  live  the  life  they  shall  live  were 
it  not  that  here  they  are  joined  with  His  Body  which 
is  incorruptible,  and  that  His  is  in  ours  as  a  cause  of 
immortality — a  cause  by  removing,  through  the  death 
and  merit  of  His  own  flesh,  that  which  hindered 
the  life  of  ours." l  I  would  not  try  to  speak,  for  I 
have  neither  time  nor  insight,  of  the  hopes  which 
seem  to  be  astir  in  words  and  thoughts  like  these. 
But  I  would  suggest,  brethren,  that  we  should,  in 
careful  reverence  and  humility,  be  trying  to  know 
more  and  more  of  this  power  of  the  Resurrection  in 
the  life  of  the  body.  And  there  are  many  ways  in 
which  we  may  be  watching  for  its  tokens  and  learn 
ing  its  reality.  In  the  lives  of  the  saints ;  in  their 
clearness  and  freedom  ;  their  successful  resolution  not 
to  be  brought  under  the  power  of  the  things  which 
1  V.  hi.  9. 


90  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

domineer  over  most  men ;  their  calmness  in  tumult ; 
their  steadiness  of  judgment  through  fatigue  and 
suffering ;  their  thankfulness  in  all  things  ;  their  self- 
possession  in  the  face  of  death.  Or,  again,  in  some 
few  careers  which  have  in  our  own  day  arrested  and 
controlled  men's  thoughts  by  their  strange  impressive- 
ness  ;  careers  in  which  the  intensity  of  spiritual  force 
appeared  in  a  power  of  endurance  or  of  command 
which  common  opinion  instinctively  called  super 
natural  ;  careers  such  as  those  of  Hannington  or 
Gordon — men  born  and  nurtured  in  conditions  like 
our  own,  and  yet  so  splendidly  unhindered  by  the 
things  which  keep  us  back.  Or  we  may  turn  to  the 
history  of  ethics ;  and  we  are  told  that  "  it  is  a  simple 
historical  fact  that,  among  all  nations  and  in  all 
ages,  belief  in  Christ  alone  has  fought  and  mastered 
the  sins  of  the  flesh." l — We  must  own,  indeed,  with 
bitter  shame  the  hideous  disfigurement  that  has  pre 
vailed,  that  still  prevails,  in  nations  nominally  His ; 
but  still  there  has  been  a  change  clear  and  steady 
enough  to  demand  attention  and  explanation.  The 
power  of  the  Resurrection  has  conquered,  and  is  con 
quering  day  by  day,  passions  which  made  havoc 
almost  unchecked  until  Christ  came. — And  then, 
surely,  in  the  history  of  art,  we  find  a  remarkable 
1  Mr.  Wilson,  cited  by  B.  L.  Ottley,  "  The  Discipline  of  Self,"  p.  22. 


THE  HOPE   OF  THE  BODY.  91 

acknowledgment,  conscious  or  unconscious,  that  a 
transforming  power  has  told  upon  the  visible  world 
so  as  to  change  men's  estimate  of  art's  highest  theme 
Was  it  not  the  intense,  surpassing  interest  of  those 
traits  and  lines  and  looks  in  which  the  work  of  the 
Spirit  was  seen  in  human  faces — faces  wasted,  it  may 
be,  and  harassed  by  the  very  greatness  of  the  life 
that  was  astir,  yet  wrought  even  by  their  pain  to 
a  beauty  which  made  all  mere  physical  perfection 
seem  thenceforward  cold  and  poor  and  dead, — was  it 
not  this  that  drew  the  artist's  gaze  away  from  that 
which  had  seemed  highest  upon  earth,  to  watch  for 
the  disclosure  of  that  which  was  least  in  the  kingdom 
of  heaven,  that  he  might  "  bring  the  invisible  full  Into 
play  "  ;  that  he  might  so  paint  that  men  should  have 
fresh  knowledge  of  the  hidden  work  of  God  ? * 

And  so,  brethren,  in  connexion  with  this  witness 
from  the  history  of  art,  I  would  venture  very  tenta 
tively  to  speak  of  one  more  way  in  which,  I  think,  we 
might  be  learning  something  of  the  real  power  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  in  the  life  of  the  body.  Surely  we  might 
trace  it  sometimes  in  the  faces  and  in  the  voices  of 
those  who,  in  penitence  and  prayer  and  love,  with 
suffering  or  long  self-discipline,  have  yielded  up  their 

1  R.  Browning,  "  Old  Pictures  at  Florence,"  Poetical  Works,  vol.  vi 
pp.  81-85  (ed.  1889). 


92  THE  HOPE   OF  THE  BODY. 

wills,  their  lives,  to  Him — have  truly  longed  that  He 
should  have  His  way  with  them.  The  thought  is 
beautifully  told  in  a  well-known  book  on  the  Resurrec 
tion  of  our  Lord.1  But  I  cannot  help  citing  a  curious 
and  merely  incidental  expression  of  it  from  a  very 
different  source.  One  of  the  cleverest  of  modern  novels 
has  for  its  central  character  a  young  American  artist 
— Roderick  Hudson — brilliant,  unprincipled,  conceited. 
He  has  been  living  a  wholly  selfish  life  in  Rome  for 
some  time,  when  his  mother  and  her  adopted  daughter, 
Mary  Garland,  come  from  America  to  visit  him. 
And  the  first  time  he  sees  them, — simple,  pious,  loving 
folk,  who  have  been  living  in  constant  anxiety  for 
his  sake, — he  turns  suddenly  to  his  mother,  in  the 
middle  of  a  sentence,  and  asks  abruptly,  "What 
makes  you  look  so  odd?  What  has  happened  to 
your  face  these  two  years  ?  It  has  changed  its  ex 
pression."  "Your  mother  has  prayed  a  great  deal," 
said  Mary,  simply.  "Well,  it  makes  a  very  good 
face,"  answers  Roderick ;  "  very  interesting,  very 
solemn.  It  has  very  fine  lines  in  it."  2 — Yes,  brethren, 
there  are  many  faces  about  this  world,  I  think, 
in  which  prayer  and  patience  and  humility  have,  by 
God's  grace,  wrought  a  beauty  which  may  be  the 

1  W.  Milligan,  "The  Resurrection  of  our  Lord,"  Lecture  V.  p.  190. 

2  Henry  James,  "  Roderick  Hudson,"  vol.  ii.  pp.  43,  44. 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  93 

nearest  approach  that  can  be  seen  in  this  life  to  the 
glory  of  the  Resurrection — the  glory  that  is  to  be 
revealed  in  those  who  shall  then  be  wholly  penetrated 
and  transfigured  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord. 

IV.  Such  may  seem  to  be  some  of  the  ways  in 
which  we  may  mark  the  real  power  of  the  Resurrec 
tion  in  the  life  of  the  body.  But,  after  all,  by  far 
the  best,  the  surest,  the  happiest,  verification  of  St. 
Paul's  great  claim  must  be  made  by  each  man  for  him 
self  in  the  effort  of  obedience  to  the  bidding  of  the 
text ;  in  the  hidden  discipline  of  life ;  through  pain 
and  toil  and  fear,  it  may  be,  yet,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
not  without  some  earnest  of  a  victory  whose  faintest, 
briefest  forecast  is  better  than  all  the  pleasures  of 
compromise — the  victory  of  self-possession  for  the 
glory  of  God.  It  is  pitiful  to  imagine  how  much  of 
strength  and  liberty  and  joy  is  being  missed  or 
marred  day  after  day  by  the  mistakes  men  make  in 
dealing  with  their  bodies.  I  am  not  thinking  now  of 
the  misery  and  havoc  wrought  by  sheer  misuse — by 
gluttony  and  drunkenness  and  lust.  Quite  apart,  and 
utterly  different  from  sins  like  these,  there  are  mis 
understandings  of  the  body's  meaning,  and  one-sided 
ways  of  treating  it,  which,  with  little  or  no  blame 
perhaps,  still  hinder  grievously  the  worth  and  happi 
ness  that  life  might  have,  and  that  the  love  of  God 


94  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

intended  for  it.  There  are  the  two  mistakes  that 
Plato  has  for  ever  characterized  in  the  third  book  of 
the  "  Republic ; "  there  is  the  mistake  of  a  narrow  and 
exclusive  athleticism,  in  which  excellent  means  are 
just  spoilt  by  the  lack  of  an  adequate  end  ;  and  there 
is  the  far  more  serious,  expensive,  and  persistent 
blunder  of  the  valetudinarian — the  exacting  worship 
of  a  thankless  idol,  which  would  probably  fare  much 
better  if  the  rich  man,  like  the  artisan,  had  no 
time  to  be  ill,  and  thought  it  not  worth  while  to 
live  vooTjjuart  rbv  vovv  irpo<jixovTat  rfjc  Sc  TrpoKf.ifj.ivng 
tpyaatag  a^cAovvra."1  But  must  we  not  own  that 
there  is  also,  in  much  of  our  Christian  thought  and 
teaching,  I  would  not  say  a  mistake,  but  an  omission 
which  has  involved  some  serious  loss  ?  On  every 
ground  it  iff  right  that  the  lesson  of  the  Cross 
should  come  first,  and  stand  ever  foremost  in  the 
discipline  of  the  Christian  life;  but  is  there  not 
room,  and  need  also,  for  the  lesson  of  the  Resur 
rection?  Probably  we  all  of  us  know  well  enough 
why  the  note  of  Lent  should  be  ever  clear  and  strong 
in  our  lives;  but  should  not  the  note  of  Easter 
too  be  constant — the  note  of  thankful  welcome  for 
that  stream  of  life  and  light  and  health  which  issues 

1  Plato,  "Kepublic,"  406  D.    Of.  Dorner's  "System  of  Christian 
Ethics,"  p.  458,  English  translation. 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  95 

from  a  fount  that  our  sins  can  never  sully,  that  our 
prayers  and  penitence  may  always  reach  ?  We  need 
not  be  one  whit  less  firm  and  watchful  in  self- 
discipline,  less  mindful  of  the  war  we  wage,  because 
we  lift  our  hearts  in  wondering  joy  to  greet  the 
strength  that  is  made  perfect  in  our  weakness — the 
Presence  that  can  preserve  both  body  and  soul  unto 
everlasting  life.  Suffer  me  to  put  into  another  form 
what  I  am  trying  to  express. 

On  Thursday  last  I  was  standing  on  the  hill 
between  Cumnor  and  North  Hinksey,  and  delighting 
in  one  of  those  effects  of  contrast  which  seem  the 
peculiar  glory  of  an  April  sky.  Over  all  the  west 
and  north  there  loomed  an  angry  storm :  black  and 
wild  and  ominous,  with  here  and  there  a  lurid  tinge, 
it  spread  from  Faringdon  almost  to  Godstow.  But 
constantly,  against  that  sullen  mass,  the  larks  were 
rising  into  the  fresh  air,  as  though  they  were  resolute 
that  no  threats  or  fears  should  stay  their  song  of  praise 
for  spring ;  and  when  one  turned  towards  the  east, 
the  clouds  were  light  and  few,  and  the  distant  hills 
were  clear,  and  the  white  Cross  near  Bledlow  was 
gleaming  in  the  sun.  May  there  not  be  something 
like  that  contrast  in  the  inner  life — something  like  that 
voice  of  joy  even  in  the  face  of  all  that  is  so  dark 
and  threatening ;  ever  some  steadiness  of  light  about 


96  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY. 

the  east;  ever  some  radiance  of  the  Resurrection 
falling  on  the  Cross — the  Cross  of  shame  and  suffer 
ing  and  conquest  ?  Certainly,  when  men  were  most 
of  all  in  earnest  about  self-discipline,  the  joy  of  the 
risen  life  was  not  weak  or  uncertain  in  them.  Let 
us  recall  some  words  which  may  have  a  peculiar 
force  for  us  to-day,  since  he  who  wrote  them  has 
so  recently  been  taken  from  among  us:  "Medieval 
Christianity  is  reproached  with  its  gloom  and  austeri 
ties  ;  it  assigns  the  material  world,  says  Heine,  to  the 
devil.  But  yet  what  a  fulness  of  delight  does  St. 
Francis  manage  to  draw  from  this  material  world  itself, 
and  from  its  commonest  and  most  universally  enjoyed 
elements — sun,  air,  earth,  water,  plants !  His  hymn 
expresses  a  far  more  candid  sense  of  happiness,  even 
in  the  material  world,  than  the  hymn  of  Theocritus. 
It  is  this  which  made  the  fortune  of  Christianity — 
its  gladness,  not  its  sorrow;  not  its  assigning  the 
spiritual  world  to  Christ  and  the  material  world  to 
the  devil,  but  its  drawing  from  the  spiritual  world  a 
source  of  joy  so  abundant  that  it  ran  over  upon  the 
material  world  and  transfigured  it." 1 

V.  Many,  perhaps,    will    recognize    whose   words 
those  are.     In  Oxford  to-day,2  even  one  who  had  not 

1  «  Essays  in  Criticism,"  p.  207. 

2  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  died  in  the  week  preceding  the  Sunday  on 
which  this  sermon  was  preached. 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY.  97 

the  distinction  and  delight  of  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold's 
friendship  may  be  allowed  to  speak  of  him,  and  may 
be  pardoned,  I  trust,  if  he  speaks  unworthily ;  since  it 
was  difficult  to  be  silent.  Mr.  Arnold  has,  beyond 
dispute,  enriched  the  life  of  our  day  with  such  true 
help  as  always  comes  from  perfect  workmanship. 
To  him  we  owe  a  high  standard  and  example  of 
excellence  in  the  critic's  work — and  this  alone  were 
no  indifferent  gift;  for  there  would  be  far  more 
reverence  and  simplicity  and  charity  among  men  if 
criticism  always  were  as  he  would  have  it  be,  "a 
disinterested  endeavour  to  learn  and  propagate  the 
best  that  is  known  and  thought  in  the  world."  To 
him  we  owe  the  disclosure  of  a  beauty  in  our  lan 
guage  such  as  only  two  or  three  perhaps  at  most 
beside  him  in  this  age  have  attained.  And  this, 
again,  is  far  more  than  a  mere  adornment  of  human 
life.  A  deeper  debt  is  due  to  those  who  so  advance 
the  ideal  of  expression ;  for  many  hard  and  foolish 
and  untrue  things  might  be  left  unsaid  if  men  would 
only  wait  till  they  could  say  them  in  good  English. 
Thankfully,  too,  let  us  recall  how  much  his  delicate 
and  eager  sense  of  beauty,  and  his  faultless  happiness 
of  utterance,  have  added  to  the  pure  gladness  and 
refreshment  men  may  find  in  nature.  Surely  it  is 
a  triumph  of  poetic  power  and  beneficence  to  have 

H 


98  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  BODY 

linked  for  ever  with  our  Oxford  scenery  thoughts 
almost  as  exquisite  and  high  as  those  which  Words 
worth  found  among  his  nobler  hills  and  vales.  But 
yet  we  owe  to  Mr.  Arnold  even  greater  debts  than 
these.  I  should  fail,  brethren,  in  the  sincerity  due 
alike  to  his  memory  and  to  the  trust  I  hold,  if  I 
were  to  shrink  from  saying  of  parts  of  his  work  that 
I  believe  they  make  (however  utterly  against  his 
earnest  wish)  for  the  impoverishment  of  life  and  for 
the  darkening  of  light.  But  there  are  great  truths 
which  it  was  granted  him  to  bear  into  the  mind 
of  his  day  with  a  power  and  purity  perhaps  unique. 
The  meanness  and  vulgarity  of  self-satisfaction;  the 
absurdity  of  self-centredness  and  self-advertisement ; 
the  ludicrous  littleness  of  unreality ; — it  is  worth  while 
to  have  had  these  things  made  quite  clear  and  vivid  to 
us  by  a  master's  hand.  But,  as  a  poet,  he  has  done 
far  more  for  us  than  this.  With  a  power  of  buoyancy 
which  would  have  made  it  easy  to  disguise,  or  even 
to  forget  at  times,  all  grief,  he  never  has  kept  back 
from  us  the  sorrow  that  had  come  to  stay  where 
faith  had  been — the  sorrow  which  is  perhaps  the 
noblest  witness  that  a  doubting  mind  and  a  pure 
heart  can  bear  to  truth.  And  he  has  told  (as  none,  I 
think,  has  ever  told  save  he)  the  depth  and  solitude 
and  greatness  of  the  buried  life — "  the  mystery  of 


THE  HOPE  OF   THE  BODY.  99 

this  heart  which  beats  so  wild,  so  deep  in  us."  And, 
above  all,  with  his  loyal  abhorrence  of  acquiescence 
in  poor  and  stunted  thoughts  of  life,  he  has  never 
failed  to  bid  us,  one  and  all,  to  live  with  undivided 
care,  with  absolute  allegiance,  by  the  very  highest 
hope  that  our  hearts  descry. — There  is  light  and  help 
for  all  in  teaching  such  as  this;  and  he  whose  pure 
and  gracious  skill  has  borne  it  into  many  souls  has 
earned,  indeed,  our  reverent  and  prayerful  gratitude. 


IV. 

FREEDOM   OF  THOUGHT. 

"Where  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty.** 

2  COB.  iii.  17. 

WE  may  almost  seem  to  hear  a  change  in  the  tone 
of  St.  Paul's  voice,  and  to  see  a  new  light  glisten  in 
his  eyes,  as,  in  the  course  of  his  letter  to  the  Church 
at  Corinth,  he  dictates  these  words  to  his  amanuensis. 
For  they  are  words  of  transition  into  a  region  and 
atmosphere  of  thought  very  different  from  that  in 
which  he  has  before  been  moving.  He  has  been 
working  out,  with  some  complexity  and  elaboration 
of  detail,  the  contrast  in  substance,  in  circumstance, 
and  in  method  between  the  ministry  of  the  old 
covenant  and  the  ministry  of  the  new ;  between  the 
transient  and  fragmentary  disclosure  of  an  external 
Law,  and  the  inner  gift  of  a  quickening  Spirit,  stead 
fast  in  the  glory  of  holiness,  and  endless  in  its  power 
to  renew,  to  ennoble,  to  illuminate.  With  close  and 
tenacious  persistence  the  deep,  pervading  difference 


FREEDOM  OP  THOUGHT.  101 

between  the  two  systems  has  been  traced ;  and  then 
St.  Paul  seems  to  lift  up  his  eyes,  and  to  speak  as  one 
for  whom  the  sheer  wonder  of  the  sight  he  sees  finds 
at  once  the  words  he  needs.  He  has  finished  his 
argumentative  comparison ;  and  now  the  vision  of 
the  Christian  life,  the  triumph  of  God's  love  and  pity 
in  the  work  of  grace,  the  astonishing  goodness  that 
has  made  such  things  possible  for  sinful  men,  holds 
his  gaze.  As  the  traveller  who,  in  the  Alps  or  the 
Pyrenees,  has  climbed  the  northern  side  of  a  pass 
halts  when  he  reaches  the  summit,  and  feasts  his 
sight  with  the  wealth  and  brightness  of  the  southern 
landscape,  so  St.  Paul  seems  here  to  pause  in  his  dis 
cussion,  and  to  forget  all  else  as  he  looks  at  the 
beauty  and  fruitfulness  which  God  the  Holy  Ghost 
achieves  in  human  lives.  And  as  that  sight  fills  his 
heart,  one  word  rises  to  his  lips  (a  word  that  he  has 
not  used  before  in  this  Epistle)  :  with  an  insight  like 
that  of  the  poet  or  the  artist  who  sees  into  the  life  of 
nature  and  brings  out  immediately  the  inner  quality 
of  a  scene,  he  seizes  on  the  one  distinctive  note  of 
the  work  at  which  he  is  looking ;  one  word  tells  the 
peculiar  glory  of  the  characters  that  are  surrendered 
to  the  influence  of  the  indwelling  Spirit;  one  remark 
able  and  penetrating  word :  "  Where  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  is,  there  is  liberty." 


102  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

Liberty,  then,  according  to  St.  Paul,  is  the  cha 
racteristic  token  of  the  Holy  Spirit's  work  in  a  man's 
life :  he  who  is  really  led  and  strengthened  by  the 
Spirit  will  differ  from  other  men  in  this  especially, 
that  he  will  have  more  liberty,  that  he  will  move 
more  freely  and  (in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word) 
more  naturally  than  they.  Let  us  think  this  morning 
of  the  great  claim  that  is  thus  made  on  behalf  of 
that  Power  which,  in  its  fulness,  came  to  mankind 
on  Whitsunday. — There  are  two  spheres  in  which 
we  commonly  speak  of  the  enjoyment  and  exercise 
of  liberty — the  spheres  of  thought  and  of  conduct: 
we  speak  of  free  thinkers  and  of  free  agents.  Let  us 
this  morning  take  St.  Paul's  claim  into  the  former 
of  these  two  spheres,  and  try  to  see  its  meaning 
in  regard  to  our  intellectual  life. 

I.  Freedom  of  thought.  We  know  what  are  the 
associated  ideas  which  the  expression  is  apt  to  raise 
in  most  men's  minds.  It  would  not  be,  I  suppose, 
unjust  to  say  that  there  are  some  who  hold  that 
only  by  setting  aside  all  that  St.  Paul  meant 
when  he  spoke  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord,  only 
by  getting  rid  of  all  the  ideas  with  which  he  was 
occupied,  can  men  really  attain  to  liberty  of  thought]; 
and  that  the  belief  in  any  teaching  as  divinely 
revealed  is  the  great,  prevailing  hindrance  to  intel^ 


FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  103 

lectual  freedom.  It  seems  sometimes  to  be  quite 
sincerely  taken  for  granted  that,  whatever  may  be 
lost,  freedom,  at  all  events,  is  gained  when  a  man  has 
renounced  the  Christian  creed.  Men  speak  of  having 
shaken  off  the  fetters  of  orthodoxy ;  and  some,  it  may 
be,  who  still  hold  to  the  historic  faith  cannot  quite 
resist  a  secret  hankering  after  the  liberty  which  is 
thus  supposed  to  belong  to  those  who  have  ceased  to 
call  themselves  Christians.  There  is  a  wide  and  often  a 
sincere  opinion,  not  merely  that  authority  in  matters 
of  belief  has  been  and  is  sometimes  misused  and  mis 
understood — it  would  be  strange  if  that  were  not  so, 
— but  that  Christianity  and  thinking  freely  cannot  go 
together.  And  yet  St.  Paul  seizes  upon  liberty  as  the 
essential  characteristic  of  the  life  of  faith. 

Can  so  direct  a  contradiction  be  in  any  way 
accounted  for?  How  is  it  that  different  men  can 
look  honestly  at  facts  virtually  the  same  and  come 
to  conclusions  so  plainly  opposite  ? 

II.  Surely,  a  large  part  of  the  answer  to  that 
question  lies  in  this — that  men  have  widely  different 
ideas  as  to  what  the  liberty  of  the  intellect  really 
is.  For  real  freedom  of  thought  is  something  much 
more  than  thinking  what  one  likes;  it  is  some 
thing  much  more  difficult  and  less  common.  It  is 
easy  to  say  that  one  has  no  definite  belief,  and  that 


104  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

so  one  ia  going  to  speculate  freely  and  to  think  for 
one's  self.  But  how  hard,  how  rare,  that  freedom  in 
thinking  for  one's  self  really  is !  There  is,  indeed,  a 
certain  sense  in  which  none  of  us  might  find  it 
difficult  to  think  freely ;  but  it  is  a  sense  like  that 
in  which  we  might  say  that  a  little  child  plays 
freely  when  its  untrained  hands  fall  indiscriminately 
and  with  equal  satisfaction  on  any  number  of  dis 
cordant  notes.  There  is  a  certain  sense  in  which 
it  is  easy  to  judge  for  one's  self;  but  it  is  a  sense 
like  that  in  which  we  might  say  that  a  man  is 
judging  for  himself  when  he  saunters  in  utter  in 
difference  past  all  the  noblest  pictures  in  a  gallery, 
and  finds  nothing  to  enjoy  save  some  trivial  and 
shallow  thing  that  takes  his  fancy  by  appealing  to  a 
prejudice  or  an  association  of  ideas  in  his  own  mind. 
Let  the  child  know  something  of  what  music  means, 
let  the  man  begin  but  to  suspect  the  joy  that  a  true 
artist  finds  where  the  pure  and  great  spirits  of  past 
ages  speak  their  thoughts,  and  then  the  vision  of 
another  freedom  comes  in  sight. — And  so  in  the  yet 
graver  exercises  of  the  intellect.  The  mere  liberty 
of  thinking  what  one  likes  is  not  that  liberty  of 
which  St.  Paul  speaks — the  liberty  by  which  a 
man  is  indeed  ennobled  and  realizes  himself  and 
serves  his  generation.  There  is  much  to  be  done, 


FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  105 

and  much  to  be  undone,  in  every  one  of  us  before 
he  can  be  free  indeed  in  the  sphere  of  thought 

(a)  To  be  free  from  prejudice  and  conventionality ; 
free  from  wilf ulness  and  pride ;  free  from  despondency 
and  sloth ;  free  from  self-interest  and  the  desire  of 
praise ;  free  from  our  moods  and  tempers ;  free  from 
the  taint  of  our  old  sins,  and  the  shame  and  misery 
of  those  that  still  beset  us ;  free  from  all  delight  in 
saying  clever  things ;  free  from  the  perverting  love 
of  originality,  or  paradox,  or  theory,  or  completeness ; 
free  from  the  yet  wilder  perversions  of  jealousy,  or 
party  strife,  or  personal  dislike ;  free  from  the  secret 
influence  of  timidity  or  impatience; — are  these  con 
ditions  of  the  intellect's  true  liberty  easily  to  be 
secured  ?  How  many  of  us  can  say  that  we  are  even 
near  to  obtaining  this  freedom  ? 

(6)  And  yet  all  these  conditions,  great  as  they  are, 
are  but  the  beginning  of  that  liberation  which  sets 
a  man  really  free  to  think.  For  besides  all  these 
there  must  be  the  watchful  discipline  of  mind  and 
heart ;  they  must  be  trained  to  take  the  true  measure 
of  things ;  to  see  things  as  they  are ;  to  be  sensitive 
to  the  faintest  glance  of  light  that  may  betray  the 
hidden  truth  and  mark  the  place  of  its  emergence; 
they  must  be  growing  in  that  fineness  of  spiritual 
sense  which  will  discern  and  disengage  the  living 


106  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

germ  of  reality  in  the  complex  mass  that  is  thrown 
before  it.  The  intellect  that  is  to  be  free  indeed 
must  not  be  cramped,  bewildered,  hindered,  and  mis 
directed  by  its  own  deformity ;  and  perfect  health 
and  symmetry  of  mind  are  not  easily  to  be  gained  or 
kept. 

(c)  And  yet,  again,  there  is  wanted  something 
more  than  all  this.  For  if  intellectual  liberty  is  to 
be  what  in  some  it  has  been,  what  it  may  conceivably 
hereafter  be  in  us,  there  is  need  of  something  beyond 
all  that  can  be  won  even  by  the  most  watchful  dis 
cipline  of  heart  and  mind,  something  more  than  self- 
control  and  justice  of  insight.  For  liberty,  in  the 
highest  sense,  cannot  be  found  with  the  listless,  or 
indifferent,  or  desultory.  The  powers  that  are  to 
grow  in  freedom  must  be  keen  and  vivid ;  their  liberty 
must  be  realized  and  deepened  and  assured  in  ordered 
use ;  they  must  be  ever  winning  for  themselves  fresh 
strength  and  light  as  they  press  along  their  line  of 
healthful  growth  towards  the  highest  aim  they  can 
surmise.  And  so  there  can  be  no  liberty  of  thought 
without  the  love  of  truth — that  quickening  and 
ennobling  love  which  longs  for  truth,  not  as  the 
gratification  of  curiosity,  not  as  the  pledge  of  fame, 
not  as  the  monument  of  victory,  but  rather  as  that 
without  which  the  mind  can  never  be  at  rest,  or  find 


FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT.  107 

the  meaning  and  the  fulness  of  its  own  life — a  love 
more  like  the  love  of  home ;  a  love  sustained  by 
forecasts  of  that  which  may  be  fully  known  hereafter; 
by  fragments  which  disclose  already  something  of 
truth's  perfect  beauty,  as  its  light  streams  out  across 
the  waves  and  through  the  night,  to  guide  the  intellect 
in  the  strength  of  love  and  hope  to  the  haven  where 
it  would  be. 

III.  It  seems  strange  indeed  that  people  should  ever 
talk  as  though  it  were  easy  to  think  freely,  as  though 
a  man  could  attain  to  intellectual  liberty  simply  by 
renouncing  his  belief  in  revelation  and  adopting  what 
ever  view  of  life  may  seem  to  him  most  likely.  For 
it  can  be  but  slowly  and  painfully  that  any  of  us 
may  move  towards  perfect  liberty  of  thought;  and 
we  shall  never  reach  it,  I  suppose,  in  this  world; 
even  as  we  shall  never  here  be  wholly  free  from  sin. 
But  we  may  grow  in  freedom  if  we  will ;  we  may  be 
learning  how  to  think ;  we  may  be  casting  out  or 
bringing  under  sharp  control  the  tendencies  that 
trouble  and  confuse  us ;  we  may  be  redeeming  our 
intellect  from  all  that  enslaves,  dishonours,  and 
enfeebles  it.  And  for  all  this  we  certainly  need  help 
and  guidance ;  we  need  that  some  Presence,  pure 
and  wise  and  strong  beyond  all  that  is  of  this  world, 
should  bend  over  us,  should  come  to  us,  should  lead 


108  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

us  out  into  the  light.  The  truth  must  make  us  free. 
We  must  learn  "the  law  of  liberty,"  even  as,  to  go  back 
to  a  former  illustration,  the  child  must  learn  the  rules 
of  music  before  it  can  begin  to  gain  the  true  freedom 
of  the  trained  musician.  And  it  was  to  make  known 
to  us  the  law  of  liberty,  to  write  it  in  our  hearts, 
to  make  it  paramount  over  the  activities  alike  of 
intellect  and  will,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  came  down 
to  dwell  in  men.  Yes;  if  we  would  know  more 
of  intellectual  liberty,  let  us  see  whether  it  is  not 
really  to  be  gained  by  simply  and  humbly  bringing 
our  lives  into  more  constant  and  more  thankful  sub 
mission  to  His  guidance,  to  His  enlightening  and 
renewing  Presence.  For  is  not  this  a  part  of  His 
work?  Through  the  ministry  of  grace  and  truth 
He  makes  known  to  men  the  love  of  God,  shown 
forth  in  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord ;  and  as  the  astounding 
tenderness  and  glory  of  that  love  begins  to  dawn 
upon  them,  He  stirs  in  them  some  sense  of  what  might 
be  the  joy  and  strength  and  peace  of  a  human  life 
that  was  filled  with  such  a  love  as  that ;  and  then  He 
bears  into  their  hearts  the  hope  that,  for  Christ's  sake, 
that  life,  if  they  will  have  it,  may  even  yet  be  theirs. 
And  in  proportion  as  that  hope  grows  real  and  pure 
and  clear  within  them,  they  begin  with  single-minded- 
ness  to  look  towards  God  and  to  live  as  in  His  sight; 


FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT  109 

and  so  the  things  of  this  world — its  praise,  its  prizes, 
its  contentions,  its  prejudices — loose  their  hold  upon 
the  mind,  and  a  new  sense  of  strength  and  independ 
ence  come  to  it,  as  it  begins  to  see  even  afar  off  its 
rest  for  ever  in  the  truth  of  God.  And  then  the  Holy 
Spirit  shows  the  way  of  liberty  and  growth :  for  there 
has  been  one  human  life  lived  upon  this  earth  in 
perfect  freedom ;  one  life  in  which  every  faculty  was 
at  every  moment  wholly  free ;  and  in  proportion  as  a 
man  is  growing  in  likeness  to  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
and  following  the  blessed  steps  of  His  most  holy  life 
he  will  not  walk  in  darkness,  but  will  have  the  light 
of  life.  For  there  is^the  royal  law  of  liberty ;  there  is 
the  way  where  mind  and  heart  alike  may  be  becoming 
free  indeed.  And  then  as  men  falter  and  grow  weary 
in  the  way,  or  as  sin  besets  and  overclouds  them,  He 
brings  pardon  and  renewal ;  He  makes  possible  those 
"fresh  beginnings,  which  are  the  life  of  perseverance;" 
He  refreshes  soul  and  body  with  the  communion  of 
their  Redeemer's  Manhood.  Yes,  and  even  in  this 
world  men  find  it  true  that  "  where  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord  is,  there  is  liberty  " — there  the  intellect  really 
does  attain  to  a  steadiness  of  insight,  a  quiet  decision, 
a  strength  against  perplexity  and  sophistry,  a  firmness 
of  right  choice,  which  sometimes  stand  in  strange 
contrast  with  the  vacillation  and  mistakes  of  natural 


110  FREEDOM  OF  THOUGHT. 

ability ;  and  there  are  those  in  every  rank  of  life  on 
every  level  of  education,  who  have  in  this  way  reached 
a  degree  of  intellectual  liberty  such  as  the  cleverest 
of  men  might  envy  if  he  was  wise  enough  to  recognize 
it.  The  true  liberty  begins  in  this  world ;  but  it  is 
only  when  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  has  perfected  the 
work  of  grace  that  the  full  meaning  of  that  great 
word  can  be  disclosed;  and  when  men  are  sinless, 
when  they  see  God,  when  they  know  Him  as  also 
they  are  known,  and  when  they  serve  Him  day  and 
night,  then  at  last  they  may  understand  what  ifc  is 
for  the  intellect  to  be  free  indeed. 


V, 

THE   KNOWLEDGE  OF  GOD. 

"  Now  I  know  in  part ;  but  then  shall  I  know  even  as  also 
I  am  known." 

1  COB.  xiii.  12. 

THERE  is  in  these  words  another  contrast  besides 
that  which  we  see  at  once,  between  partial  know 
ledge  and  complete.  It  is  not  only  that  the  field  of 
knowledge  is  to  be  extended ;  there  is  to  be  a  change 
also  in  the  act  itself — a  change  in  what  knowing 
means,  in  the  relation  it  expresses.  For  there  is 
between  the  verbs  used  in  the  two  clauses  a  differ 
ence  which  our  translators  have  wisely  despaired  of 
reproducing.  Yet  the  distinction  was,  I  think,  full 
of  significance  to  St.  Paul;  it  rests  on  a  clear  con 
viction  in  his  mind  about  the  attainment  of  knowledge 
concerning  the  things  of  faith;  and  it  may  have 
some  especial  teaching  for  us,  in  times  when  many 
are  rejecting  Christianity  because  it  does  not  satisfy 
expectations  which  it  has  expressly  and  steadily 
discouraged. 


112  THE  KNOWLEDGE   OF  GOD. 

I.  The  two  verbs,  then,  are  ytyvuaKttv  and 
(TKttv:  but  it  is  in  the  corresponding  substantives,yvoj<ne 
and  tTriyvwvtg,  that  the  difference  is  most  clearly  and 
suggestively  marked  both  by  St.  Paul  and  by  St.  Peter. 
And  in  regard  to  the  latter  word  a  careful  and  unen- 
thusiastic  critic  has  said,  on  the  Second  Epistle  of  St. 
Peter,  that  "  this  cTrty voxrte  is  the  central  point  of  the 
Christian  life,  both  theoretically  and  practically  con 
sidered."  l 

What,  then,  is  the  meaning  of  the  word  ?  What 
is  the  distinction  by  which  it  goes  beyond  the  simpler 
word  yz/wo-t?  ?  It  seems,  in  the  use  of  it  which  we 
are  here  considering,  to  mark  a  higher  degree  of 
intensity,  an  energy  of  deeper  penetration.  It  is  not 
a  quiescent  state,  the  resting  in  an  acquirement,  but 
the  advance  of  one  to  whom  every  attainment  is  but 
the  impulse  of  fresh  effort;  one  who  is  not  content 
to  know,  but  ever,  in  Hosea's  words,  "  follows  on  to 
know  " — "  knowing  in  order  to  follow,  and  following 
in  order  to  know;  as  light  prepares  the  way  for 
love,  and  love  opens  the  mind  for  new  light."  a  It 

1  "  It  is  the  vehicle  of  the  Divine  agency  in  na,  and  so  of  our 
highest  participation  of  God ;  it  is  the  means  of  escape  from  the  pol 
lutions  of  the  world— the  crowning  point  of  Christian  virtues ;  the 
means  of  access  into  Christ's  kingdom  "  (Alford's  Commentary,  vol.  iv< 
part  i.  «  Prolegg.,"  p.  141). 

8  Cf.  E.  B.  Pusey  on  Hos.  vi.  a 


THE  KNOWLEDGE  OF  GOD.  113 

seems  analogous  to  that  which  many  of  us  may  have 
experienced,  the  strong  intention  with  which  one 
looks  into  a  great  picture;  at  first,  perhaps,  with 
some  surprise  at  the  high  language  that  has  been 
used  about  it ;  but  gradually,  hour  after  hour,  it  may 
be,  seeing  in  it  depths  beyond  depths  of  thought  and 
beauty ;  never  turning  away  from  it  without  a  feel 
ing  that  we  were,  perhaps,  on  the  very  verge  of 
seeing  something  unsuspected  hitherto;  leaving  it 
At  last  with  a  certainty  that  we  have  by  no  means 
exhausted  all  that  it  contains. 

Analogous  again,  and  more  closely  analogous,  is 
that  advancing  knowledge  which  we  may  gain,  if 
we  are  patient  and  reverent,  of  a  really  great  and 
deep  character.  As  we  watch  the  ways  and  try  to 
enter  into  the  mind  of  one  who,  through  the  dutiful 
effort  of  a  long  life,  has  done  justly,  and  loved  mercy, 
and  walked  humbly  with  his  God,  there  may  seem 
no  end  to  the  depths  of  strength  and  beauty  which 
are  disclosed;  we  are  alwaya  feeling  how  little  we 
have  really  known,  how  much  there  is  yet  to  be 
understood.  It  was  a  surprise  to  us,  perhaps,  when 
first  we  penetrated  at  all  beyond  the  reserve  which 
has  guarded  the  inner  wealth  from  the  squandering 
of  common  talk ;  but  beyond  that  first  surprise  we 
see  by  fragments,  and  by  indications  slowly  recog- 

I 


114  THE  KNOWLEDGE   OF  GOD. 

nized,  how  far  more  complex  and  costly  and  mys 
terious  a  thing  real  moral  greatness  is  than  we  had 
ever  thought.  Knowing,  we  follow  on  to  know ;  and 
as  we  advance,  fresh  revelations  are  released  where 
we  had  suspected  nothing. 

II.  Such,  in  regard  to  the  things  of  faith,  is  that 
"larger  and  more  thorough  knowledge,"  that  more 
penetrating  discernment,  which  tTriyvwmg  seems  to 
mean.  And  thus  it  is  striking  to  mark  at  what  point 
in  his  life  St.  Paul  brings  the  word  into  frequent 
use  in  speaking  of  the  knowledge  of  God.  It  is 
seldom  so  used  in  his  earlier  letters ;  but  it  comes  into 
sudden  prominence  in  those  written  while  he  was  for 
the  first  time  a  prisoner  at  Rome.  It  is  a  frequent 
and  emphatic  word  with  him  as  he  writes  from  his 
imprisonment ;  and  surely  we  may  make  a  fair  con 
jecture  as  to  the  cause.  A  lull  has  come  in  the  out 
ward  activity  of  his  life;  that  restless  energy  is 
checked  from  its  manifold  and  ceaseless  tasks ;  there 
is  no  longer  the  same  necessity  to  be  continually 
entering  into  the  minds  of  others  and  becoming  all 
things  to  all  men ;  he  has  got  an  opportunity  such  as 
illness  sometimes  brings ;  to  a  certain  extent  he  is 
bidden  to  come  apart  and  rest  awhile.  And  in  that 
comparative  quietude  he  sees  with  deeper,  steadier  in 
sight  how  boundless  is  the  space  of  ever-growing  light 


THE  KNOWLEDGE   OF  GOD.  115 

through  which  the  soul  of  man  may  move  forward 
in  the  knowledge  of  God ;  he  sees  how  in  that  know 
ledge,  rightly  understood,  there  is  the  highest  exercise 
for  every  faculty  of  the  inner  life — for  mind  and 
heart  and  will,  to  learn,  to  love,  to  worship;  how 
through  that  knowledge  a  man  may  come  to  realize 
himself,  to  know  the  end  for  which  God  called  him 
into  being,  and  what  it  means  so  to  lose  one's  life 
that  one  may  find  it.  He  sees  further  into  that  all- 
embracing  truth — that  this  is  life  eternal,  the  true 
life,  the  life  for  which  the  love  of  God  created  and 
redeemed  men,  that  they  may  know  the  only  true 
God,  and  Jesus  Christ,  Whom  He  has  sent ;  knowing 
Him  with  a  knowledge  that  ever  presses  on,  and  that 
can  never  be  distinct  from  love.  Surely  it  may  be 
with  some  such  experience  of  progress  in  the  know 
ledge  of  God  that  St.  Paul,  in  every  letter  which  he 
writes  from  his  imprisonment,  makes  it  a  part  of  his 
entreaty  for  his  converts  that  they  too  may  be  led 
forward  in  that  deepening  knowledge  ;  that  God  may 
give  unto  them  the  spirit  of  wisdom  and  revelation 
in  the  knowledge  of  Him ;  that  their  love  may  abound 
yet  more  and  more  in  knowledge;  that  they  may 
increase  in  the  knowledge  of  God  and  of  His  will ; 
that  their  deeds  of  charity  may  become  effective  in 
the  knowledge  of  every  good  thing.  "In  all  the 


116  THE  KNOWLEDGE   OF  GOD. 

Epistles  of  the  Koman  captivity,"  says  Bishop  Light- 
foot,  "  St.  Paul's  prayer  for  his  correspondents  culmi 
nates  in  this  word."1  Above  all  else  he  longs  that 
they  may  continually  advance  in  that  knowledge 
which  has  been  the  especial  blessing,  the  uplifting 
gladness  of  his  time  of  bondage. 

Ill  Our  knowledge  of  God,  then,  in  this  life,  must 
be  a  constant  "moving  forward  in  the  twilight;" 
fragmentary,  and  perhaps  unequal ;  but  by  His  grace 
increasing,  as  we  "  follow  on  to  know ; "  starting  from 
a  venture,  demanding  an  effort;  and  to  the  end  of 
this  life  a  knowledge  only  in  part.  But  after  this 
life,  if  we  have  endured  and  persevered  unto  the  end, 
there  shall  be  a  change.  "  Then  shall  I  know  even  as 
also  I  was  known."  When  the  things  which  keep 
us  back  have  loosed  their  hold  on  us ;  when  sin  and 
indolence  and  doubt  are  done  with;  when  all  the 
anxieties  that  we  have  suffered  here  to  fret  us  and 
divide  our  hearts  are  put  away  for  ever ;  when, 
through  whatsoever  discipline,  in  this  world  or  beyond 
it,  God  has  wrought  His  perfect  work  on  us;  then 
will  the  broken  and  faltering  effort  pass  into  an 
unhindered  energy,  and  we  shall  know  Him  even  as 
also  we  were  known.  Even  as  from  the  first  He  has 

1  Bishop  Lightfoot,  on  Philemon  6.  Of.  also  his  notes  on  Phil.  i.  9, 
and  on  Col.  i.  9. 


THE  KNOWLEDGE  OF  GOD.  117 

known  us ;  as,  when  He  made  us  His,  when  He  called 
us  to  Himself,  when  He  gave  us  our  work  to  do,  He 
knew  us ;  as  now,  in  all  the  discipline  of  life,  in  all 
His  dealings  with  us,  His  gaze  penetrates  at  once 
the  inmost  depths  of  our  being ;  so  shall  we  be  ever 
moving  forward,  with  intensity  then  undivided  and 
unwearied,  in  the  realization  of  His  infinite  truth  and 
goodness. 

Let  us  try  to  see  our  present  duty  in  this  regard. 
Some  measure  of  the  knowledge  of  God  is  within 
the  reach  of  all  who  really  desire  it  and  will  really 
strive  for  it.1  Through  many  ways  He  is  waiting  to 
reveal  Himself  more  clearly  to  every  one  of  us — 
through  conscience,  through  nature,  through  the 
Bible,  through  the  lives  of  the  poor  and  of  those 
who  suffer  patiently,  through  all  moral  beauty,  and 
above  all,  in  the  life  and  teaching  of  our  Lord. 
Through  all  these  ways,  it  may  be,  hints  and  glances 
of  His  glory  have  already  come  to  us;  through  all 
these  ways  we  may  know  in  part,  and  follow  on  to 
know  continually  more.  But,  undoubtedly,  there  is 
need  of  venture — the  venture  of  faith,  to  commit 
ourselves  to  Him;  to  trust  the  light  we  see,  even 
though  we  see  it  faintly  and  unsteadily.  Knowledge 
will  never  grow  in  that  cold  and  sceptical  mind 
•  Of.  Bishop  Harvey  Goodwin,"  The  Foundations  of  the  Creed,"  p.  3a 


118  THE  KNOWLEDGE  OF  GOD. 

which  Dr.  Newman  has  described  so  well ;  the  mind 
"  which  has  no  desire  to  approach  its  God,  but  sits  at 
home  waiting  for  the  fearful  clearness  of  His  visible 
coming,  Whom  it  might  seek  and  find  in  due  measure 
amid  the  twilight  of  the  present  world." l — And  then, 
with  the  venture  of  faith,  there  is  need  of  self-dis 
cipline  and  of  effort.  We  cannot  expect  to  grow  in 
the  knowledge  of  God  while  our  sins  are  unrepented 
of ;  while  our  temper  is  uncontrolled ;  while  purposes 
of  self -indulgence,  half  recognized  and  connived  at, 
are  suffered  to  hang  about  our  cowardly  and  lazy 
hearts — no,  nor  yet  while  our  prayers  are  hurried 
and  heedless;  while  devotion  is  costing  us  no  care 
and  no  firmness  of  daily  self -concentration.  And  then, 
above  all,  there  is  need  of  loyal  obedience  to  the 
truth  we  have  already  grasped;  a  resolute  determi 
nation,  "  by  God's  grace,  not  to  flinch  from  any  duty  " 
we  have  recognized;2  to  follow  where  the  way  is 
clear,  even  though  it  be  rough  and  steep,  and  though 
at  first  we  see  but  a  few  steps  in  front  of  us.  These 
are  plain  conditions  of  growing  in  the  knowledge  of 
God ;  and  they  can  never  be  easy  to  any  of  us ;  they 
may  at  first  be  very  hard.  But  when  we  are  quiet, 

*  "  University  Sermons,"  p.  220. 

*  Cf.  Wilfrid  Ward,  «  William  George  Ward  and  the  Oxford  Move 
ment,"  Appendix  B. 


THE  KNOWLEDGE   OF  GOD.  119 

when  we  are  true  to  ourselves,  we  know,  thank  God, 
one  thing,  at  all  events,  quite  certainly — that  in  that 
way  of  effort  and  self-discipline  and  prayer  lies  our 
only  hope  of  peace ;  our  one  chance  of  living  as  every 
man  would  fain  have  lived  when  the  time  comes  for 
him  to  die.  Far  ahead  of  us,  it  may  be,  on  that  way 
we  see  some  who  have  had  faith  to  venture  and 
strength  to  persevere ;  we  see  what  they,  God  helping 
them,  have  made  of  life  and  of  themselves ;  we  feel 
how  they  have  grown  in  the  knowledge  and  the  love 
of  God,  and  how  that  knowledge  and  that  love  have 
lifted  them  above  the  passions  and  the  fears,  the 
selfishness  and  insincerity,  which  make  so  many  weak 
and  miserable;  and  so  we  may  gather  courage  to 
press  on ;  while  God,  of  His  great  mercy,  seldom 
leaves  men  long  without  some  earnest  of  that  increase 
of  light  which  ever  waits  upon  the  pathway  of  obedi 
ence  ;  that  they  may  understand  more  clearly,  as  they 
will  to  do  His  Will,  what  is  the  hope  of  His  calling, 
and  what  the  riches  of  His  glory,  and  the  exceeding 
greatness  of  His  power. 


VL 

DRUDGERY   AND    HEROISM. 

41 1  came  down  from  heaven,  not  to  do  Mine  own  will,  but 
the  will  of  Him  that  sent  Me." 

ST.  JOHN  vi.  38. 

I.  IN  almost  every  calling  of  life  we  can  trace  two 
very  different  elements  or  parts.  There  is,  on  the 
one  hand,  the  ordinary  routine  of  daily  work ;  there 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  the  occasional  demand  for  a 
great  act  of  courage  or  self-sacrifice.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  level  course  of  common  tasks ;  on  the  other, 
the  rare  opportunity  of  heroism.  On  the  one  hand, 
the  plain  business  that  must  be  done ;  on  the  other, 
the  chance  of  realizing,  of  acting  up  to  the  noble 
idea  which  belongs  to  one's  profession.  So  it  is,  for 
instance,  in  a  doctor's  life.  He  may  go  on,  through 
week  after  week,  of  clear  and  obvious  tasks,  just 
doing  his  best  for  the  cases  that  he  has  to  deal  with ; 
and  then,  suddenly,  it  may  be,  he  has  a  chance  of 
doing,  or  not  doing,  a  splendid  deed;  of  saving 
another's  life  at  the  risk  of  his  own ;  of  showing  how 


DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM.  121 

far  the  highest  thought  of  hip  calling  has  a  hold 
upon  him.  And  so,  again,  in  a  priest's  life.  There 
may  be  long  spells  of  quiet  and  safe  and  almost 
uneventful  work ;  and  then  comes  the  call  to  a  real 
venture  of  self-sacrifice — the  opportunity,  it  may  be, 
of  bearing  part  in  some  perilous  mission-work;  the 
outbreak  of  fever  or  cholera  in  the  squalid  alleys 
of  a  crowded  parish;  the  choice  between  worldly 
prospects  and  loyalty  to  Divine  truth :  and  he,  too, 
must  show  what  he  really  means,  of  what  sort  he 
really  is,  and  how  far  the  Gospel  he  preaches  and  the 
example  of  his  Lord  have  indeed  been  taken  into 
his  own  heart.  And  so  it  is,  most  evidently,  I  sup 
pose,  in  a  soldier's  life:1  there  especially  one  may  seem 
to  see  these  two  elements — the  ordinary  routine  and 
the  magnificent  opportunities,  the  commonplace  busi 
ness  and  the  heroic  ventures.  It  must  be  so  through 
out  all  ranks.  Every  soldier,  to  whatever  branch  of 
the  service  he  belongs,  and  whatever  trust  he  holds 
in  it,  will  have  his  share  of  plain  and  unexciting 
work,  of  tasks  that  may  look  more  or  less  like 
drudgery ;  and  then  to  every  soldier  there  may  come 
the  opportunity  of  realizing  at  some  critical  moment, 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  on  the  18th  of  June,  in  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  at  the  Annual  Festival  of  the  Army  Guild  of  the  Holy 
Standard. 


122  DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM. 

in  some  decisive  act,  the  highest  ideal  of  greatness; 
the  opportunity  of  laying  down  his  life  for  his 
friends;  of  lifting  higher  the  standard  of  courage, 
of  endurance,  of  self-control,  and  of  self-sacrifice,  by 
swift  and  generous  daring — by  a  deed  to  be  remem 
bered  and  reverenced,  perhaps,  on  earth  through 
many  generations;  a  deed  never  to  be  forgotten, 
surely,  there,  where  the  memory  of  a  man's  unselfish 
ness  matters  most. — The  riches  of  a  nation  are  the 
records  of  such  acts — acts  that  long  live  on  to  shame 
men  out  of  listlessness  and  vanity,  and  to  make  them 
discontent  with  easy,  selfish  lives  and  paltry  aims ; 
acts  which,  by  the  grace  of  God,  ennoble  every  way 
of  life,  however  humble  and  obscure;  but  which 
nowhere  glow  with  a  more  vivid  radiance  than  in  the 
histories  of  military  service.  So  absorbing  is  men's 
interest  in  such  exploits,  that  they  often  give  hardly 
any  thought  to  the  uneventful  background  out  of 
which  they  come ;  to  the  long  tracts  of  quiet  routine 
which  may  be  just  as  real  and  characteristic  a  part 
of  a  true  soldier's  life  as  the  brilliant  ventures  of 
fearlessness  and  self-devotion. 

Now,  if  there  are  these  two  parts  in  our  lives, 
surely  what  we  want  to  learn  is  how  we  may 
best  be  preparing  ourselves,  as  we  go  on  with  our 
regular  and  ordinary  work,  for  the  demand,  the 


DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM.  123 

opportunity,  which  may  come  to  us;  how  we  may 
be  getting  ready  to  do  the  right  thing,  and  to  quit 
ourselves  like  men,  when  the  crisis,  the  time  of  trial, 
is  on  us.  For  two  things,  I  think,  we  may  mark  if 
we  study  men's  characters  and  ways  a  little.  First, 
that  the  ready  and  the  unready  man,  the  man  who  will 
not  fail  and  the  man  who  may,  look  very  much  alike 
sometimes.  The  difference  is  deep  down  in  them,  and 
it  does  not  show  in  fair  weather;  it  is  the  sudden 
demand,  the  need  for  something  great,  that  brings  it 
out — just  as  it  was  not  till  the  cry  came  at  midnight, 
when  it  was  too  late  to  mend  matters,  that  the 
foolish  virgins  found  that  they  had  no  oil  for  their 
flickering  and  failing  lamps.  And  secondly,  most  men 
are  likely  to  be  at  a  crisis  more  or  less  what  they 
have  been  beforehand.  Where  their  treasure  is,  there 
will  their  heart  be  found ;  they  will  make  their  choice 
then — save  for  a  miracle  of  God's  grace — as  they 
have  been  choosing  all  along.  It  seems,  indeed,  one 
of  the  gravest  and  deepest  of  moral  laws,  that  under 
the  stress  of  trial  men  will  strongly  tend  at  least  to  be 
whatever  in  quieter  hours  they  have  made  themselves. 
II.  Is  there,  then,  any  one  great  principle,  any  uni 
versal  law,  which  reaches  over  the  whole  course  of  a 
man's  life ;  which  holds  good  alike  in  all  its  parts,  and 
under  all  conditions  ?  Is  there  any  one  ruling  motive 


124  DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM. 

which  we  can  so  welcome  and  settle  and  enthrone 
in  our  hearts  by  daily  practice,  that  in  the  time  of 
fiercest  strain  it  may,  God  helping  us,  hold  us  firm 
and  keep  us  straight?  Can  we  make  routine  the 
school  of  heroism  ? 

Yes,  indeed,  my  brothers;  and  in  this,  as  in  all 
else,  our  Blessed  Lord  and  Saviour  teaches  us  quite 
plainly  and  quite  perfectly  the  way  of  peace  and 
strength.  He  Who  died  to  set  us  free  to  live  as  men 
should  live ;  He  Who  ever  lives  to  plead  for  us ;  He 
Who  deigns  to  come  to  us  in  the  holy  Mysteries 
which  He  has  ordained ; — He  shows  us  by  His  own 
example  how  a  lif e  may  be  sure  and  steadfast  through 
all  the  changes  of  this  world  ;  how  the  plainest  tasks 
may  be  our  training  for  the  very  noblest  deeds.  "  Not 
to  do  Mine  own  will,  but  the  will  of  Him  that  sent 
Me."  In  those  words  He  tells  us  the  central  prin 
ciple  of  His  own  life  on  earth ;  and  in  those  words 
He  gives  us  the  one  sure  rule  for  handling  our  own 
lives  rightly.  Other  aims  may  call  out  a  high  degree 
of  energy  and  ability  in  a  man ;  the  passion  for  glory, 
the  love  of  money,  personal  ambition,  thirst  for 
power, — all  these  will  nerve  a  man  for  great  enter 
prises,  great  endurance ;  high  things  have  been  dared 
and  done  for  motives  such  as  these ;  but  none  of 
these  is  sufficient  even  for  this  present  life ;  none  will 


DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM.  125 

guide  a  man  with  equal,  steady  light  and  help  alike 
through  the  calm  and  through  the  storm,  through 
the  quiet  and  through  the  exciting  times.  Men 
spend  their  strength  for  these  things;  they  gain  it 
in  allegiance  to  God.  "  Not  to  do  Mine  own  will,  but 
the  will  of  Him  that  sent  Me."  To  ask  myself  each 
morning,  not — How  far  can  I  to-day  advance  my  own 
interest,  increase  my  reputation,  enjoy  myself  ?  but — 
How  can  I,  in  the  duties  and  opportunities  of  this 
day,  fulfil  the  will  of  God? — this  is  the  way  in 
which  a  man  grows  strong  and  fearless ;  this  is  the 
way  in  which  the  plainest  round  of  daily  tasks  may 
be  his  training-ground  for  some  splendid  act  of  self- 
devotion  that  will  thrill  and  gladden  and  uphold  the 
hearts  of  all  true  men.  "  Not  to  do  Mine  own  will, 
but  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  Me."  Only  let  a  man- 
whatsoever  his  work  may  be — renew  each  day  that 
purpose  in  his  heart,  and  seek  God's  grace  to  keep  it, 
and  then,  be  sure  of  it,  two  things  will  come  about. 
First,  that  for  him  even  the  most  ordinary  tasks,  the 
mere  routine  of  life,  will  be  ennobled;  the  very 
drudgery  will  shine  with  some  reflection  of  the  obedi 
ence  of  heaven ;  it  will  seem  like  those  most  attractive 
of  all  faces,  in  which  there  may  be  no  natural  beauty, 
in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word,  which  may  be  even 
plain,  but  in  which  there  certainly  is  a  supernatural 


126  DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM. 

charm  of  moral  beauty  that  we  may  learn  a  little 
to  understand  as  life  goes  on.  And  secondly,  in  that 
routine  he  will  be  bringing  his  inner  life  into  a  habit 
of  attention  and  allegiance  to  the  voice  of  duty ;  by 
constant  drilling  and  discipline  he  will  be  training 
his  heart  almost  to  take  it  for  granted  that  at  all 
times  duty  is  the  one  thing  to  be  thought  about, 
and  that  whatever  clashes  with  duty  must  give  way ; 
and  so,  whenever  the  time  comes,  he  will  be  ready. 
If  the  voice  of  duty,  clear,  austere,  yet  not  ungentle, 
calls  even  for  the  sacrifice  of  life  itself,  he  will  not 
be  perplexed  or  staggered ;  he  will  not  have  to  weigh 
this  and  that,  or  to  call  in  the  straggling  forces  of  his 
will;  that  is  certainly  the  voice  that  he  has  always 
followed ;  he  will  rise  and  follow  it  now ;  it  has  kept 
him  straight  so  far,  and  he  will  not  now  begin  to 
distrust  it ;  he  will  answer,  in  simplicity  and  thank 
fulness,  "I  come  to  do  Thy  will;  I  am  content  to 
do  it ;  yea,  Thy  Law  is  within  my  heart ; "  he  will 
keep  the  path  of  duty,  and  will  leave  the  rest  to 
God.  Yes,  the  love  of  duty  is  the  strength  of  heroes ; 
and  there  is  no  way  of  life  in  which  we  may  not  set 
ourselves  to  learn  that  love. 

III.  Let  me  point  you,  brethren,  in  conclusion,  to 
two  splendid  instances  of  the  controlling  greatness  of 
character  which  may  be  reached  by  that  steadfast 


DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM.  127 

and  unselfish  loyalty  to  duty  of  which  I  have  been 
trying  to  speak.  We  cannot  forget  what  night  it  is 
on  which  we  are  gathered  here — the  night  of  Waterloo. 
We  are  within  a  few  minutes  of  the  very  time  at 
which  the  battle  was  decided ;  the  time  at  which,  as 
the  imperial  guard  passed  up  the  ridge  held  by  our 
troops,  the  Duke  of  Wellington  gave  orders  for  that 
simultaneous  attack  in  front  and  in  flank  to  which 
Napoleon  himself  ascribed  the  loss  of  the  battle.1 
As  we  look  back  to  that  day — the  most  critical  and 
the  most  fateful,  I  suppose,  in  modern  history — 
perhaps  the  best  lesson  for  us  all  to  learn  may  be 
seen  when  the  two  great  commanders  who  met  upon 
that  field  are  set  in  contrast ;  and  the  lesson  of  that 
contrast  is,  I  think,  nothing  else  than  this — the 
unique  strength  and  greatness  of  allegiance  to  duty. 
On  both  sides  of  the  contrast  we  may  see  in  rare 
magnificence  the  same  commanding  qualities  of  in 
tellect,  the  same  unwearied  energy,  the  same  personal 
courage,  the  same  masterful  intensity  of  will;  but, 
writes  the  historian,  "Napoleon  was  covetous  of 
glory ;  Wellington  was  impressed  with  duty."  "  Single 
ness  of  heart  was  the  characteristic  of  Wellington, 
a  sense  of  duty  was  his  ruling  principle;  ambition 
pervaded  Napoleon,  a  thirst  for  glory  was  his  in- 
1  Alison,  ch.  xciv.,  §  30,  and  note. 


128  DRUDGERY  AND   HEROISM. 

variable  incentive.  .  .  .  There  is  not  a  proclamation 
of  Napoleon  to  his  soldiers  in  which  glory  is  not 
mentioned,  nor  one  in  which  duty  is  alluded  to ;  there 
is  not  an  order  of  Wellington  to  his  troops  in  which 
duty  is  not  inculcated,  nor  one  in  which  glory  is 
mentioned."  *  It  would  be  hard,  I  think,  to  measure 
what  Europe  owed  to  the  victory  at  Waterloo;  but 
surely  this  stands  high,  if  not  supreme,  among  its 
abiding  results — that  the  splendour  of  that  day 
arrays  the  form  of  duty ;  that  it  arrested  and  struck 
down  a  policy  of  personal  ambition. 

Let  us  turn  for  our  last  lesson  to  a  very  different 
scene,  but  yet  a  scene  in  which  the  majesty  of 
dutifulness  held  the  gaze  of  Europe.  As  on  this  very 
day  last  year,  one  whom  I  would  venture  to  call  one 
of  the  greatest  soldiers  of  our  age  was  carried  to  his 
grave.  The  Emperor  Frederick  had  given  up  his 
heart  to  the  love  of  duty  in  his  boyhood ;  through 
his  years  of  splendid  action  he  had  been  steadfast 
and  true  in  that  allegiance;  and  through  the  long 
weeks  of  yet  more  splendid  patience  God  Almighty 
kept  him  dutiful  to  the  very  end.  Forty  years  ago, 
before  he  was  eighteen,  he  had  entered  upon  active 
service ;  and  his  father  introduced  him  to  the  officers 
of  the  regiment  to  which  he  was  attached,  in  these 
1  Alison,  oh.  xciv.,  §  64-C6. 


DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM.  129 

words :  "  I  entrust  my  son  to  you  in  the  hope  that  he 
will  learn  obedience,  and  so  some  day  know  how  to 
command."  Then,  turning  to  his  son,  he  simply  said, 
"Now  go  and  do  your  duty."  The  note  that  these 
words  touched  sounded  again  in  the  first  public 
utterance  of  the  youthful  prince  about  six  months 
later :  "  I  am  still  very  young,"  he  said,  "  but  I  will 
prepare  myself  with  love  and  devotion  for  my  high 
calling,  and  endeavour  some  day  to  fulfil  the  anticipa 
tions  of  my  people,  which  will  then  become  a  duty 
entrusted  to  me  by  God."1  And  so  year  after  year, 
through  times  of  peace  and  times  of  war,  he  laboured 
to  prepare  himself ;  in  steadfast  allegiance  to  duty 
he  kept  storing  up  the  strength  and  wisdom  and  self- 
mastery  that  he  would  need  when  he  should  be 
called  to  his  yet  greater  duties  as  the  Emperor  of 
Germany.  But  God  had  another — may  we  not,  as  we 
look  towards  the  Cross  of  Christ,  be  bold  to  say  an 
even  greater  ? — use  for  all  that  strength  and  wisdom 
and  self-mastery.  Not  to  sway  for  a  few  years  the 
course  of  that  one  nation's  history,  but  for  all  times 
and  through  all  lands  to  set  a  great  example  of 
unmurmuring  patience ;  to  teach  and  to  encourage 
men  to  do  their  duty,  simply  and  quietly,  even 
through  the  weariest  days  of  suffering  and  weakness ; 
1  Rennell  Kodd,  "  Frederick,  Crown  Prince  and  Emperor,"  pp.  35, 36. 

K 


130  DRUDGERY  AND  HEROISM. 

to  show  how  the  love  of  home  and  duty  may  go 
unfaltering,  not  with  a  sudden  venture  but  with 
slow  and  painful  steps,  through  ever-growing  anguish, 
on  into  the  very  face  of  death ; — this  was  the  privilege 
of  the  most  dutiful  soldier  whose  greatness  has 
ennobled  our  day.  Thus  did  men  see  in  "the  short 
and  speechless  reign  "  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  how 
vast  a  strength  is  stored  in  those  whose  hearts  are 
resolutely  set  not  to  do  their  own  will,  but  the  will  of 
Him  Who  sent  them. 


VII. 
THE   PERILS   OF  THE  VACANT   HEART. 

'*  When  the  unclean  spirit  is  gone  out  of  a  man,  he  walketh 
through  dry  places,  seeking  rest,  and  findeth  none.  Then 
he  saith,  I  will  return  into  my  house  from  whence  I  came 
out ;  and  when  he  is  come,  he  findeth  it  empty,  swept,  and 
garnished.  Then  goeth  he,  and  taketh  with  himself  seven 
other  spirits  more  wicked  than  himself,  and  they  enter  in 
and  dwell  there :  and  the  last  state  of  that  man  is  worse  than 
the  first." 

ST.  MATT.  xii.  43-45. 

I.  THESE  strange,  disquieting  words  seem  to  come  into 
the  course  of  our  Lord's  teaching  with  the  tone,  the 
feeling,  the  climate,  as  it  were,  of  another  world  than 
that  with  which,  at  the  moment,  He  is  engaged.  As 
He  speaks,  His  disciples  are  round  about  Him ;  His 
opponents  are  cavilling  at  His  words  and  works,  and 
trying  to  lead  Him  to  a  false  step ;  the  man  whom 
He  has  just  healed  is  sitting,  it  may  be,  at  His  feet 
and  looking  up  into  His  face,  in  the  first  rapture  of 
recovered  health;  and  the  multitude  are  pressing 
in  on  the  little  group.  But  He  Who  is  the  Centre 
of  all  this  interest  and  hatred  and  affection,  is  not 


132         THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART. 

looking  at  any  of  the  people  who  surround  Him; 
His  gaze  does  not  meet  with  theirs ;  for  His  eyes  are 
fastened  upon  a  scene  beyond  the  visible,  and  none 
of  those  who  are  about  Him  have  any  suspicion  of 
the  tragedy  which  He  is  watching.  He  is  marking 
the  course  of  a  great  disaster  in  that  hidden  and 
mysterious  world  which  lies  behind  the  things  of 
sense,  behind  the  ways  of  men;  and  suddenly,  in 
words  at  once  most  vivid  and  most  mysterious,  He 
tells  His  hearers  what  it  is  that  He  is  seeing.  What 
is  it  that  He  speaks  of?  What  is  it  that  He  is 
watching? — It  is  the  dreary,  wasteful,  ruinous  dis 
appointment  that  comes  wherever  a  moral  victory  is 
left  unused.  First,  He  sees  the  unclean  spirit — some 
tyrannous  power  of  darkness  and  defilement — driven 
out  of  a  man's  heart,  driven  from  the  throne  it  had 
usurped;  He  sees  the  heart  relieved  of  that  vile 
presence,  of  that  cruel  oppression.  And  then  He  marks 
how  the  evil  spirit,  hateful  and  hating — the  spirit 
that  has  been  driven  out — goes  restlessly  straying  to 
and  fro,  in  the  dreary  impotence  of  baffled  cruelty. 
At  last  He  sees  it  turn  again  to  the  heart  whence  it 
had  been  dislodged ;  and,  lo !  that  heart  is  empty.  It 
is  like  a  place  that  is  decent  indeed,  and  orderly 
enough ;  no  great  harm  has  come  as  yet,  no  shameful 
sin  defiled  it;  it  looks  neatly  swept  and  garnished: 


THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART.        133 

but  it  is  empty.  No  ruling  principle  or  passion  has 
come  to  occupy  it ;  no  strong  affection,  no  controlling 
love,  no  masterful  enthusiasm,  has  been  welcomed  as 
sovereign  over  the  man's  life,  and  lord  of  his  allegiance: 
the  great  opportunity,  the  critical  moment  of  liberty, 
has  been  missed,  and  the  throne  is  vacant.  "Then 
goeth  he,  and  taketh  with  himself  seven  other  spirits 
more  wicked  than  himself,  and  they  enter  in  and  dwell 
there :  and,"  our  Lord  adds,  in  words  which  sound 
like  the  dreariest  death-knell  that  ever  rang  over  a 
wasted  life,  words  so  desperately  sad  that,  however 
a  man  may  be  living,  he  could  hardly  bear  to  imagine 
them  spoken  of  himself,1  "  the  last  state  of  that  man 
is  worse  than  the  first." 

II.  Mysterious  and  astounding  the  scenery  of  this 
pitiful  drama  may  seem  to  us ;  we  may  feel  that  it 
is  like  a  fragment  of  a  world  which  lies,  save  in  so 
far  as  our  Lord  reveals  it,  quite  beyond  our  ken. 
But  however  weird  and  dark  the  story  of  that 
wasted  opportunity,  that  unused  and  therefore  for 
feited  victory,  may  seem  to  us,  we  may  feel  that  it 
tells  of  a  disaster  which  we  can  clearly  understand ; 
that  it  points  to  a  very  plain  law  of  human  life  and 
character.  For  we  know  that  in  the  moral,  as  in  the 

1  Cf.  J.  B.  Mazley,  "Parochial  and  Occasional  Sermons:"  Grwring 
TForw,  pp.  118-120. 


134         THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART. 

physical  order,  nature  abhors  a  vacancy.  Consciously 
or  unconsciously,  as  the  years  go  by,  all  men  more 
and  more  submit  their  lives  to  some  allegiance ;  with 
whatever  uncertainty  and  changefulness,  some  one 
motive,  or  group  of  motives,  grows  stronger  and 
stronger  in  them ;  they  tend,  at  least,  to  bring  every 
thought  into  captivity  to  some  one  obedience.  For 
better  or  for  worse,  things  which  seemed  difficult  or 
impossible  a  few  years  ago  will  come  almost  naturally 
to  a  man  a  few  years  hence ;  he  will  have  got  ac 
customed  to  take  a  certain  course,  to  obey  certain 
impulses  or  principles  wherever  they  appear.  We  may 
indeed  distinguish  three  states  in  which  a  man  may  be. 
He  may  be  yielding  his  heart  more  and  more  to  the 
love  of  self,  in  whatsoever  way  of  pride,  or  avarice, 
or  lust,  or  sloth.  Or  he  may  be  yielding  his  heart 
more  and  more  to  the  love  of  God,  falteringly,  it  may 
be,  with  many  struggles  and  failures,  but  still  really 
getting  to  love  God  more,  to  move  more  readily  and 
more  loyally  to  do  God's  Will  wherever  he  sees  it. 
Or,  thirdly,  he  may  be  like  the  man  of  whom  our 
Lord  spoke.  He  may,  by  God's  grace,  have  cast  out 
an  evil  spirit  from  his  heart ;  he  may  have  broken 
away  from  the  mastery  of  some  bad  passion,  some 
tyrannous  hunger  or  hatred ;  and  he  may  be  hesi 
tating,  keeping  his  heart  swept,  clear  and  empty ;  his 


THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART.        135 

will  may  be  poised,  as  it  were,  between  the  one  love 
and  the  other.  Ah  !  but  that  can  only  be  for  a  very 
little  while.  That  balance  never  lasts ;  one  way  or 
the  other  the  will  must  incline ;  one  service  or  the 
other  must  be  chosen,  and  that  soon.1 

For  no  man  is  ever  safe  against  the  love,  the  service 
of  sin  save  by  the  power  of  the  love  of  God.  There 
is  no  sure  way  of  keeping  the  evil  out  save  by  letting 
Him  in — by  the  glad  welcome,  the  trembling,  thankful, 
adoring  recognition  of  Him  Who  made  us,  that  we 
might  find  our  freedom  in  His  service,  and  our  rest 
in  His  engrossing  love.  Yes,  for  here  is  the  deepest 
pathos  of  that  empty  throne  of  which  our  Saviour 
speaks  —  that  heart  so  easily  reoccupied  by  the 
unclean  spirit  that  has  been  driven  out  of  it: — that 
all  the  while  Almighty  God  is  waiting,  pleading  that 
He  may  enter  in  and  dwell  there ;  that  he  may  bring 
into  the  wavering  and  aimless  soul  that  growing 
peace  and  harmony  and  strength  which  no  man 
knows  save  in  the  dedication  of  his  life  to  God.  God, 
and  "  the  seven  Spirits  which  are  before  His  throne," 
would  enter  in  and  dwell  there;  and  then  the  last 
state  of  that  man  might  be  in  the  beauty  of  holi 
ness,  in  the  joy  of  his  Lord,  in  the  peace  that  passeth 

1  Cf.  Bishop  Steere,  "  Notes  of  Sermons,"  second  series,  p.  95 ;  and 
H.  Drummond,  "  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World,"  pp.  100,  101 


136         THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART. 

all  understanding.  Surely,  brethren,  it  is  pitiful  to 
think  how  many  lives  are  passed  in  perpetual  peril 
and  hesitation;  how  many  hearts  grow  tired  and 
feeble  in  the  desultory  service  of  they  know  not 
what ;  against  how  many  names  that  woeful  record 
is  being  written  day  by  day,  "  The  last  state  of  that 
man  is  worse  than  the  first;"  while  all  the  time  it 
is  only  a  little  courage,  a  little  rousing  of  one's  self, 
a  little  venture  in  the  strength  of  faith,  that  is  needed 
to  enthrone  above  the  empty,  listless  soul  the  one 
love  that  can  give  joy  and  peace  and  clearness 
through  all  the  changes  of  this  world ;  the  One 
Lord  Who  can  control,  absorb,  ennoble,  and  fulfil  all 
the  energies  of  a  spiritual  being. — The  love  of  God ; 
the  growing  realization  of  all  that  His  love  has  done 
and  borne  for  me  ;  the  thrilling  discovery,  the  steady 
recognition  of  the  patience,  the  forbearance,  the 
unwearied  gentleness  wherewith  He  has  been  wait 
ing  and  working  that,  after  all,  I  might  not  lose  the 
bliss  for  which  His  love  created  me; — here  is  the 
motive  power  which  has  made  the  saints ;  here  is 
the  force  which  still  day  after  day  comes  rushing 
in  to  dccupy  some  heart  which  "the  Lord  hath  re 
deemed  and  delivered  from  the  hand  of  the  enemy." 
It  is  that  love  which  alone  gives  meaning  and 
harmony  and  strength  to  every  life  that  is  humbly 


THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART.        137 

and  thankfully  yielded  to  its  service.  It  is  that 
love,  quickened  and  increased  by  the  sacramental 
grace  of  God,  which  garrisons  the  soul  against  all 
who  hate  it,  and  keeps  it  in  His  perfect  peace,  so 
that  no  harm  can  happen  unto  it,  so  that  no  power 
of  the  evil  one  can  enter  in  and  dwell  there. 

III.  The  application  of  these  thoughts  to  the  great 
work  upon  which  you  will  soon  be  entering1  seems 
clear  and  direct ;  let  me  try  to  speak  of  it  very  briefly 
in  three  ways. 

(a)  First,  then,  we  must  never,  in  any  work  that  we 
try  to  do  in  God's  Name,  set  before  ourselves  or 
others  a  negative  aim.  The  aim,  the  hope,  the  con 
stant  thought,  must  be  not  only  to  cast  out  sin,  but 
to  bring  in  love.  It  will  never  do,  as  Gordon  wrote 
once,  "  to  wish  for  the  absence  of  evil,  and  yet  not  to 
desire  the  Presence  of  God." 2  It  is,  indeed,  a  great 
thing  if  we  can  help  some  one  who  is  touched  by  the 
Mission  to  escape  from  the  mastery  of  some  sin  that 
has  dragged  down  his  life ;  to  drive  out  the  evil  spirit 
of  drunkenness,  or  gambling,  or  impurity,  or  avarice ; 
to  break  away  from  associations  which  are  ruining 
him,  or  to  resolve  that  he  will  think  no  more  of  a 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  in  the  Church  of  St.  Columba  at 
Bunderland,  to  those  who  were  to  take  part  in  the  Sunderland  Mission. 
*  C.  G.  Gordon's  "  Reflections  in  Palestine,"  p.  95. 


138        THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART. 

grudge  that  has  for  years,  perhaps,  made  it  impossible 
for  him  ever  really  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer ;  l — aye,  it 
is  a  great  thing,  a  thing  worth  living,  toiling,  praying 
for.  But  it  is  not  all ;  that  victory  is  only  the  oppor 
tunity  for  another  and  a  greater.  It  will  never  do  to 
"  wish  for  the  absence  of  evil,  and  yet  not  to  desire 
the  Presence  of  God."  Nothing  is  secured  until  He 
is  there ;  until  His  love  is  shed  abroad  in  the  heart. 
Only  when  His  Holy  Spirit  rules  and  guides  and 
cheers  a  man,  teaching  him  the  love  of  God,  bringing 
home  to  him  the  astounding  message  of  the  Cross, 
disclosing  to  him  the  power  of  renewal  that  Christ's 
infinite  compassion  won  for  us,  making  him  feel  how 
marvellously  God  has  borne  with  all  his  ingratitude 
and  rebellion,  and  waited  that  He  might  have  mercy 
on  him, — only  then  will  the  evil  spirit,  if  he  dares  to 
return  and  tries  to  enter  in,  feel  that  a  Stronger  than 
he  has  occupied  and  garrisoned  the  heart. 

(6)  And  then,  secondly,  that  we  may  thus  aim  high, 
we  must,  thoughtfully  and  steadily,  realize  the  spiri 
tual  capacities  of  the  human  heart ;  we  must  try,  by 
frequent  prayer,  by  humility  and  watchfulness,  to 
understand  and  remember,  so  far  as  our  hearts  and 
minds  can  reach,  what  God  is  willing  to  do  in  those' 
to  whom  He  sends  us.  I  am  sure  that  it  is  a  very 
1  Cf.  Francois  Coppee,  "  Le  Pater." 


THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART.        139 

common  mistake  to  underrate  the  spiritual  capacity 
of  those  with  whom  we  have  to  do,  especially  among 
the  poor.  Because  their  lives  are  hard  and  rough,  and 
their  pleasures  unlike  ours ;  because  they  may  have 
little  time  for  prayer ;  because  they  cannot  express 
themselves,  or  use  religious  language ;  because  the  sins 
which  beset  them  happen  to  be,  in  most  men's  eyes, 
more  disfiguring  than  those  which  beset  educated  and 
prosperous  people ;  therefore  we  seem  almost  to  think 
that  the  aim  for  them  cannot  be  very  high;  that 
they  cannot  receive  the  very  highest  truth.  We  forget 
that  God  the  Holy  Ghost  is  ready  to  make  them  to  be 
numbered  with  Christ's  saints.  Never  let  us  forget 
that ;  for  the  earnest  of  that  work  of  His  in  the  lives 
of  the  poor  is  the  most  glorious  and  beautiful  thing, 
perhaps,  a  man  can  ever  see ;  and  one  will  never  see 
it  unless  one  is  gentle  and  hopeful  and  reverent  in 
all  one's  thoughts  of  them.  But  then  we  may  learn 
how  the  grace  of  God,  the  light  and  life  that  flow 
from  His  indwelling,  can  lift  the  very  weariest  and 
hardest-driven  soul  into  a  dignity  of  endurance,  a 
radiance  of  faith,  a  simplicity  of  love,  far  above  all 
that  this  world  can  give  or  take  away.  Yes,  right 
through  the  constant  stress  of  need ;  right  through  the 
daily  hardships,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  the  storms  of 
temptation  round  about  them,  there  is  indeed  a  beauty 


140        THE  PERILS  OF   THE    VACANT  HEART, 

and  a  joy  that  conies  into  men's  homes  and  lives,  aye, 
and  into  their  very  faces,  when,  through  the  reve 
lation  of  His  love  and  through  the  power  of  His 
sacraments,  He  enters  in  and  dwells  with  them,  to 
take  the  vacant  throne  of  their  hearts,  to  claim 
them  for  his  own  and  be  their  God.  And  I  think 
there  is  no  beauty  and  no  joy  so  well  worth  working 
for,  so  wonderful  to  see,  as  that ;  and  none  that  seems 
so  like  an  earnest  of  the  life  of  heaven. 

(c)  And  then,  lastly,  if  we  think  of  the  greatness  of 
the  capacities  that  are  to  be  realized,  if  we  think  of 
the  high  aim  that  is  to  be  kept  in  view,  we  may  be 
sure  that  there  will  be  need  of  great  patience  in  the 
work;  of  that  true  patience  which  has  been  called 
the  queen  of  the  virtues ;  the  patience  which  includes 
both  endurance  and  perseverance ;  the  quiet,  constant, 
undiscouraged  maintenance  of  a  noble  purpose.1  A 
high  aim  will  always  demand  great  patience ;  and  to 
remember  often  what  the  aim  is  may  help  you 
patiently  to  persevere,  however  long  the  strain  and 
effort  may  prove  to  be.  For  often,  I  think,  the 
reason  of  impatience  is  a  poor  idea  of  what  is  to  be 
attained.  So,  when  children  are  watching  any  one 
at  work,  they  will  wonder  why  he  does  not  get  on 
faster,  why  he  is  taking  such  a  time  over  it ;  because 

1  Cf.  E.  0.  Trench,  "New  Testament  Synonyms,"  pp.  197,  198. 


THE  PERILS  OF  THE    VACANT  HEART.        141 

they  cannot  see,  as  the  workman  does,  how  exact  and 
finished  and  perfect  the  result  is  to  be.  So,  again, 
when  people  have  to  bear  great  suffering,  some  may  be 
offended  and  inclined  to  rebel;  because  they  cannot 
see  the  everlasting  glory,  the  unspeakably  high  calling, 
for  which  that  suffering  is  helping  to  prepare  the 
soul.  They  put  the  outcome  of  it  all  too  low.  And 
so,  too,  in  this  case.  Remember  the  height  of  the 
aim,  the  splendour  of  the  hope;  not  simply  to  pro 
duce  here  and  there  some  amendment  in  the  outward 
look  of  things ;  but  to  bear,  by  the  grace  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  the  love  of  God  into  the  hearts  of  men;  to 
help  them  to  yield  themselves  to  Him ;  to  teach  them 
to  be  glad  with  the  true  happiness  which  He  designs 
for  them;  to  bring  the  calm,  pure  light  of  heaven 
among  the  troubles  and  sorrows  and  difficulties  of  this 
earth.  Remember  that,  and  surely  it  will  not  seem 
strange  if  for  such  a  hope  there  may  be  need,  after 
the  Mission  has  passed,  of  even  years  of  watchfulness 
and  prayer  and  loving  service.  For  so  may  God 
achieve  the  full  work  of  His  compassion ;  that  those 
who,  by  His  grace,  have  driven  out  the  evil  from  their 
hearts,  may  go  on  to  bring  their  lives  more  and  more 
perfectly  under  the  glad  mastery  of  His  love,  abiding 
ever  in  that  increasing  strength  and  brightness  which 
issue  from  the  indwelling  presence  of  His  Holy  Spirit, 


VIIL 

THE  DISASTERS   OF  SHALLOWNESS, 

"  Some  fell  upon  a  rock ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  sprung  up, 
it  withered  away,  because  it  lacked  moisture." 

ST.  LUKE  viii.  6. 

"  When  the  sun  was  up,  they  were  scorched ;  and  because 
they  had  no  root,  they  withered  away." 

ST  MATT.  xiii.  6. 

IT  is  easy  to  bring  before  our  minds  the  sight  of 
which  our  Lord  here  speaks.  It  may  well  be  that  as 
He  speaks  His  eyes  are  resting  on  it,  and  His  hand 
perhaps,  is  pointing  to  it.1  In  one  part  of  a  cornfield 
sloping  down  towards  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  He  may 
have  marked  how  thin  a  coating  of  soil  covered  the 
rock  of  the  hillside.  The  seed  sown  in  that  shallow 
ground  has  had  a  rapid  and  a  feeble  growth;  the 
rock  has  checked  its  roots  from  striking  downwards 
to  reach  the  nourishment  it  needs ;  and  so  checked 
and  forced,  perhaps,  into  unnaturally  quick  develop 
ment  by  the  hot  surface  of  the  stone,  the  plant  has,  as 

1  Cf.  B.  C.  Trench,  "  The  Parables  of  our  Lord,"  p.  66. 


THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS.  143 

we  say,  run  to  stalk ;  the  energy  which  should  have 
been  spent  in  secretly  penetrating  to  the  sources  of 
sustenance  and  renewal  has  been  all  thrown  into  a 
showy  and  ill-nourished  growth.  There  may  have 
been  a  fair  look  of  promise  at  the  first ;  but  there  is 
no  reserve  or  reality  of  strength;  there  is  no  com 
munication  with  the  hidden  springs  of  refreshment 
when  the  need  comes ;  and  as  soon  as  the  fierce  rays 
of  the  Eastern  sun  beat  down  upon  it,  the  thin 
and  frail  and  rootless  and  resourceless  plant  withers 
away.  The  heat  which  might  have  advanced  and 
ripened  and  perfected  it,  had  its  growth  been 
gradual  and  well  sustained,  is  too  much  for  it  now. 
There  is  in  it  no  robustness  to  bear  the  strain,  no 
substance  to  be  matured  by  it ;  and  because  it  has 
no  moisture  and  no  root,  when  the  sun  is  up  it 
withers  away. 

As  we  pass  from  the  parable  to  its  interpretation 
let  us  fasten  on  this  one  point — that  as,  in  the  order 
of  nature,  the  agency,  the  influence,  which  ripens  one 
plant,  may  scorch  and  ruin  another ;  so,  in  the  analo 
gous  sphere  of  moral  growth,  what  tells  on  one  man 
for  the  increase  of  strength  and  maturity  and  fruit- 
fulness  may  be  full  of  peril  and  misery,  if  not  of 
sheer  disaster,  in  the  life  of  another.1  Our  Lord  Him- 

1  Cf.  R.  C.  Trench,  ubi  gitpra,  p.  73. 


144  THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS. 

self  seems  to  bring  out  for  us  this  lesson  in  the 
parable.  It  is,  He  says,  in  time  of  trial,  it  is  when 
affliction  or  persecution  arises  because  of  the  Word, 
that  those  whose  spiritual  life  is  thus  rootless  and  pre 
carious  fall  away.  "  Blessed,"  He  had  said,  "  are  they 
which  are  persecuted  for  righteousness'  sake:  for 
theirs  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven/'  "  Blessed  are  ye, 
when  men  shall  revile  you,  and  persecute  you, ...  for 
My  sake."  But  here  it  is  just  that  persecution  which 
reveals  the  weakness  and  works  the  ruin.  The 
trouble,  the  discipline,  which  should  have  braced  and 
ennobled  the  character,  only  demoralizes  and  over 
bears  it ;  that  which  should  have  been,  in  the  highest 
sense,  for  the  man's  wealth  is  unto  him  an  occasion 
of  falling.  In  a  different  figure  the  Prophet  Jeremiah 
brings  vividly  before  us  the  same  terrible  disappoint 
ment,  the  utter  dreariness  of  fruitless  discipline, 
when  he  speaks  of  the  refiner's  furnace  heated  to 
the  uttermost,  till  all  the  lead  that  should  act  as  a 
solvent  is  used  up,  and  the  bellows  are  burnt  by  the 
blaze,  and  still  no  silver  is  yielded ;  "  the  founder 
melteth  in  vain."1  And  it  is,  surely,  the  saddest 
failure  we  can  ever  see,  when  the  stress  of  pain,  or 
sorrow,  or  trouble  comes  upon  a  man,  and  leaves 
him  no  better  than  he  was ;  no  humbler,  no  gentler, 
1  Jer.  vi.  29. 


THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS.  145 

no  more  thoughtful  for  the  cares  and  sufferings  of 
others,  no  less  worldly  and  selfish,  no  more  nearly 
ready  to  die.  It  is  a  failure  so  dismal  and  barren 
that  we  can  hardly  bear  to  think  of  it ;  it  seems  at 
first  the  one  part  of  the  great  mystery  of  pain  into 
which  no  light  penetrates.  Mysterious  indeed  it  is; 
though  no  one  who  has  learnt  the  manifoldness  of 
the  uses  of  adversity,  the  diverse,  hidden,  complex 
ways  through  which  it  works  on  characters,  and 
tells  in  lives  that  are  even  incidentally  brought  near 
to  it,  will  venture  to  speak  of  any  suffering  as  really 
fruitless,  or  to  limit  the  silent  energy  with  which 
even  that  which  seems  most  hopelessly  to  fail  as 
discipline  may  yet  be  working  round  to  some  great 
and  far-off  outcome  of  beneficence.  Still,  mysterious 
certainly  it  is  that  the  opportunity  of  learning 
through  suffering  should  be  given,  and  neglected  or 
abused ;  but  the  mystery,  as  has  been  truly  said, 
belongs  really  to  the  problem  of  evil,  not  to  the 
problem  of  pain.1  That  moral  evil  should  perplex 
and  thwart  the  work  of  suffering  is  not  stranger 
than  that  it  should  be  allowed  in  other  ways  to  mar 
God's  work  and  to  disfigure  human  life;  that  men 
should  spurn  the  teaching  of  pain  and  sorrow  is 
not  stranger  than  that  they  should  abuse  the  gift 
1  J.  R.  Illingwoith,  in  "Lux  Mundi,"  p.  118. 

L 


146  THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS. 

of  a  great  intellect  or  a  splendid  education;  that 
suffering  should  make  a  man  hard  or  sullen  is  not 
stranger  than  that  culture  should  make  him  con 
ceited  or  insolent.  In  both  cases  that  which  should 
have  been  for  his  wealth  is  unto  him  an  occasion  of 
falling;  in  both  cases  the  gift  of  God  is  spoilt  by 
the  blindness  and  wilfulness  of  man;  in  both  cases 
we  find  ourselves  confronted  with  that  stubborn  and 
arresting  fact  of  moral  evil ;  that  which  has  been 
called  "  the  one  irrational,  lawless,  meaningless  thing 
in  the  whole  universe ; "  that  which  reason  will  not 
enable  us  to  explain,  nor  conscience,  thank  God,  suffer 
us  to  explain  away.1 

We  must,  then,  bear  patiently  the  sense  of  strange 
ness  and  perplexity  with  which  we  think  of  those 
who  suffer  pain,  and  seem  to  learn  no  lesson  and  to 
gain  no  strength  or  beauty  from  it: — the  secret  of 
that  defeat  of  love  is  hidden  in  the  obscurity  hanging 
round  the  certain  fact  of  moral  evil.  It  is  for  us  to 
mark,  for  our  own  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  all  on 
whom  our  life  or  influence  may  tell,  what  is  the 
especial  fault  with  which  our  Lord  connects,  in  the 
Parable  of  the  Sower,  this  pitiful  misuse  of  discipline  : 
what  is  the  form  of  self-indulgence  of  which  He 

1  A.  L.  Moore,  "  Oxford  House  Papers,"  p.  151 ;  J.  R.  Illingworth, 
in  "Lux  Mundi,"  p.  116. 


THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS.  147 

warns  us  here  that  it  imperils  or  destroys  the 
capacity  of  understanding  pain  and  sorrow  when 
they  come  to  us. 

Surely  it  is  the  self-indulgence  of  shallowness  in 
religion. — We  know  the  disastrous  perils  of  shallow- 
ness  in  the  intellectual  life ;  the  weakness  and  fruit- 
lessness  of  the  mind  that  never  really  takes  a  truth 
home  to  itself,  never  lets  it  put  forth  all  its  meaning, 
never  has  the  patience  or  the  honesty  thoroughly  to 
appropriate  it;  the  mind  that  is  content  hastily  to 
receive  and  reproduce  a  phrase  instead  of  toiling  to 
realize  and  interpret  a  fact.  We  know,  perhaps  by 
some  sad  and  humiliating  experience  of  our  own,  the 
poverty,  the  tentativeness,  the  insecurity  under  any 
real  strain,  which  that  form  of  self-indulgence,  the 
self-indulgence  of  seeking  high  interest  on  scanty 
capital,  entails  in  the  life  of  the  intellect.  It  should 
be,  I  think,  the  chief  gain  of  a  man's  time  here,1  so 
far  as  merely  mental  discipline  is  concerned,  that  he 
should  realize  the  unworthiness  and  discredit  of  all 
such  hasty  forwardness.  And  closely  analogous  to 
this  is  that  great  peril  to  which  our  Lord  is  pointing 
when  He  speaks  of  the  shallow  soil,  and  the  showy, 
rootless  growth  that  withered  when  the  heat  beat 
down  upon  it.  "  He  that  heareth  the  word,  and 
1  This  sermon  was  preached  at  a  College  Service  in  Oxford. 


148  THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS. 

straightway  with  joy  receiveth  it."-—"  Straightway 
with  joy."  The  message  that  began,  "  Repent  ye,  for 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand;"  the  message 
that  centres  in  the  Cross,  with  its  tremendous  dis 
closure  of  the  horror  and  awfulness  of  sin;  the 
message  which  speaks  to  us  of  the  Son  of  God,  made 
subject  for  our  sakes  to  hunger  and  weariness,  to 
scorn  and  hatred,  to  agony  and  death ;  the  message 
which  declares  again  and  again  how  we  too  must 
take  up  our  cross  and  follow  Him  if  we  would  be 
His  disciples ;  the  message  which  forces  on  our  sight 
the  unspeakable  gravity  of  human  life,  and  of  its 
issues  when  this  world  is  done  with;  the  message 
that  speaks  to  us  of  the  day  of  judgment,  and 
of  the  outer  darkness,  and  of  weeping  and  gnashing 
of  teeth ;  the  message  in  which,  as  one  has  marked, 
from  the  lips  of  Him  Who  loves  us  with  the 
love  that  passeth  knowledge,  there  come,  for  His  very 
love's  sake,  "words  which  shake  the  heart  with 
fear;"1 — surely  this  is  not  a  message  which  a  man 
can  really  take  in  its  entirety  into  his  soul  with 
nothing  but  immediate,  unhindered  joy ;  nothing  but 
a  light-hearted  gladness  in  the  moral  beauty  it  pre 
sents,  the  hopes  of  which  it  speaks,  its  promises  of  for 
giveness,  and  its  note  of  victory.  Joy  there  is,  indeed, 
1  Cf.  E.  W.  Dale,  "  The  Old  Evangelicalism  and  the  New,"  p.  40. 


THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS.  149 

for  all  who  truly  take  the  message  to  themselves, 
and  humbly  dare,  God  helping  them,  to  seek  to  know 
all  that  it  has  to  say  to  them ;  joy  which  has  some 
semblance,  some  forecast  of  that  for  which  He  endured 
the  Cross ;  joy  such  as  St.  Paul  and  St.  John  write 
about ;  joy  such  as  we  may  have  seen  sometimes  in 
the  unearthly  radiance  of  its  victory  over  pain,  and 
death,  and  sorrow,  and  crying.  Yes;  but  there  is 
something  else  first;  something  else,  which  seldom 
"for  the  present  seemeth  to  be  joyous,  but  grievous;" 
something  else,  without  which  that  inexpensive 
brightness,  that  easy  hopefulness  that  somehow 
things  will  all  come  right  with  us,  is  apt  to  be  a 
frail,  resourceless  growth,  withering  away  when  the 
sun  is  up,  and  the  hot  winds  of  trial  are  sweeping 
over  it.  For  if  Christianity  is  to  be  to  us  what  we 
know  it  has  been,  what  we  sometimes  see  it  is  to 
Christ's  true  servants,  in  the  time  of  trouble,  when  the 
heat  is  beating  down  upon  us,  we  must  have  opened 
out  our  hearts  to  it,  we  must  have  broken  up  the  soil 
for  it,  that  freely  and  deeply  its  roots  may  penetrate 
our  inner  being ;  we  must  have  laid  bare  our  life  to 
its  demands;  we  must  have  taken  to  ourselves,  in 
silence  and  sincerity,  its  words  of  judgment  with  its 
words  of  hope ;  its  sternness  with  its  encouragement ; 
its  denunciations  with  its  promises ;  its  requirements 


150  THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS. 

with  its  offer;  its  absolute  intolerance  of  sin  with 
its  inconceivable  and  Divine  long-suffering  towards 
sinners. 

Surely,  surely  we  need  to  think  more  than  many 
of  us  do  think  of  these  things;  we  need  to  realize 
that  no  religious  life  is  strong  which  does  not  rest 
on  penitence — penitence,  thorough  and  sincere  and 
living;  penitence  such  as  brings  the  soul,  with  all 
its  secret  sins,  all  its  half-conscious  self-deception, 
all  its  cherished  forms  of  self-indulgence,  right  into 
contact  with  the  demand,  the  sternness,  the  perfect 
holiness  of  Him  Who  died  for  it. 

Often,  I  think,  there  are  trials  of  doubt  and  onsets 
of  unbelief,  in  which  the  endurance  of  a  man's  faith 
may  depend  on  nothing  else  so  much  as  on  this — 
whether  he  has  really  known,  not  the  evidences  of 
Christianity,  not  its  coherence  as  a  theological  system, 
not  its  appeal  to  our  higher  emotions  in  great  acts  of 
worship,  not  even  the  beauty  of  its  moral  ideal,  but 
its  power  to  penetrate  the  heart  and  to  convince  of 
sin;  its  power  to  break  down  our  pride  with  the 
disclosure  of  God's  love  and  patience  with  us,  with 
our  blindness  and  ingratitude,  our  obstinate  rejection 
of  His  goodness  to  us ;  its  power,  then,  to  bear  into 
a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart  the  first  glimmer  and 
the  growing  radiance  of  that  joy  that  cannot  be  till 


THE  DISASTERS  OF  SHALLOWNESS.  151 

penitence  has  gone  before — the  joy  that  no  man 
taketh  from  us;  the  joy  that  all  the  discipline  of 
life  may  only  deepen  and  confirm ;  and  that,  through 
the  heat  of  sorrow  and  suffering  and  persecution, 
when  and  as  God  wills,  may  be  ripened  unto  life 
eternal. 


IX. 

HALF-HEARTEDNESS. 

64  A  double-minded  man  is  unstable  in  all  his  ways.** 

ST.  JAMES  i.  8. 

IT  does  not  seem  necessary  to  enter  into  the 
question  as  to  the  fitness  with  which  this  Epistle  is 
appointed  for  the  Feast  of  St.  Philip  and  St.  James,1 
— the  question,  that  is  to  say,  whether  the  writer 
of  the  Epistle,  generally  identified  with  James,  called 
the  Lord's  brother,  the  first  Bishop  of  the  Church  of 
Jerusalem,  is  or  is  not  to  be  further  identified  with 
James,  the  son  of  Alphsaus,  who  is  the  companion  of 
St.  Philip  in  our  calendar.  A  question  which  has  been 
undecided  for  fifteen  centuries,  and  which  has  been  the 
subject  of  numberless  treatises,  seems  probably  out  of 
the  reach  of  decision  unless  some  fresh  evidence  should 
emerge  to  settle  it;  while  little  practical  teaching 
could  be  gained  from  any  hasty  account  of  it.  It 
seems  better  to  learn  from  the  Epistle,  as  it  is  this 
day  brought  before  us,  the  clear,  incisive  lessons 
1  Upon  which  day  this  sermon  was  preached 


HALF-HEARTEDNESS.  153 

which  it  has  to  teach  us.  And  so  I  would  ask  you 
to  look  with  me  at  one  of  the  clearest  and  the  most 
incisive  of  these — a  lesson  which  may  seem,  perhaps, 
to  have  some  special  force  in  our  day. 

I.  "A  double-minded  [or  half-hearted]  man,"  St. 
James  tells  us, "  is  unstable  in  all  his  ways." — A  double- 
minded  man.  The  designation  is  wide  in  range  and 
deep  in  penetration.  Perhaps  there  may  not  be  one 
of  us  to  whom  in  some  way,  in  some  degree,  it  does 
not  apply ;  not  one  of  us  who  is  not  in  some  part  of 
his  life  hindered  and  enfeebled  and  imperilled  by  the 
vacillation  of  half-heartedness.  But  in  its  outcome, 
if  it  be  not  checked,  if  a  man  does  not,  gradually 
at  least,  with  advancing  efforts  of  faith  and  courage, 
get  free  from  it,  it  is  a  terrible  misunderstanding 
and  misuse  of  life.  The  word  which  St.  James  uses 
was  taken  forty  years  ago  as  the  title  of  one  of  the 
most  subtle,  penetrating,  pathetic  poems  of  modern 
times — a  poem  such  as  only  Oxford,  one  might  think, 
and  the  Oxford  of  the  last  half -century,  could  have 
produced.  In  Dipsychus  Mr.  Clough  has  drawn  with 
great  power,  with  searching  keenness,  the  irresolute 
waverings,  the  fore-doomed  compromises,  the  incon 
sistent  self-excusings,  of  the  double-minded  man ;  the 
man  to  whom  even  his  tempter  says  at  last,  or  nearly 
at  last — 


154  HALF-HEARTEDNESS, 

**  Heartily  you  will  not  take  to  anything ; 
Whatever  happen,  don't  I  see  you  still 
Living  no  life  at  all  ?  ... 

Will  you  go  on  thus 

Until  death  end  you  ?    If  indeed  it  does. 
For  what  it  does,  none  knows.    Yet  as  for  you, 
You  hardly  have  the  courage  to  die  outright : 
You'll  somehow  halve  even  it." l 

In  Dipsychus  the  uttermost  disaster  of  the  double- 
minded  man,  with  his  "ineffective,  indeterminate 
swaying,"  is  set  forth;  but  we  are  reminded  that 
the  inconsistency  through  which  and  in  which  he  has 
moved  towards  that  disaster  is  nothing  uncommon; 
when,  in  the  epilogue,  an  average,  unimaginative, 
self-complacent  critic,  looking  back  to  all  the  argu 
ments  of  the  evil  spirit,  Dipsychus'  tempter,  thinks 
that "  if  only  it  hadn't  been  for  the  way  he  said  it, 
and  that  it  was  he  who  said  it,  much  that  he  said 
would  have  been  sensible  enough."  a 

II.  Yes,  double-mindedness,  half-heartedness.  In 
widely  varying  degrees  and  ways  it  is  indeed  a 
most  frequent  secret  of  weakness  and  unrest,  of 
failure  and  peril ;  it  keeps  men  back  from  the  task 
that  was  marked  with  their  name ;  it  takes  the  spring 
and  brightness  out  of  life;  it  is  the  foe  of  inner 
freedom,  and  of  all  health,  and  strength,  and  growth, 
and  peace. — Let  us  look  at  three  forms  which  the 

1  A.  H.  Clough,  "Poems,"  p.  125.  f  Id.  *W,  p.  138. 


HALF-HEARTEDNESS.  155 

trouble  takes — three  parts  of  our  life  which  it  invades 
and  mars. 

(a)  First  let  us  think  of  that  form  of  half- 
heartedness  of  which  especially  St.  James  is  here 
speaking — the  half-heartedness  of  a  divided  trust ; 
half-heartedness  in  prayer.  He  is  saying  how  wisdom, 
the  wisdom  that  is  from  above,  the  wisdom  by  which 
people  see  their  way  through  all  the  tangles  of  this 
world,  is  to  be  sought  from  God;  and  how  surely 
God  will  give  it.  But,  then,  it  must  be  asked  in 
faith,  with  true,  whole-hearted  committal  of  one's  self 
to  God,  with  no  doubting,  no  faltering  irresolutely 
to  and  fro ;  for  he  who  so  doubts  and  falters  is  like 
a  wave  of  the  sea,  driven  with  the  wind  and  tossed 
about — and  "let  not  that  man  think  that  he  shall 
obtain  anything  from  the  Lord ; "  he  is  a  half-hearted 
man,  unsteady  in  all  his  ways. — What  is  the  temper, 
the  bearing  of  mind  and  heart,  of  which  St.  James 
is  speaking  ?  Not  surely  that  imperfection  of  faith, 
that  liability  to  days  of  dimness  and  of  weakness, 
which  very  many  may  know  whom  God  is  truly 
leading  on,  nearer  and  nearer  to  Himself;  not  that 
hindered  but  true-hearted  venture  which  spoke 
and  was  accepted  in  the  prayer,  "  Lord,  I  believe : 
help  Thou  my  unbelief."  No,  not  that;  but  the 
temper  which  really  has  in  it  no  clear  element  of 


156  HALF-HEARTEDNESS. 

venture  or  of  self-committal  at  all ;  the  temper  which 
thinks  of  prayer  as  little  more  than  something 
which  may  do  some  good  and  can  do  no  harm ;  the 
temper  of  one  who  turns  to  pray  by  way  of  being  on 
the  safe  side;  the  temper  that  is  prepared,  if  the 
prayer  be  not  granted,  simply  to  look  out  for  some 
other  way  in  which  the  result  may  be  attained ;  the 
temper  that  has  never  realized  the  deep  and  utter 
incongruity  between  the  simplest  act  of  prayer,  and 
all  cold-hearted  scheming  for  one's  own  advantage — 
between  prayer  and  selfishness.  Half-heartedness  in 
prayer  it  is  when  one  half  or  some  smaller  fragment 
of  the  heart  has  some  expectation  from  prayer,  while 
the  rest  more  solidly  relies  on  shrewdness,  or  money, 
or  influence,  or  self-will;  when  natural  instruments 
of  success  are  regarded  not  as  means  which  may  be 
(if  they  are  humbly,  faithfully,  unselfishly  employed) 
directed  and  hallowed  by  the  blessing  of  the  Almighty, 
but  as  alternative  ways,  resources  in  the  background, 
second  strings,  if  the  prayer  should  not  have  the 
result  which  selfishness  desired  from  it.  It  was  a 
saying  of  General  Gordon's,  "Do  not  try  planning 
and  praying  and  then  planning  again ;  it  is  not 
honouring  to  God."1  And  it  would  be  hard  to 
measure  how  much  of  the  extraordinary  power  of 
1  0.  G.  Gordon's  Letters  to  his  Sister,  p.  5. 


HALF-HEARTEDNESS  157 

his  life  was  due  to  this — that  there  was  no  reserve  in 
his  committal  of  himself  to  God ;  that  he  lived  with 
an  undivided  trust ;  that  he  had  marked  and  judged 
and  dealt  with  the  temptation  to  half-heartedness  in 
prayer. 

(6)  Again,  how  many  of  us  are  hindered  and  con 
fused  by  the  half-heartedness  of  our  love  towards 
God;  the  divided  and  inconstant  desire  with  which 
we  seek  the  blessings  of  goodness,  the  joy  of  our 
Lord,  the  gladness  of  His  service.  We  may  have 
seen  more  or  less  clearly  that  there  is  indeed  no 
steady  happiness  in  life  save  the  happiness  of  serving 
Him,  the  happiness  of  unselfishness,  of  self-forgetful- 
ness  for  the  sake  of  others.  This  may  have  been 
borne  in  on  us  through  some  of  the  many  ways  in 
which  God  lets  us  see  the  truth;  and  we  may  be 
quite  sure  of  it  in  our  quieter  times,  when  we  have 
the  opportunity  and  the  courage  to  think. — But  to 
let  go  of  other  things ;  to  set  our  whole  heart  upon 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteousness ;  not  to 
plan  any  other  pleasures  for  ourselves,  but  to  be 
willing  that  they  should  come  to  us  when  and  as 
He  wills,  to  be  enjoyed  as  His  gifts,  with  thank 
fulness  to  Him,  with  a  heart  that  all  along  is  quite 
free  and  ready  for  His  work ;  to  leave  the  ordinary 
well-known  ways  in  which  we  have  seemed  fairly 


158  HALF.HEARTEDNESS. 

sure,  at  all  events,  of  being  comfortable,  if  not 
happy,  of  having  occasional  pleasures,  even  though 
we  may  be  getting  to  care  for  them  less  and  less; 
to  do  without  excitement,  or  praise,  or  luxury,  or 
a  margin  of  leisure,  and  to  make  up  our  minds 
that  we  will  plan  for  no  happiness  outside  God's 
service,  and  that  all  that  we  enjoy  shall  be  what 
freely  comes,  unplanned,  from  Him,  as  we  go  about 
the  work  that  He  has  given  us  to  do; — this  is 
the  real  venture  of  faith;  this  needs  some  whole- 
heartedness  of  desire ;  this  is  what  we  find  so  hard. 
We  want  some  gloss  upon  that  stern  saying  of  St. 
James,  "  The  friendship  of  the  world  is  enmity  with 
God."  Though  we  know  it  is  no  good,  we  cannot 
give  up  trying  to  get  on  well  with  both. 

(c)  And  then,  thirdly,  lying  very  near  to  this,  there 
is  the  half-heartedness  of  a  divided  intention.  We 
do  intend  to  do  God's  Will ;  but,  then,  it  must  not  go 
too  far  from  our  way ;  it  must  not  ask  too  much  of 
us.  Or,  we  intend  to  do  God's  will ;  but  so  that  inci 
dentally  our  own  will  may  be  gratified  at  the  same 
time.  We  will  press  forward  in  His  work,  we  will 
be  strenuous  and  constant  in  the  discharge  of  duty ; 
but,  then,  there  must  be  credit  reflected,  if  not  on 
ourselves,  at  least  on  the  party  to  which  we  belong ; 
we  look  that  in  some  way  or  another  it  may  prove 


HALF-HEARTEDNESS.  159 

to  have  been  a  good  thing  for  us  that  we  were  so 
dutiful.  If  we  do  not  pursue  honesty  as  being  the 
best  policy,  at  least  we  expect  that  it  will  appear  to 
be  so  in  the  end.  And  so  the  poor,  unworthy  motive 
is  always  coming  across  us — the  unowned  purpose 
must  be  kept  in  view;  the  secret  intention  claims 
half  our  heart ;  and,  almost  without  knowing  it,  the 
strength  and  reality  of  our  choice  and  will  to  do 
God's  work  grows  less  and  less. 

III.  Half-heartedness  in  faith  and  love  and  purpose 
— most  of  us,  I  fear,  know  something  of  such  things ; 
and  most  of  us,  I  think,  will  own  how  exactly 
St.  James  fastens  upon  the  practical  outcome  of  it  all. 
"  The  double-minded  [the  half-hearted]  man  is  unstable 
in  all  his  ways."  Unsettledness,  disorder,  inequality, 
unsteadiness,  restlessness,  confusion,  hesitation,  be 
wilderment, — are  not  these,  indeed,  the  characteristics 
that  prevail  more  and  more  in  the  half-hearted  life  \ 
these,  with  all  the  vacillation,  the  weakness,  the  dim- 
sightedness,  that  they  entail  ?  Do  we  not  know  that, 
in  whatsoever  degree  they  have  troubled  or  are 
troubling  us,  it  is  our  own  half-heartedness  that  is 
most  of  all  to  blame?  Surely,  half-heartedness, 
wavering  and  faltering  in  faith,  or  love,  or  purpose, 
the  hopeless  toil  of  living  two  lives, — this  is  one 
chief  source,  at  least,  of  much  of  the  unhappiness 


160  HALF-HEARTEDNESS. 

and  unrest,  the  weariness  and  overstrain  and  break 
ing  down  in  modern  life.  We  get  so  tired  with 
trying  to  blend  what  will  not  mix ;  we  spend  so 
much  of  our  strength  in  vain  while  we  try  to  work 
two  ways  at  once ;  we  make  so  little  progress  while 
we  are  always  crossing  over  from  the  one  road  to  the 
other.  We  know  the  trouble,  the  wastefulness,  of 
half-heartedness;  we  have  often  longed,  it  may  be, 
for  the  unity  which  yet  we  have  not  quite  courage 
enough  to  grasp  and  hold  and  trust.  And  we  know 
how  hard  it  is — hard,  perhaps,  especially  in  our  day 
and  in  this  place l — to  overcome  our  half-heartedness, 
to  bring  our  whole  life  into  one  allegiance.  But  one 
thing  we  can  do,  please  God,  with  some  steady 
increase  of  self-mastery.  It  may  be  hard  to  attain 
to  such  a  unity  and  simplicity  of  trust  as  made  the 
strength  of  Gordon's  life ;  it  may  be  hard  to  cast  out 
the  lingering  love  of  worldly  gratification,  and  to 
fasten  all  our  affection  upon  the  things  of  God ;  but 
unity  of  intention,  single-mindedness  in  aim  and 
purpose, — this  is,  God  helping  us,  to  a  very  great 
degree  within  our  reach.  We  can  be  watchful  to 
keep  a  pure  and  disinterested  aim;  to  allow  in  our 
hearts  no  plan  that  we  would  not  avow ;  to  cast  out, 
to  make  no  terms  with  self-seeking.  This  we  can  do, 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  in  Oxford. 


HALF-HEARTEDNESS.  161 

by  the  grace  of  God;  this  in  itself  is  much,  and  it 
leads  on  to  more.  It  may  be,  indeed,  that  all 
through  this  life  we  shall  never  wholly  conquer  the 
temptations  of  half-heartedness ;  never  be  secure 
against  the  intrusion  of  the  low  thought,  the  mean 
motive,  the  feeble  looking  back,  the  sordid  suspicion, 
which  take  the  glow  out  of  things  well  begun ;  which 
thrust  themselves  into  the  company  of  whatever 
generous  or  righteous  purpose  we  had  formed.  But 
if  we  are  resolute  to  deal  firmly  with  these  things 
when  they  come ;  resolute  not  to  let  them  tell  in 
action  or  in  speech,  not  to  let  them  pervert  judgment; 
resolute  to  keep  them  down  with  a  strong  hand,  and 
hold  on  our  way  in  spite  of  them ;  we  may  find  not 
only  that  our  purpose  is  growing  more  single  and 
whole-hearted,  and  our  intention  purer  and  more 
vigorous;  but  that  in  our  affection  also,  and  in  our 
trust,  there  is  an  ever-increasing  unity;  that  with 
the  freedom  of  God's  service  comes  the  peace  that 
they  have  who  love  His  Law,  and,  above  all,  that 
blessing  of  clear-sightedness,  of  spiritual  discernment 
which  is  only  known  as  a  man  escapes  from  the 
vacillation  and  dimness  of  the  double-minded  into  the 
strength,  the  joyful  gladness,  of  the  true-hearted — 
even  the  blessing  of  the  "pure  in  heart:  for  they 
shall  see  God." 

M 


THE   IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD. 

"  Remember  that  Jesus  Christ  of  the  seed  of  David  was 
raised  from  the  dead  according  to  my  Gospel." 

2  TIM.  ii.  8. 

I.  A  HEAVY  burden  had  been  laid  upon  the  young 
disciple  to  whom  St.  Paul  so  wrote.  Before  he  had 
reached  middle  life,1  Timotheus  had  been  placed  as 
the  Apostle's  delegate,  with  episcopal  authority  over 
the  Christian  community  in  Ephesus ;  and  it  seems 
clear  that  he  was  still  responsible  for  that  great  trust 
when  this  letter  was  sent  to  him.2  It  is  hard  to 
realize  the  strain  which  at  that  time  such  an  office 
must  have  put  upon  a  man's  robustness  of  conviction 
and  tenacity  of  purpose.  It  needed,  indeed,  a  clear 
head  and  a  steady  hand  to  guide  the  Church  of 

1  Of.  Salmon,  "  Introduction  to  the  New  Testament,"  p.  501. 

8  Of.  Gore,  "The  Church  and  the  Ministry,"  pp.  246-248;  Alford'g 
"Prolegg.  to  the  Pastoral  Epistles,"  pp.  101-103;  Shirley,  "On  the 
Apostolic  Age,"  pp.  116,  117. 


THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD.        163 

Christ  at  Ephesus ;  it  needed,  above  all  else,  a  heart 
that  no  secret  unreality,  or  bitterness,  or  self-seeking 
had  been  stealthily  enfeebling  against  the  day  of 
trial  To  believe  with  an  unwavering  confidence 
that  the  future  was  Christ's,  in  spite  of  all  that 
pride  and  splendour  of  paganism,  which  nowhere 
bore  itself  more  arrogantly  than  in  Ephesus;  when 
all  Asia  and  the  world  was  thronging  to  the  worship 
of  Diana,  to  be  always  sure  that  her  magnificence  was 
worse  than  worthlessness — a  hideous  and  degrading 
lie,  that  must  break  up  and  be  gone  like  a  bad  dream 
at  the  first  touch  of  light ;  to  be  quite  untroubled  by 
all  the  brilliancy  and  vigour  of  the  social  life  in 
which  the  claim  of  Christ  was  blankly  ignored  or 
cleverly  made  fun  of ;  to  look  up  at  the  great  temple 
gleaming  in  the  sunlight,  famous  as  the  one  mansion 
worthy  of  the  gods,  and  then  to  hold  to  it  constantly 
that  that  little  cluster  of  humble  folk,  meeting  day 
by  day  for  their  Holy  Eucharist,  had  found  a  truth 
and  owned  a  Lord  before  Whose  glory  all  that  pomp 
and  strength  of  idol-worship  should  be  utterly 
abolished; — this  could  not  but  make  for  most  men 
a  severe  demand  on  faith.  But  for  Timotheus  there 
were  keener  tests  of  reality  and  courage  than  all 
these.  The  language  and  emphasis  of  the  two  letters 
addressed  to  him  strongly  suggest  the  impression 


164        THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD. 

that  he  was  not  of  a  very  tough,  robust,  or  stubborn 
temperament.  He  was  not  a  man  who,  when  things 
seemed  to  be  going  against  him  or  getting  into  con 
fusion,  could  shrug  his  shoulders  and  refuse  to  be 
harassed.  Rather,  he  seems  one  to  whom  antagonism, 
insolence,  isolation,  would  mean  sharp  suffering ;  one 
whose  heart  might  grow  sick  as  he  looked  at  a 
gathering  storm  of  hostility  and  danger;  one  on 
whose  courage  and  constancy  such  a  storm  would 
break  with  a  severe  if  not  a  staggering  shock.  And 
certainly  there  were  black  and  angry  clouds  coming 
up  over  the  sky ;  and  things  promised  a  rough  time  for 
the  Church  at  Ephesus.  The  recent  persecution  under 
Nero,  though  its  brutalities  may  have  been  confined 
to  Rome,1  had  shown  what  Christians  might  be 
called  to  face  whenever  policy  or  passion  chanced  to 
prompt  a  massacre.  There  were  not  wanting  those 
who  might  find  it  convenient  to  stir  up  something 
of  the  sort  at  Ephesus;  and  the  sense  that  it  was 
always  possible  could  not  but  tell  on  the  position  and 
outlook  of  the  Church.  But  graver  still  was  the 
mischief  that  was  gaining  ground  within  the  Church 
itself;  where  the  restlessness  and  superstition  of 
some  who  had  seemed  to  be  sincere  were  corrupting 

1  Cf.   Merivale,  "History  of  the   Romans   under   the    Empire," 
vi.  450. 


THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD.        165 

the  faith  of  Christ,  and  foisting  strange,  morbid 
fancies  into  the  centre  of  the  Christian  teaching ; 
so  that  men  were  drifting  off  from  all  reality  of 
religion,  through  idle  talk  and  sickly  exercises  of 
perverted  cleverness,  towards  that  moral  degradation 
which,  in  a  place  like  Ephesus,  closed  in  so  readily  as 
soon  as  faith  had  ceased  to  hold  a  man  above  it.  Let 
us  try  to  measure  all  these  conditions  by  anything 
like  the  same  scale  on  which  we  estimate  the  diffi 
culties  of  our  own  day ;  let  us  remember  how  small 
and  weak  and  unpromising  a  movement  Christianity 
must  have  seemed  to  a  dispassionate  Ephesian  critic  ; 
let  us  add  the  thought  that  Timotheus  was  on  the 
very  point  of  losing  the  one  man  through  whose 
vivid,  penetrating,  and  inspiring  personality  he  had 
drawn  the  strongest  impulse,  the  constant  guidance 
and  encouragement  of  his  life  (since  the  time  of  St. 
Paul's  departure  was  at  hand) ;  and  we  may  probably 
feel  that  things  were  looking  very  dark  and  threaten 
ing  and  terrible  to  the  sensitive  and  delicate  man 
who  had  been  placed  in  charge  of  the  Ephesian 
Church. 

II.  If  we  were  writing  to  a  friend  amidst  difficulties 
so  great  as  these,  and  especially  if  we  were  writing 
with  the  expectation  that  we  might  never  write  to 
him  again,  we  should  certainly  be  most  careful  what 


166        THE  IMAGE  OP  THE  LORD. 

we  said.  We  should  do  our  best  to  enter  thoroughly 
into  his  position;  we  should  feel  that  there  was  a 
grave  responsibility  in  being  allowed  to  write  to  him 
at  such  a  time ;  and  that  we  must  write  nothing  which 
was  not  absolutely  real,  and  likely  to  come  home  to 
him.  And  then,  I  think,  this  would  be  a  part  of  our 
desire  as  we  wrote ; — that  we  might  fasten  upon  his 
memory,  with  a  deep  and  clear  impression,  some 
thought  which  seemed  to  us  most  likely  to  emerge 
into  the  front  of  consciousness  at  the  time  of  peril 
or  despondency,  and  to  rally  the  wavering  forces  of 
the  will.  We  know  how  one  recollection,  distinct 
and  dominant  in  the  mind,  has  often  been  the  decisive 
force  at  a  critical  moment;  how  upon  the  battle 
field,  for  instance,  or  under  the  almost  overpowering 
pressure  of  temptation,  the  thought  of  a  man's 
country,  of  his  home,  of  his  ancestral  traditions,  has 
reinforced  as  with  a  fresh  tide  of  strength  his  falter 
ing  heart,  and  borne  him  on  to  victory,  whether  by 
success  or  death.  We  may  recall  the  scene  in  one 
of  our  African  campaigns,  where  the  thought  of  a 
man's  old  school,  and  the  boyish  eagerness  anyhow  to 
bring  it  to  the  front,  was  the  impulse  of  a  splendid 
courage.  Yes ;  there  are  images  in  most  men's 
minds  which,  if  they  rise  at  the  right  moment,  will 
do  much  to  make  them  heroes.  A  word,  a  glance, 


THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD.        167 

some  well-known  sight,  some  old,  familiar  strain  of 
music,  may  beckon  the  image  out  of  the  recesses  of 
the  memory ;  and,  if  the  man  has  in  him  the  capacity 
of  generous  action,  he  will  use  it  then. 

III.  It  is  on  this  characteristic  of  human  nature 
that  St.  Paul  relies,  as  he  writes  to  Timotheus  the 
words  of  the  text.  He  would  avail  himself  of  this ;  he 
would  raise  it  to  its  highest  conceivable  employment ; 
he  would  enlist  it  as  a  constant,  ready,  powerful  ally 
on  the  side  of  duty — on  the  side  of  God.  He  may 
never  see  Timotheus,  never  write  to  him  again.  Well, 
then,  he  will  leave  dinted  into  his  mind,  by  a  few 
incisive  words,  one  commanding  and  sustaining  image. 
For  it  is  not,  as  it  appears  in  our  English  version, 
any  event  out  of  the  past,  however  supreme  in  its 
importance,  however  abiding  in  its  results,  that  St. 
Paul  here  fastens  upon  the  memory  of  his  disciple; 
it  is  not  the  abstract  statement  of  a  truth  in  history 
or  theology,  however  central  to  the  faith,  however 
vast  in  its  consequences ;  it  is  a  living  Person,  Whom 
St.  Paul  has  seen,  Whose  Form  he  would  have 
Timotheus  keep  ever  in  his  mind,  distinct,  beloved, 
unrivalled,  sovereign :  "  Bear  in  remembrance  Jesus 
Christ,  raised  from  the  dead."1  When  the  hardship 
which  Christ's  true  soldier  must  expect  is  pressing 
1  Cf.  A.  Rummer,  «  The  Pastoral  Epistles,"  pp.  854-358. 


168        THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD. 

heavily  upon  you;  when  the  task  of  self -discipline 
seems  tedious  and  discouraging ;  when  the  day's  work 
seems  more  than  you  can  bear,  and  when  night,  it 
may  be,  brings  but  little  rest ;  when  you  are  sick  at 
heart  to  see  folly  and  wilf ulness,  conceit  and  treachery, 
ruining  what  years  of  labour  and  devotion  hardly 
reared;  then  let  that  ever-living  Form  stand  out 
before  you;  "Bear  in  remembrance  Jesus  Christ 
raised  from  the  dead."  Bear  Him  in  remembrance 
as  He  now  is,  enthroned  in  everlasting  victory.  He 
toiled  to  utter  weariness;  He  pleased  not  Himself. 
He  was  despised  and  rejected;  He  was  betrayed  by 
one  whom  He  had  chosen,  denied  by  another, 
deserted  by  all.  He  suffered  more  than  thought  can 
compass ;  and  if  ever  "  failure "  could  be  written  at 
the  end  of  any  enterprise,  it  might  have  seemed 
reasonable  to  write  it  of  His  work,  as  they  took  His 
Body  from  the  Cross.  Well,  then,  if  your  tasks  and 
disappointments  seem  too  much  for  you,  bear  Him 
in  remembrance  as  He  now  is. — Never  can  the 
disproportion  between  advantages  and  difficulties, 
between  resources  and  demands,  have  seemed  to 
human  eyes  wider  than  when  the  Galilsean  Peasant 
came  to  found  a  world- wide  kingdom ;  never  did  an 
unreasonable  venture  seem  to  end  in  a  more  natural 
disaster  than  when  the  religious  leaders  of  His  own 


THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD.        169 

people  combined  with  the  representatives  of  the 
Roman  government  to  crush  Him  with  a  strong 
hand.  Well,  then,  if  the  strength,  the  wickedness, 
the  wealth,  the  confidence,  of  paganism  at  Ephesus 
at  times  appal  and  stagger  you;  if  there  seems 
something  irresistibly  discouraging  in  the  brilliance, 
the  culture,  the  self-sufficiency,  of  the  society  which 
ignores  or  ridicules  you ; — bear  in  remembrance  Jesus 
Christ,  raised  from  the  dead,  exalted  now  to  the 
Majesty  on  high. — Yes,  bear  Him  in  remembrance, 
not  only  as  the  supreme  and  all-illuminating  instance 
of  the  victory  that  overcometh  the  world ;  not  only 
as  One  Who  has  erased  the  word  "  impossible  "  out  of 
the  vocabulary  that  can  be  used  in  speaking  of  God's 
work ;  but  also  as  the  ever-living  Strength  of  His 
servants,  the  ever- watchful  Guardian  of  His  Church ; 
as  One  Who  knows  your  need,  and  is  indeed  sufficient 
for  your  help;  Who  never  can  forget  or  fail  you; 
beneath  Whose  gaze  you  serve,  and  by  Whose  love 
you  shall  be  crowned. 

IV.  Let  us  take  two  thoughts,  this  Easter  morning, 
from  the  counsel  which  St.  Paul  thus  gives. 

(a)  First,  that  he  is  trying  to  lodge  in  the  heart  of 
Timotheus'  life  and  work  that  which  has  been  the 
deepest  and  most  effective  force  in  his  own. — St.  Paul 
was  convinced  that  he  had  seen  the  Risen  Lord ;  and 


170  THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD. 

the  energy,  the  effect,  of  that  unfading  Image  through 
out  his  subsequent  life  might  go  some  way  to  prove 
that  the  conviction  was  true.  Physical  weight  is 
sometimes  measured  by  the  power  of  displacement; 
and  in  the  moral  and  spiritual  sphere  we  tend,  at 
least,  to  think  that  there  must  be  something  solid 
and  real  to  account  for  a  change  so  unexpected,  so 
unearthly,  so  thorough,  so  sustained  through  every 
trial,  so  vast  in  its  practical  outcome,  as  was  the 
conversion  of  St.  Paul.  No  doubt  rests  on  the  fact 
of  the  conversion,  nor  on  the  greatness  of  its  results ; 
in  regard  to  both  we  can  appeal  to  Epistles  which  the 
most  trenchant  criticism  now  leaves  unquestioned; 
and  if  St.  Paul  declares  that  the  whole  impulse  of  his 
new  life  came  from  the  sight  of  One  Who  had  been 
crucified  and  had  risen  from  the  dead,  we  may  surely 
claim  that  his  witness  is  a  real  contribution  to  the 
evidence  of  Christ's  Resurrection.  It  may  be  set 
aside;  it  must  be,  if  our  knowledge  of  all  things, 
actual  and  possible,  enables  us  to  say  that  there  can 
be  no  resurrection  of  the  dead;  but  that  would  be 
a  bold  presumption.  Or  it  may  be  justly  said  that 
no  one  man's  conviction,  however  commended  by  its 
steadiness  under  trial  and  its  practical  effect,  can  bear 
the  weight  of  so  stupendous  an  inference.  But,  then, 
St.  Paul's  certainty  that  he  had  seen  Christ  after  His 


THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD.        171 

Crucifixion  does  not  stand  alone  to  bear  that  weight ; 
it  is  but  one  part  in  a  large  and  various  mass  of 
evidence.  Similarly,  it  may  be  said  with  truth  thit 
the  convictions  of  enthusiastic  men  have  produced 
immense  results,  even  when  they  were  utterly  mis 
taken.  But  let  St.  Paul's  conviction  be  taken  in  its 
context;  let  justice  be  done  to  the  character  it 
wrought  in  him ;  to  the  coherence  and  splendour  of 
the  work  it  animated;  to  the  penetrating,  sober 
insight  of  his  practical  teaching;  to  the  consistency, 
not  of  expression,  but  of  inmost  thought  and  life, 
which  is  disclosed  to  any  careful  study  of  his 
writings ;  lastly,  to  the  grasp  which  his  words  have 
laid  upon  the  strongest  minds  in  Christendom  through 
all  succeeding  centuries,  the  prophetic  and  undying 
power  which,  amidst  vast  changes  of  methods  and 
ideas,  men  widely  different  have  felt  and  reverenced 
in  these  Epistles; — let  these  distinctive  notes  of  St. 
Paul's  work  be  realized,  together  with  its  incalculable 
outcome  in  the  course  of  history,  and  it  will  seem 
hard  to  think  that  the  central,  ruling  impulse  of  it  all 
was  the  obstinate  blunder  of  a  disordered  mind. — This 
at  least,  I  think,  may  be  affirmed,  that  if  there  were 
against  belief  in  Christ's  Resurrection  any  such  diffi 
culty  as  the  indisputable  facts  of  St.  Paul's  life  and 
work  present  to  disbelief,  we  should  find  it  treated 


172  THE  IMAGE  OF  THE  LORD. 

as  of    crucial    importance;  and  that,  I  think,  not 
unjustly.1 

(b)  "  Bear  in  remembrance  Jesus  Christ,  raised  from 
the  dead."  It  is  the  Form  which  has  made  him  what 
he  is,  for  life  or  for  death,  that  St.  Paul  would  with 
his  last  words,  it  may  be,  leave  clenched  for  ever  on 
the  mind  and  heart  of  his  disciple.  The  vision  of 
that  Form  may  keep  him  true  and  steadfast  when 
all  is  dark,  confused,  and  terrible  around  him.  May 
not  we  do  well  to  take  the  bidding  to  ourselves  ?  We 
know,  perhaps,  that  our  hearts  are  weak,  and  our 
wills  unsteady;  the  time  in  which  we  should  have 
stored  up  strength  against  the  day  of  trial  may  not 
have  been  used  as  now  we  wish  it  had  been.  For 
it  seems  as  though  life  were  likely  to  grow  harder 
as  the  years  go  on;  as  though  it  might  be  very 
difficult  to  have  a  right  judgment  in  all  things,  and 
to  keep  loyally  in  the  path  of  charity  and  truth. 
There  are  signs  of  trouble  and  confusion  in  the  air; 
and  some  faint  hearts  begin  to  fail ;  and  some  of  us, 
perhaps,  see  not  our  tokens  so  clearly  as  we  did.  But 
One  we  may  see,  as  we  lift  our  eyes  this  Easter  Day ; 
"  it  is  He  Who  liveth,  and  was  dead ;  and,  behold,  He 
is  alive  for  evermore;"  He  Who  cannot  fail  His 

1  Cf.  F.  W.  Farrar,  "Life  of  St.  Paul,"  pp.  114,  115;  Milligan, 
"  The  Resurrection  of  our  Lord,"  pp.  40-45. 


THE  IMAGE   OF  THE  LORD.  173 

Church,  or  leave  even  the  poorest  and  least  worthy 
of  His  servants  desolate  and  bewildered  when  the 
darkness  gathers,  and  the  cry  of  need  goes  up ;  He 
Who  will  be  to  any  one  of  us  what  He  was  to  His 
Apostles;  He,  our  Strength  against  all  despondency, 
and  irresoluteness,  and  cowardice,  and  sloth ;  He  Who 
knows  us  perfectly,  yet  loves  us — ah,  how  strange 
it  is! — yet  better  than  He  knows;  He  Who,  if  we 
have  borne  with  patient  courage  our  few  years  of 
trial  in  the  twilight  here,  will  receive  us  into  that 
everlasting  light  which  He  both  died  and  rose  again 
to  win  for  us. 


XL 


THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT 
THROUGH  FAITH  WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST. 

*'  From  a  child  thou  hast  known  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which 
are  able  to  make  thee  wise  unto  salvation  through  faith 
which  is  in  Christ  Jesus." 

2  TIM.  iii.  15. 

I.  THERE  is  a  singular  and  pathetic  beauty  in  the  rela 
tion  between  the  old  man  who  writes  these  words 
and  the  young  man  to  whom  he  sends  them.  A  wide 
contrast  in  natural  characteristics,  and  an  entire 
fellowship  in  devotion  to  one  cause,  are  often  the 
conditions  of  a  close  and  affectionate  friendship ;  and 
it  seems  probable  that  the  affection  of  St.  Paul  for 
Timotheus  rested  on  some  such  grounds.  Unlike  in 
temperament  the  two  men  certainly  appear.  For, 
with  whatever  hindrances  of  ill  health  or  nervous 
constitution,  St.  Paul  was  clearly  one  whose  intensity 
of  purpose,  tenacity  of  principle,  and  vehemence  of 
will  made  it  likely  that  to  any  opposition,  where  his 
own  judgment  was  distinct,  he  would  "  give  place  by 


THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT.      175 

subjection,  no,  not  for  an  hour."  Timotheus,  on  the 
other  hand,  seems  to  have  been  by  nature  one  to 
whom  opposition  would  always  mean  distress  and 
pain,1  to  whom  firmness  would  often  be  difficult  and 
expensive — a  character  deficient  somehow  in  that 
useful  sort  of  obstinacy  which  is  an  element  in  some 
men's  power  of  endurance,  and  stands  them  in  good 
stead  at  hard  times.  The  traits  of  moral  beauty  on 
which  St.  Paul  elsewhere  lays  stress,  in  speaking  of 
Timotheus,  are  such  as  might  well  consist  with  this 
deficiency;  they  are  the  attractions  likeliest  to  be 
wrought  by  the  grace  of  God  in  such  a  nature. 
Eminent  unselfishness;  the  capacity  for  generous 
self-devotion;  warm-heartedness  and  loyalty  in  per 
sonal  affection ;  a  spiritual  sense  which  made  the  care 
for  others'  welfare  seem  ingenerate  and  instinctive ; — 
these  are  the  features  which,  as  we  read  the  First 
Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  and  the  Epistle  to  the 
Philippians,  appear  to  supplement  the  impression  of 
Timotheus'  character  which  we  get  from  the  Pastoral 
Epistles.  There  is  often  in  such  men  an  unfailing 
charm  of  delicacy  and  gentleness;  they  seem  as 
though  there  had  been  more  summer  than  winter  in 
their  lives;  while,  with  some  characteristics  which 
may  be  misnamed  effeminate,  there  is  in  them  a 

1  Of.  Sermon  x.  p.  164. 


176      THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT. 

really  womanly  power  of  patience  and  self-sacrifice, 
Surely,  if  we  may  form  any  such  idea  of  Timotheus, 
we  cannot  wonder  at  St.  Paul's  intense  affection  for 
him,  as  a  constant  presence  of  tenderness  and 
sympathy  in  the  midst  of  much  antagonism  and 
disappointment  and  anxiety.  We  cannot  wonder 
that  St.  Paul  should  have  trusted  him  largely,  and 
believed  that  he  would  rightly  bear  his  high  charge 
as  Apostolic  delegate  over  the  Church  of  Ephesus;1 
nor  yet  can  we  wonder  that,  as  the  Apostle  thinks 
of  him  in  the  isolation,  the  perils,  the  tangled  diffi 
culties  of  his  position,2  as  he  thinks  of  the  subtlety 
of  error,  the  restlessness  of  idle  talk,  the  malignity 
of  moral  corruption,  the  brutality  of  persecution,  all 
besetting,  or  likely  to  beset,  that  sensitive  tem 
perament,  a  fear  should  be  continually  haunting  him 
lest  the  strain  may  prove  too  great ;  so  that  he  seems 
never  tired  of  enforcing,  with  every  sanction,  every 
appeal,  every  encouragement  that  he  can  use,  the 
paramount  duty  of  unflinching  steadfastness.  Again 
and  again  that  duty  is  impressed  on  his  disciple's 
conscience,  that  it  may  be  safe  from  all  risks  of 
forgetfulness  or  surprise:  "God  hath  not  given  us 
the  spirit  of  f earf ulness ; "  "  Be  not  thou  ashamed ; " 

1  Of.  Gore,  "The  Church  and  the  Ministry,"  p.  246. 
«  &  Sermon  x.,  pp.  164,  165. 


THROUGH  FAITH  WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.       177 

"  Take  thy  share  of  hardship  ;  "  "  Hold  fast  the  form 
of  sound  words ; "  "  Be  strong  in  grace ; "  "  Continue, 
abide  in  the  things  which  thou  hast  learned ; "  "  Be 
instant  in  season,  out  of  season ; "  "  Watch  thou  in 
all  things ;  "  "  Endure  afflictions." — It  seems  that  two 
strong  motives  hold  the  Apostle's  heart  and  rule  his 
words  as  he  writes  this  second  letter  to  Timotheus  ;— 
his  longing  to  see  just  once  again  the  face  he  loves 
is  only  rivalled  by  his  absorbing  and  persistent 
eagerness  that  Timotheus  may  be  ever  steadfast  in 
unfaltering  allegiance  to  the  truth. — That  grave, 
intense  anxiety  of  one  who  has  not  long  to  live, 
that  a  younger  man,  whom  he  has  taught  and  loved, 
may  not  break  down  or  get  bewildered  in  the 
increasing  perils  of  the  years  to  come, — surely  it  has 
in  it  a  solemnity  and  a  sadness  ever  renewed  amidst 
the  unchanging  anxieties  of  a  changeful  world. 

II.  In  the  words  of  the  text,  then,  St.  Paul  reminds 
Timotheus  of  one  great  element  and  ground  of  stead 
fastness  in  the  Christian  faith  and  life.  He  has  been 
speaking  of  the  terrible  development  which  he  foresees 
for  the  evils  already  assailing  the  Church — of  the 
deepening  of  darkness  and  corruption  as  the  days 
draw  in  towards  the  end ;  and  he  has  turned  to 
plead  again  with  his  own  dear  son,  Timotheus,  that 
when  he  has  to  stand  alone  through  all  these  things, 

N 


178     THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT 

when  St.  Paul  has  passed  away  to  wait  beyond  the 
veil  till  Christ  shall  come  and  judge  the  world,  he 
may  stand  firm  and  without  fear  in  the  one  cause 
for  which  it  is  worth  while  to  live  and,  if  it  please 
God,  to  die.  "  Abide  thou,"  he  says,  "  in  the  things 
which  thou  hast  learned  and  hast  been  assured  of : " 
— and  then  he  lays  hold  of  two  facts  in  Timotheus' 
past  history  which  should  help  him  to  be  thus  stead 
fast — "  knowing,"  he  adds,  first,  "  from  whom  thou 
didst  learn  "  the  faith  of  Christ ;  and  secondly,  "  that 
from  a  child  thou  hast  known  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
which  are  able  to  make  thee  wise  unto  salvation 
through  faith  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus."  Let  us  try 
to  enter  into  the  meaning  of  this  second  appeal :  to 
see,  so  far  as  we  can,  what  is  that  especial  help  which 
St.  Paul  expects  Timotheus  now  to  gain  from  his  all 
but  lifelong  training  in  the  books  of  the  Old  Testa 
ment  ;  and  then  on  what  condition,  by  what  power, 
he  may  gain  it. 

(a)  The  help  will  lie  in  that  peculiar  wisdom  which 
the  Holy  Scriptures  of  the  Old  Testament  will 
engender  in  Timotheus,  if  he  lets  them  have  their 
proper  work  in  his  inner  life.  He  has  known  them 
from  early  childhood — OTTO  |3/?!0ov5.  They  are  to  him 
not  simply  an  external  object  of  study,  but  an  inward 
endowment  which  has  conditioned  all  his  growth; 


THROUGH  FAITH  WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.       17& 

they  are  lodged  very  far  back  in  his  heart  and  mind ; 
in  their  presence,  under  their  influence,  he  has  come 
to  be  what  he  is,  to  realize  himself ;  he  has  never 
known  his  life  without  them.  He  knows  them  with 
an  intimacy  which  is  more  than  that  of  any  friend 
ship — an  intimacy  like  that  of  home;  an  intimacy 
which  has,  of  course,  its  risks  in  some  cases  of  un- 
observantness,  of  inactivity,  of  indolence,  and  of 
ingratitude,  but  which  certainly  gives  access  to 
depths  of  meaning  unsuspected  by  ordinary  acuteness 
and  even  industry.  So  knowing  the  writings  of  the 
Old  Testament,  Timotheus  should  let  them  exercise 
upon  his  character,  his  ways  of  thought  and  action, 
the  power  which  properly  belongs  to  them. 

And  he  will  find  it  a  power  of  wonderful  efficacy 
in  the  time  of  trial.  For  it  is  nothing  less  than  this — 
that  they  are  able  to  make  him  wise  unto  salvation. 
They  will  give  him  that  clearness  of  insight,  that 
justice  of  thought,  which  will  keep  him  in  the 
way  that  leadeth  unto  life.  St.  Chrysostom  brings 
out,  with  characteristic  directness  and  simplicity,  the 
true  force  of  the  words  ra  Suva/xeva  «  aoQiaai  eie 
<rwTTj/>/av.  "  He  who  knows  the  Scriptures  as  a  man 
ought  to  know  them  is  offended  at  nothing  that 
befalls  him,  but  bears  all  things  with  a  noble 
endurance."  For  from  the  Scriptures  he  gets  "the 


180      THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE   OLD   TESTAMENT 

true  canons  and  standards  of  judgment.  "  And  what 
are  these  ?  They  are  that  virtue  is  good,  that  vice  is 
evil ;  that  sickness,  poverty,  persecution,  and  the  like 
are  things  indifferent;  that  the  righteous  pass  through 
much  tribulation  in  this  world;  that  the  works  of 
God  are  past  finding  out;  and  that  no  words  can 
tell  the  difference  between  His  ways  and  ours."  Yes, 
this  is  the  great  power  which  St.  Paul  claims  for 
the  Old  Testament — that  it  will  accustom  men  to  the 
right  way  of  looking  at  things,  and  make  them  see 
the  meaning  of  their  own  life  more  nearly  as  God 
sees  it;  that  it  will  give  them  more  of  that  strong 
and  pure  and  quiet  wisdom  which  poor  and  simple 
people  often  have,  and  with  which  they  go  on,  quite 
clear  and  unperplexed,  amidst  all  the  problems  and 
sophistries  which  entangle  many  who  are  more  clever 
and  less  spiritual.  The  shrewdness  of  the  unworldly, 
the  penetrating,  steady  insight  of  those  whose  eye  is 
single,  who  have  done  with  selfish,  secret  aims, — this 
is  what  men  may  gain  from  the  Holy  Scriptures 
which  Timotheus  knew.  They  may  be  made  wise  to 
understand  what  the  will  of  the  Lord  is ;  they  may 
take  the  measure  of  all  earthly  things  so  truly  and 
surely,  with  so  just  an  estimate,  that  they  may  indeed 
recognize  the  Crucified  as  the  fulfilment  of  the  world's 
true  hope,  and  glory  in  His  Cross;  that  they  may 


THROUGH  FAITH  WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.       181 

see  how  sacrifice  both  was  and  is  the  one  true  way 
of  victory  in  this  world,  and  that  there  is  no  strength 
like  that  which  hides  itself  in  patience  and  humility  ; 
that  Christ  ought  to  have  suffered  these  things,  and 
so  to  enter  into  His  glory  ;  that,  in  the  Eternal 
Wisdom  and  by  the  law  of  His  own  perfection,  it 
became  Almighty  God,  in  bringing  many  sons  unto 
glory,  to  make  the  captain  of  their  salvation  perfect 
through  sufferings.1 — "Wise  unto  salvation."  They 
who  are  such  will  trace  the  ways  of  God  with  that 
clear  insight  which  only  trust  and  love  can  gain ; 
they  will  not  be  offended  in  their  Lord,  nor  think 
it  strange  concerning  the  fiery  trial  that  tries  His 
servants ;  they  will  be  ready,  when  and  as  He  wills, 
to  bear  about  in  the  body  the  dying  of  the  Lord 
Jesus,  that  the  life  also  of  Jesus  may  be  made  manifest 
in  their  bodies.  "Wise  unto  salvation."  I  suppose 
there  could  be  no  better  test  or  sign  of  the  possession 
of  that  wisdom  than  this — that  a  man  should  really 
own,  with  inner  and  complete  conviction,  that  the 
life  of  the  Beatitudes  is  indeed  the  blessed  life  for 
men ;  that  in  that  way  men  may  know  more  of  the 
very  blessedness  of  God  Himself  than  can  be  known 
in  any  other  way  on  earth ;  and  that  the  poor  in 
spirit,  and  they  that  mourn ;  the  meek,  and  they  that 

1  Cf  B.  F.  Westcott,  "  Christus  Consuinmator,"  pp.  24-27. 


182      THE  EFFICACY  OF   THE  OLD   TESTAMENT 

hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness ;  the  merciful, 
the  pure  in  heart,  the  peacemakers,  the  persecuted 
and  reviled,  are  really  those  whose  lives  are  already 
in  God's  sight  radiant  with  the  light  of  heaven,  with 
the  glory  that  shall  hereafter  be  revealed  in  them. 

Brethren,  if  we  might  for  a  moment  hold  in 
abeyance  the  import  of  the  truth  that  St.  Paul  was 
writing  under  the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  would 
not  his  words  have  power  still  to  claim  our  defer 
ence?  For  he  certainly  had  this  wisdom  of  which 
he  speaks.  His  whole  life,  every  letter  that  we  read 
of  his,  the  power  he  has  had,  and  all  the  outcome 
of  his  work,  evince  it ;  it  is  as  clear  as  any  trait 
which  we  may  know  in  the  character  of  our  nearest 
friend.  And  St.  Paul  certainly  knew  the  Scriptures ; 
he  had  known  them  all  through  his  early  life;  he 
had  carried  them  with  him  through  the  great  change 
of  his  conversion ;  he  had  learnt  to  read  them  afresh 
in  the  new  light  that  then  came  to  him ;  he  had  tried 
them  through  years  and  years  of  work  and  joy  and 
suffering  in  the  Church  of  Christ.  Hardly  any  one 
could  have  better  credentials  than  St.  Paul  for  speak- 
ng  about  the  power  of  the  Old  Testament  in  the 
discipline  of  character,  or  about  the  imitation  of 
Christ:  and  he  is  speaking  here  under  conditions 
which  would  ensure  the  severest  accuracy,  the  simplest 


THROUGH  FAITH  V/HICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.       183 

saying  what  he  knows  and  means.  Surely,  then, 
when  he  tells  us  that  these  Scriptures  are  able  to 
make  us  wise  unto  salvation ;  that  they  will  show  us, 
frail  and  dim  of  sight  as  we  may  be,  both  how  to 
live  and  how  to  die;  even  if  we  were  to  consider 
his  words  only  in  this  narrow  and  inadequate  way, 
without  thinking  of  their  highest  sanction,  they  would 
in  common  sense  demand  for  the  study  of  the  Old 
Testament  more  thought,  and  hope,  and  prayer,  and 
love  than  nine-tenths  of  us,  I  fear — than  any  of  us, 
it  may  be — have  ever  given  to  it. 

(6)  We  have  tried  to  see  the  power  which  St.  Paul 
assigns  to  the  Old  Testament  in  the  formation  and 
maintenance  of  character ;  the  help  which  it  can  yield 
towards  the  inner  strength  of  steadfastness  and  per 
severance.  But  let  us  mark  the  condition  which  he 
attaches  to  our  finding  this  help ;  the  means  by  which 
alone  we  can  recognize  and  release,  as  it  were,  this 
power.  It  can  come  to  us  and  we  can  know  it  only 
"through  faith  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus:"  &<z  TTI'OTEOJC 
rfjc  «v  XpitmJ  'ITJO-OV.  "  His  words  " — as  Hooker  has 
said — "His  words  concerning  the  books  of  ancient 
Scripture  do  not  take  place  but  with  presupposal  of 
the  Gospel  of  Christ  embraced." l 

The  true  efficacy  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  Divine 
1  •*  Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  I.  xiv.  4. 


184      THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT 

energy  with  which  it  can  penetrate,  inform,  control 
the  heart  of  man,  can  be  rightly  known  only  where 
that  faith  is,  only  in  proportion  as  that  faith  is  true 
and  living.  It  is  from  his  state  of  union  with  Christ, 
and  by  the  light  that  Christ  is  to  him,  that  Timotheus 
must  discern,  receive,  detain,  the  hidden  wisdom  thab 
is  stored  in  the  Holy  Scriptures.  By  union  with 
Christ  he  has  attained  the  point  from  which  their 
various  elements  are  seen  in  their  true  relation  and 
significance,  each  bearing  its  divinely  intended  part 
in  the  glory,  the  witness,  of  the  whole.  Only  in  so 
far  as  it  is  not  he  that  lives,  but  Christ  that  liveth  in 
him,  is  he  in  perfect  sympathy,  in  vital  continuity, 
as  it  were,  with  the  gradually  disclosed  but  ever 
dominant  principle  of  the  Old  Testament;  it  is  one 
and  the  same  great  central  truth  of  the  world's 
history  which  gives  unity  to  those  ancient  Scriptures 
and  to  his  own  inner  life.  And  surely  here  we  touch 
one  of  the  chief  reasons  which  may  be  felt  to  underlie 
the  demand  for  faith  in  Christ,  for  union  with  Him, 
as  the  essential  secret  of  access  to  the  depths  of 
changeless  meaning,  and  the  springs  of  strength  and 
light  that  are  in  the  Old  Testament.  Archbishop 
Trench  has  said,  "  It  is  the  necessary  condition  of  a 
book  which  shall  exert  any  great  and  effectual 
influence,  which  shall  stamp  itself  with  a  deep  im- 


THROUGH  PAlTh   WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.      185 

pression  upon  the  minds  and  hearts  of  men,  that  it 
must  have  a  unity  of  purpose;  one  great  idea  must 
run  through  it  all.  There  must  be  some  single  point 
in  which  all  its  different  rays  converge  and  meet." l 
We  should  all  own,  I  think,  that  that  is  true.  We 
can  see  how  it  holds  good  in  every  field  of  art.  There 
is  no  fault  that  is  more  readily  felt  than  the  lack 
of  such  a  unity  of  purpose— felt  even  by  those  who 
may  not  know  the  ground  of  their  disappointment, 
of  their  sense  that  there  is  a  failure  somewhere,  and 
that  they  cannot  pass  through  the  work  into  the 
artist's  mind.  For  it  follows,  of  course,  that  it  is 
only  when  we  have  rightly  and  distinctly  seen  what 
that  ruling  thought  or  purpose  is,  that  we  can  hope 
to  enter  into  the  work,  to  understand  it  and  to  do 
justice  to  it ;  to  know  the  meaning,  and  to  judge  of 
the  fitness  of  its  several  parts.  In  general  literature 
it  is,  I  suppose,  the  characteristic  distinction  of  the 
true  critic  that  he  thus  goes  straight  to  the  single, 
central,  sovereign  idea  of  a  great  work,  and  thence 
surveys  and  studies  all  the  tributary  details;  while 
another  is  engrossed,  as  usefully  and  happily,  it  may 
be,  but  with  obvious  risks  of  disproportion  and  mis 
understanding,  in  the  examination  of  those  details — 
often  on  that  side  of  them  which  is,  as  it  were,  turned 
1  "  Hulsean  Lectures,"  p.  20. 


186      THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT 

away  from  and  irrelevant  to  the  central,  animating 
thought.  The  one  is  caught  up  into  glad,  controlling 
fellowship  with 'the  poet's  mind,  and  sees,  though  it 
be  but  in  a  glass,  darkly,  what  he  saw;  the  other 
fastens  on  the  irregularities  of  construction,  or  is  dis 
tressed  at  the  roughness  of  a  verse. — Yes,  to  know 
what  any  work  means,  to  release  its  inner  strength 
and  beauty,  to  bring  ourselves  under  its  influence, 
we  must  have  grasped  the  thought  that  gives  it 
unity. 

Ah !  but  let  that  thought  be  not  an  artist's  vision 
or  a  speculation  in  philosophy,  but  the  thought  which 
transfigures  life,  and  turneth  the  shadow  of  death 
into  the  morning;  not  the  passing  fancy  or  the 
delicate  conception  which  holds  our  interest  for  a 
few  hours,  but  the  thought  which  meets  the  lifelong 
need  and  hunger  of  every  heart  that  knows  itself; 
not  a  thought  which  merely  speaks,  however  well,  of 
comfort  and  encouragement,  but  the  thought  which 
is  itself  the  very  strength  and  hope  we  crave;  not 
a  thought  of  any  sinful  man  like  ourselves,  but  the 
thought  of  God  Himself,  instinct  and  quick  with  His 
own  life,  and  radiant  with  His  everlasting  love ; — and 
then,  surely,  we  need  something  more  than  any 
external  recognition,  any  apprehension  of  it  by  the 
intellect  alone.  We  can  know  that  thought  only  by 


THROUGH  FAITH  WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.       187 

living  in  its  power ;  only  by  committing  ourselves  to 
its  guidance ;  only  by  taking  it,  with  the  venture  of 
faith,  to  be  the  light  of  our  life.  The  unity  of  the 
Old  Testament  lies  in  the  gradual  disclosure  of  a 
certain  life  for  men ;  and  its  meaning,  its  wisdom,  its 
Divineness,  can  be  clear  to  us  only  if  that  life  is  ours. 
By  faith  in  Christ,  by  union  with  Him,  men  take 
their  stand,  as  it  were,  where  that  life  breaks  out 
and  triumphs  over  death ;  and  as  its  power  renews 
them,  as  its  brightness  streams  around  them,  they 
look  back  and  see  the  line  of  light  all  through  the 
past  'growing  towards  the  perfect  day.  That  Divine, 
eternal  thought  of  love,  revealed  in  all  its  infinite 
beauty  of  compassion  when  the  Word  was  made  flesh, 
invades  and  occupies  their  being ;  and  as  they  yield 
themselves  to  its  control,  they  know  what  was  the 
reality  of  hope,  the  principle  of  discipline,  the  central 
purpose  of  God's  dealings  with  His  people  all  through 
those  ages  of  expectation  and  foreshadowing.  The 
central  thought  of  the  Bible  is  the  central  power  of 
their  life;  and  round  that  central  thought  all  the 
mysteries  of  the  past  disclose  their  hidden  wealth  of 
meaning,  to  make  them  "wise  unto  salvation,"  "perfect, 
throughly  furnished  unto  all  good  works." 

III.  "Through  faith  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus."     St. 
Paul  speaks  of  this  as  the  condition  of  our  knowing 


188      THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT 

the  real  power  of  the  Old  Testament.  We  may 
learn  from  him,  surely,  a  great  lesson  in  regard  to 
an  anxiety  felt  by  many  in  the  present  day.  The 
criticism  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  challenge  of  its 
authority,  the  various  questions  round  about  it,  are 
stirring  thoughts  of  trouble  and  uneasiness  in  many 
minds.  It  seems  not  unlikely  that  some  such  wave 
as  that  which  we  have  lately  seen  receding,  thank 
God,  from  its  impetuous  onset  on  the  books  of  the 
New  Testament,  may  be  advancing  upon  those  of  the 
Old.  The  disquieting  influence  of  such  a  movement 
is  always  wide ;  and  it  is  perhaps  most  felt  by  some 
who  have  least  considered  the  real  points  at  issue. 
And  under  this  influence  men  are  often  in  a  hurry 
to  draw  lines  of  limitation ;  to  establish  what  seems 
a  scientific  frontier;  to  determine  that  certain  con 
cessions  must  be  made,  or  certain  reserves  maintained 
against  all  infringement.  But  it  is  always  hard  and 
perilous  work  to  draw  such  lines ;  for  harm  has  often 
come  of  their  being  drawn  in  the  wrong  place,  too 
far  either  one  way  or  the  other.  And,  surely,  there 
is  a  better  course  by  which  each  one  of  us  may 
strengthen  his  position  in  regard  to  the  Old  Testa 
ment;  and  that  is  by  using  every  means  to  make 
more  real  and  sure  his  union  with  Christ.  It  is  hard 
for  us  to  do  justice  to  that  which  St.  Paul  meant  by 


THROUGH  FAITH   WHICH  IS  IN  CHRIST.       189 

"  faith  which  is  in  Christ  Jesus ;  "  the  word  "  faith  " 
has  been  dragged  through  so  many  controversies,  and 
thrust  so  often  into  false  antitheses.  But  we  can  see 
that  he  meant  not  less  than  this — the  surrender  of 
one's  life  to  Christ,  to  be  conformed  to  His  example, 
guided  by  the  daily  disclosure  of  His  will,  informed 
and  strengthened  by  His  grace;  the  conviction  that 
for  His  sake,  and  by  the  power  of  His  perfect  sacri 
fice,  we  can  be  set  free  from  the  sins  that  hinder  and 
defile  us,  and  know  the  miracle  of  God's  forgiveness ; 
the  growing  certainty  that  He  Himself,  our  Blessed 
Lord,  vouchsafes  to  come  and  dwell  within  us,  by 
the  operation  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  giving  us  His  own 
life,  and  making  us  strong  to  be  true,  and  humble, 
and  patient,  and  unselfish;  strict  with  ourselves,  as 
knowing  how  much  need  we  have  of  strictness ; 
gentle,  and  making  large  allowances  for  others,  as 
never  knowing  how  sorely  they  are  tried ; — enabling 
us,  in  spite  of  all  that  is  past,  to  follow  the  blessed 
steps  of  His  most  holy  life.  So  may  we  live  by  faith, 
in  living  union  with  Him,  seeking  continually  through 
deeper  penitence,  through  the  nearer  knowledge  of 
His  life,  through  the  less  unworthy  welcome  of  His 
Eucharistic  Presence,  to  open  out  our  hearts  more 
freely  to  His  love,  to  enthrone  Him  in  steadier 
supremacy  over  all  our  ways.  For  thus  it  may  be 


190      THE  EFFICACY  OF  THE  OLD   TESTAMENT. 

we  shall  gain  the  surest  hold  upon  those  words  which 
heralded  His  coming  into  the  world;  a  hold  which 
will  be  firm  through  all  that  seems  obscure  and  hard 
as  yet  to  understand  or  set  in  order ;  a  hold  which 
will  ensure  our  seeing  things  rightly,  and  being  able, 
if  it  please  God,  to  help  others  when  the  perplexity 
and  unsettlement  has  abated.  There  may  be  new 
aspects  of  the  truth  that  press  for  recognition ;  there 
may  be  need  for  some  restatement  of  that  which 
cannot  change  or  fail  New  thoughts  which  are 
strange  to  us  now  may  prove,  indeed,  the  clues  to 
secrets  we  have  never  read.  And  we  may  be  able  to 
wait  with  the  frankness  and  the  patience  of  true 
insight,  if  all  along  we  feel,  in  the  certainty  of  per 
sonal  experience,  that  the  Holy  Scriptures  are  making 
us,  through  God's  grace,  wiser  than  we  were ;  and  if 
in  them  we  are  learning  to  discern  the  forecast  glory 
of  the  life  by  which  we  live — of  the  example  which, 
as  we  know  more  of  it,  only  the  more  surpasses  all 
our  praise  and  adoration  ;  of  the  hope  which  fills  us 
with  thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God,  Who,  in  His 
love,  created  us  for  such  an  end. 


XIL 

THE  POWER   OF  AN   ENDLESS  LIFE. 

"  Christ  being  raised  from  the  dead  dieth  no  more." 

EOM.  vi.  9. 

EVEN  this  present  life  is  full  of  the  rhythm  of  the 
Resurrection;  it  is  ever  ready  to  remind  us  of  the 
news  of  Easter.  Time  after  time,  if  we  will  have  it 
so,  as  we  look  at  the  visible  world,  as  we  gain  or 
recall  the  lessons  of  experience,  we  see  some  rendering, 
as  it  were,  of  the  glory  of  this  Queen  of  Feasts,  some 
parable  of  the  empty  tomb  and  the  stone  rolled  back 
and  the  triumph  over  death.  When  the  day  breaks 
and  the  shadows  flee  away,  and  all  life  stirs  and 
wakes  again ;  when  the  long  tyranny  of  winter  yields, 
and  the  flowers  appear  upon  the  earth,  and  the  time 
of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come;  when  some  great 
sorrow,  or  anxiety,  or  mood  of  sadness  passes  from 
our  hearts,  and  we  rediscover  the  reality  of  joy; 
when  some  chastening  dimness  of  faith,  it  may  be, 
is  taken  away,  and  the  light  and  love  of  God  seem 


192  THE  POWER   OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE. 

clearer,  dearer,  closer  to  us  than  ever ;  when  the  long 
days  of  sickness  are  forgotten  in  the  new  gladness 
of  returning  health ; — in  all  that  manifold  experience 
of  heaviness  enduring  for  a  night  and  joy  coming  in 
the  morning,  the  sequence  of  Holy  Week  and  Easter 
is  enacted,  and  the  note  that  sounds  out  loud  on  this 
most  blessed  day  is  touched  again.  All  life  around 
us  and  within  displays  at  times  some  likeness  of  a 
rising  from  the  dead. 

But  as  we  think  of  all  these  types  and  parables  of 
the  Resurrection,  we  see  one  abrupt,  decisive  failure 
in  them  all ;  at  one  point  they  all  halt,  unable  further 
to  follow  the  triumph  we  commemorate  on  Easter  Day. 
For  in  all  the  brightness  is  but  for  a  while ;  the  voice 
of  joy  and  health  must  fail  again,  we  know,  in  a  few 
years  at  the  most ;  we  cannot  stay  upon  the  height 
of  happiness,  or  bind  the  light  to  linger  with  us ;  the 
leaves  that  to-day  are  just  revealing  that  ever  fresh 
surprise  of  beauty  which  will  soon  be  the  glory  of  the 
spring  must  presently  be  shivering  on  the  trees  or 
scudding  along  the  roads  in  the  November  gale ;  the 
clouds  return  after  the  rain;  the  morning  cometh, 
and  also  the  night.  As  nature  would  prophesy  of 
the  Resurrection,  and  show  forth  in  outward  signs 
what  Easter  means,  her  voice,  her  power,  falters ;  she 
can  but  prophesy  in  part,  for  she  has  no  form  or  type 


THE  POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE.  193 

in  all  her  wealth  that  will  serve  to  tell  of  Him  Who 
"  being  raised  from  the  dead  dieth  no  more."  Winter 
and  night  and  death  may  come  more  slowly  at  one 
time  than  at  another  ;  there  may  be  a  trace  of  summer 
in  the  air  when  St.  Luke's  Day  comes ;  there  may  be 
a  flush  of  after-glow  when  the  sun  has  set;  death 
may  seem  near  to  us,  and  then,  perhaps,  draw  back 
and  wait  awhile ; — but  the  summer  and  the  light  and 
life  itself  have  all  their  inexorable  law.  One  alone 
there  is  Whose  day  has  no  twilight  and  no  night, 
Whose  glory  never  fades,  and  over  Whom  death  hath 
no  more  dominion;  since  "Christ  being  raised  from 
the  dead  dieth  no  more." 

Yes,  here  is  the  unique,  distinctive  splendour  of  our 
Saviour's  triumph ;  here  He  leaves  behind  Him  every 
earthly  semblance  of  His  Resurrection.  "  He  dieth  no 
more."  To-day  the  Crucified  declares  to  us,  "  I  am 
He  that  liveth;  and  I  became  dead:  and,  behold,  I 
am  alive  for  evermore."  Of  Himself,  by  the  free  will 
of  His  great  love,  He  laid  down  His  life  for  us ;  and 
now  He  has  taken  it  again  for  ever  and  ever.  There 
must  come  the  few  days  of  pause  before  the  Ascen 
sion  ;  thenceforth  as  King  and  Priest,  unchanging  and 
eternal,  He  ever  reigns  and  pleads  for  us,  in  the 
power  of  an  endless  life,  an  "  endless  morn  of  light." 
His  human  nature  is  lifted  into  the  glory  which  He 

o 


194  THE  POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE. 

had  with  the  Father  before  the  world  was;  perfect 
Man,  and  touched,  indeed,  with  the  feeling  of  our 
infirmity,  He  lives  for  evermore,  above  the  mist  and 
clouds  of  our  dying  life,  above  the  thought  of  death 
or  failure;  since  by  His  death  He  hath  destroyed 
death,  and  by  His  rising  to  life  again  hath  restored 
to  us  everlasting  life.  To-day  He  met  an  unconquer 
able  hope  that  was  in  the  hearts  of  men ;  He  fulfilled 
a  deep  instinct  which  was  astir  far  and  wide.  It  has 
been  truly  said  that  "  by  a  thousand  voices  and  in  a 
thousand  ways  the  world  had  been  declaring  that 
it  was  not  made  for  death — for  that  dread  and  alien 
thing  which,  notwithstanding,  it  found  in  the  midst  of 
it." l  And  Christ  our  Lord  caught  up  that  world- wide 
hope  and  made  it  good ;  when,  as  on  this  day,  through 
the  grave  and  gate  of  death  He  issued  forth,  not  into 
any  bounded  space  of  time,  any  longer  term  of  passing 
years,  but  into  the  ample  air  of  eternity  itself — "  God 
from  everlasting,  Man  for  evermore."  The  encircling 
walls  of  death  were  broken  through,  and  humanity 
had  won  a  vantage-ground  beyond  its  grasp;  since 
'  Christ  being  raised  from  the  dead  dieth  no  more." 
Life  now,  not  death,  is  written  at  the  end  of  human 
history. 

But  is  that  all  ?     Must  we  wait  till  the  end  to  find 
1  B.  C.  Trench,  "  Hulaean  Lectures,"  p.  188. 


THE  POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE.  195 

the  difference  His  victory  has  made  ?  Nature  seems 
to  have  no  type,  no  emblem,  of  that  perfect  triumph 
over  death  and  darkness;  her  resurrections  are  but 
for  a  while ;  the  risen  dies  again.  Is  He,  then,  alone 
and  distant  in  His  great  deliverance  ?  Is  He  as  one 
who  has  crept  out  by  night  from  a  beleaguered  city, 
and  got  away  in  safety,  leaving  his  comrades  as  they 
were,  unhelped  by  his  escape ;  guarded,  perhaps,  all 
the  more  closely  since  he  broke  out  and  got  away  ? 
Are  all  the  gains  of  earth  as  insecure  as  ever  ?  Is 
there  no  rising  here  save  only  to  fall  back  again ;  no 
spring  that  is  not  transient  ?  Must  we  wait  until 
we  leave  this  world  to  see  or  know  the  power  of  an 
endless  life? 

No,  brethren,  we  can  both  see  and  know  it  here. 
It  is  not  far  from  every  one  of  us.  Death  can  no 
longer  claim  to  rule  this  world ;  for  there  are  whole 
tracts  of  life  which  he  cannot  touch  ;  and  there  is  that 
in  each  which  "  dieth  no  more,"  which  has  escaped 
the  great  doom  of  transience. 

There  is,  first  of  all,  the  Church  of  the  living  God — 
the  Body  of  Christ.  He  Himself  is  pledged  that  it 
shall  not  die  or  fail  out  of  the  earth  ;  and  through  all 
that  could  test  the  strength  and  disclose  the  weakness 
of  any  society  of  men  it  has  endured  and  increased. 
I  suppose  there  is  no  solvent  or  destructive  force 


196  THE  POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE. 

which  has  not  at  some  time  tried  its  power  on  the 
Church  of  Christ;  persecution,  scorn,  hatred,  mis 
representation;  favour,  ease,  power,  opulence;  soft 
ness,  ambition,  worldliness,  and  profligacy,  among 
laity  and  clergy  alike;  infidelity  without,  and  at 
times,  alas !  within  as  well.  It  has  felt  all  the  subtlety 
and  violence  of  evil ;  and  time  after  time  men  have 
thought  and  said — at  least  as  confidently  as  some 
may  say  now — that  the  Church  and  the  religion  of 
the  Church  are  coming  to  an  end.  And  time  after 
time  they  have  been  wrong — absolutely,  obviously 
wrong.  For  the  inner  life  of  the  Church,  whether 
men  assail  it  from  without  or  betray  it  from  within, 
is  indeed  the  endless  life  of  Christ  made  manifest  on 
earth ;  it  goes  untouched  through  all  the  unfaithful 
ness  and  all  the  opposition ;  it  abides  for  the  steadfast 
light  and  help  of  all  pure,  loving  souls ;  and  when  the 
tyranny  or  treachery  is  overpast,  it  widens  out  in 
ever  larger  ventures  for  the  glory  of  God.  And  in 
an  age  of  incalculable  changes,  when  all  around  seems 
shifting  and  uncertain,  it  is  something  to  know  that 
there  is  one  cause  which  will  not  betray  whatever 
faith  and  love  a  man  may  give  to  it ;  that  whatever 
else  breaks  up  and  disappears,  there  is  one  Body  upon 
earth  which  dieth  no  more. 

The  power  of  Christ's  endless  life  is  here  among 


THE    POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE.  1Q7 

us  in  His  Church;  it  is  here  among  us  also  in  His 
truth — that  truth  which,  according  to  St.  Paul's 
great  metaphor,  the  Church  upholds  among  men  as  a 
pillar,  and  sustains  as  a  foundation.1  "  Heaven  and 
earth,"  our  Saviour  said,  "  shall  pass  away ;  but  My 
words  shall  not  pass  away ; "  and  His  Apostle  claims 
for  His  revelation  of  God  just  this  very  exemption 
from  the  law  of  transience.  "  For  all  flesh  is  as  grass, 
and  all  the  glory  of  man  as  the  flower  of  grass.  The 
grass  withereth,  and  the  flower  thereof  falleth  away  : 
but  the  Word  of  the  Lord  endureth  for  ever."  2  And 
so  too  the  Psalmist  shows  the  one  source  and  assur 
ance  of  steadfastness  in  heaven  and  in  earth :  "  0 
Lord,  Thy  Word  endureth  for  ever  in  heaven ;  Thy 
truth  also  remaineth  from  one  generation  to  an 
other."  From  one  generation  to  another ;  across  all 
the  unimaginable  changes  of  the  eighteen  centuries ; 
through  differences  of  thought,  and  life,  and  fashion, 
and  social  order  so  vast  that  it  seems  impossible 
for  us  to  give  reality  to  the  pictures  of  those 
distant  days;  through  evil  report  and  good  report, 
"both  hated  and  believed,"  the  truth  that  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  stored  with  His  disciples  lives  still  with 
His  own  risen  life.  The  huge  shiftings  of  the  tide  of 
human  thought  may  modify  an  indifferent  expression 
1  1  Tim.  iii.  15.  *  1  St.  Pet.  i.  24,  25. 


198  THE  POWER   OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE. 

here  and  there,  or  may  prove  that  the  revelation  has 
been  stretched  to  cover  ground  for  which  it  was 
not  meant ;  but  the  truth  of  God  made  known  in  Jesus 
Christ  our  Lord,  very  Man  and  very  God,  crucified  for 
us,  risen  from  the  dead,  ascended  into  heaven ; — this 
is  still,  after  all  the  ages  of  keen  and  persistent 
criticism,  this  is  still  the  steadiest  light  that  gladdens 
weary  eyes  and  hearts ;  for  this  too  has  its  strength 
of  life  hidden  with  God,  and  therefore  dieth  no  more. 
And  lastly,  in  the  Christian  character,  in  the 
character  which  is  formed  by  Christ's  example  and 
sustained  by  His  sacraments,  there  is  that  which  is 
not  transient — which  being  raised  from  the  death  of 
sin  dieth  no  more.  "The  world,"  says  St.  John,  "  is 
passing  away,  and  the  lust  thereof :  but  he  that  doeth 
the  will  of  God  abideth  for  ever." — Not  that  there 
is  any  stability  at  all  in  us.  We  are  frail,  indeed,  and 
faltering,  and  forgetful,  and  soon  tired;  we  know 
ourselves  to  be  capable  of  the  worst ;  we  are  always 
disappointing  our  Lord,  and  even  ourselves ;  we  re 
solve  and  fail,  and  renew  our  resolution  and  fail 
again ;  and  for  all  the  wealth  and  might  of  grace  our 
life  is  a  poor  and  inconsistent  thing.  Yet  never  let 
us  dare  to  think — no,  not  when  we  are  weariest  of 
ourselves  and  of  our  failures — that  this  sequence  of 
recovery  and  relapse,  this  oscillation  to  and  fro,  is 


THE  POWER   OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE.  199 

the  best  that  we  can  do,  or  what  God  looks  for  from 
us,  or  true  to  the  proper  characteristics  of  the  life 
of  grace.  No ;  it  is  a  risen  life  into  which  we  were 
welcomed  in  our  Baptism ;  it  is  the  risen  Lord  Who 
comes  to  us  in  the  Holy  Eucharist.  However  the 
effects  and  manifestation  of  His  life  may  be  hindered 
and  obscured  by  our  cowardice  and  feebleness  and 
sin,  in  itself  it  has  no  limit  to  its  energy,  it  knows  no 
doom  of  transience ;  it  has  the  power  of  an  endless 
life;  it  moves  not  to  and  fro  between  success  and 
failure,  but  right  on  from  strength  to  strength,  from 
glory  to  glory. 

So,  then,  let  us  try  this  Eastertide,  with  freshness  of 
hope,  simply  to  clear  away,  God  helping  us,  whatever 
checks  the  free  expansion  of  the  risen  life  within  us ; 
whatever  breaks  and  spoils  the  work  of  grace.  We 
have  failed,  it  may  be,  a  thousand  times  in  the  years 
that  are  past ;  we  have  drifted  to  and  fro,  and  hardly 
know  whether  we  are  any  nearer  the  haven  than  we 
were.  But  it  need  not  be  so  now ;  that  is  not  what 
Christ  died  and  rose  again  to  win  for  us.  We  shall 
not  be  faultless  in  the  future ;  but  we  may  do  better 
than  we  have  done,  and  then  better,  and  better  still. 
Only  let  us  be  definite,  and  let  us  be  humble ;  let  us 
look  right  away  from  ourselves,  right  up  to  Him ; 
chastened  and  sobered  by  the  past,  but  not  degraded 


200  THE  POWER  OF  AN  ENDLESS  LIFE. 

or  despondent;  dead  indeed  unto  sin,  turning  our 
backs  upon  it,  and  resolute  never  to  look  round  to  it 
with  one  hankering  glance ;  but  alive  unto  God — alive 
with  His  own  life  of  love,  Who  "  being  raised  from  the 
dead  dieth  no  more ; "  that 

"  So  the  procession  of  our  life  may  be 
More  equable,  and  strong,  and  pure,  and  free.  .  .  . 
For  who  indeed  shall  his  high  flights  sustain, 
Who  soar  aloft  and  sink  not  ?    He  alone 
Who  has  laid  hold  upon  that  golden  chain 
Of  love,  fast  linked  to  God's  eternal  throne — 
The  golden  chain  from  heaven  to  earth  let  down, 
That  we  might  rise  by  it,  nor  fear  to  sink  again." » 

1  R.  C.  Trench,  "Poems,"  pp.  81,  82  (ed.  1874).    The  lines  are 
slightly  altered  from  their  original  form. 


XIII. 
A   NEW   HEART, 

"  But  Peter  and  John  answered  and  said  unto  them,  Whether 
it  be  right  in  the  sight  of  God  to  hearken  unto  you  more 
than  unto  God,  judge  ye.  For  we  cannot  but  speak  the 
things  which  we  have  seen  and  heard." 

ACTS  iv.  19,  20. 

ON  the  first  Sunday  after  Easter,  with  all  the 
thoughts  of  that  surpassing  day  fresh  in  our  minds, 
we  may  do  well  to  bring  home  to  ourselves  the 
meaning  of  those  thoughts  in  the  sphere  of  character ; 
to  try  to  realize  some  part  of  that  which  our  Lord's 
triumph  has  added  to  the  possibilities  of  moral  change; 
to  think  over  that  intensely  real  and  practical  force 
in  human  life  of  which  St.  Paul  speaks  as  "  the  power 
of  Christ's  Resurrection."  We  are  anxious,  all  of  us,  I 
trust,  to  grow  purer,  simpler,  stronger,  -than  we  are ; 
we  feel  our  own  weakness ;  we  cannot  forget  our 
frequent  and  shameful  disappointments  with  our 
selves.  What  should  the  great  truth  of  Easter  do 
to  reinforce  the  hope  which  those  disappointments 


A   NEW  HEART. 

may  have  threatened  to  impair  ?  How  should  the 
Resurrection  of  Jesus  Christ  increase  in  us  that 
strength  of  expectancy1  which  has,  we  know,  so 
great  a  value  in  our  moral  and  spiritual  life  ?  Why 
does  it  bid  us  steadily  to  aim  high  ? 

I.  Let  us  seek  a  part  of  the  answer  to  these  questions 
by  marking  the  change  which  was  actually  wrought 
in  one  to  whom  our  Lord  deigned  specially  to  show 
Himself  after  He  was  risen.  Let  us  set  in  contrast 
two  scenes  of  St.  Peter's  life — the  one  before,  the 
other  after,  the  first  Easter  Day.  And  let  us  measure, 
in  the  vast  change  which  had  passed  over  his  cha 
racter,  something  of  the  power  of  Christ's  Resurrec 
tion  and  of  its  fruits  to  make  men  other  than  they 
have  been. 

(a)  And  first  let  us  look  at  the  later  of  the  two 
scenes — that  in  which  St.  Peter,  with  St.  John,  as  they 
stand  before  the  chief  council  of  the  Jews,  speaks 
out  to  them  in  the  words  of  the  text.  And  let  us 
try  to  enter  into  the  character  which  those  words 
express  ;  the  inner  life  and  temper  out  of  which  they 
come. 

That  short,  decisive  speech  has  been  called  "  the 
watchword  of  martyrs."  2  There  is  a  ring  of  strength 

1  Cf.  Phillips  Brooke,  «  Twenty  Sermons,"  p.  355. 
«  Cf.  "  The  Dictionary  of  the  Bible,"  vol.  ii.  p.  802. 


A  NEW  HEART.  203 

and  frankness  in  it  which  at  once  attracts  us.  A 
great  choice  is  faced,  and  a  distinct  resolution  made ; 
there  is  no  mistaking  what  these  men  mean;  and 
they  will  not  easily  be  moved  from  it.  In  such 
decisions,  when  they  are  rightly  formed  and  loyally 
held,  we  feel  a  dignity  and  freedom  which  we  should 
like  to  make  our  own ;  a  certain  high  independence 
which  may  be  quite  consistent  with  true  humility; 
a  clear-sightedness  and  self-possession  which  will 
probably  keep  a  man  straight  through  the  big  and 
through  the  little  acts  of  choice  in  which  character 
is  formed  and  tried  and  brought  to  light. 

Thus,  I  think,  the  words  at  once  attract  us.  Men 
may,  indeed,  so  speak  in  wilfulness,  or  blindness,  or 
misunderstanding ;  and  even  then  there  is  often  some 
thing  that  we  cannot  help  liking  in  their  outspoken 
courage,  their  lack  of  any  selfish  caution :  but  when 
the  determination  is  made  with  all  humility  and 
reverence  and  thoughtfulness  ;  when  the  cause  is  one 
for  which  a  man  ought  to  make  a  stand  and  take 
the  risk  of  it;  then  we  feel  that  human  nature  is 
mounting,  by  the  grace  of  God,  about  as  high  as  it 
can  get  in  this  world. 

And,  in  this  case  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  John,  there 
is  much  to  deepen  and  confirm  the  first  impression 
which  their  decision  makes  on  us.  Let  us  try  simply 


204  A   NEW  HEART. 

to  get  the  scene  before  our  minds.  The  two  Apostles 
are  standing  by  themselves  as  prisoners  before  the 
chief  council  of  the  Jews  In  front  of  them,  and 
on  either  side  of  them,  in  a  semicircle,  are  the 
members  of  the  council — about  seventy  in  number — 
the  most  powerful,  the  most  learned,  the  most  famous 
men  among  their  nation ;  men  about  whom  they  must 
have  heard  people  talking  ever  since  they  were  boys 
in  their  Galilsean  home.  Presiding  over  the  council 
are  Annas  and  Caiaphas,  two  hard  and  cruel  men, 
who  will  have  their  own  way,  whatever  it  may  cost. 
And  here  is  this  whole  body,  with  all  its  power,  and 
authority,  and  cleverness,  and  strength  of  will,  set 
against  these  two  fishermen,  St.  Peter  and  St.  John ; 
men  without  any  especial  learning  or  ability,  with  no 
influence,  no  friends  to  back  them  up. — The  occasion 
of  their  arrest  is  this :  there  has  been  a  great  excite 
ment  in  Jerusalem  about  their  healing  a  lame  man ; 
every  one  has  heard  of  it,  is  talking  of  it.  There  is 
no  doubt  these  two  men  did  the  miracle ;  and  they 
say  plainly  that  it  was  done  by  the  Name,  the  power, 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Now,  the  council  hate  the 
Name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  When  He  was  on  earth 
He  would  make  no  terms  with  their  hypocrisy ;  they 
set  themselves  resolutely  against  Him,  and  He  in 
nothing  gave  way  to  them,  He  showed  no  fear  of 


A  NEW  HEART.  205 

them;  and  so  they  "sought  how  they  might  kill 
Him:"  they  covenanted  for  His  betrayal :  they  "  were 
instant  with  loud  voices,  requiring  that  He  might  be 
crucified,"  until  "  Pilate  gave  sentence  that  it  should 
be  as  they  required." — And  here  His  Name  is 
coming  up  again;  men  say  that  He  is  risen;  that 
His  presence,  His  power,  is  with  His  followers.  The 
last  error  is  going  to  be  worse  than  the  first ;  and 
the  council  are  determined  to  put  it  down.  They 
cannot  deny  the  miracle ;  but,  anyhow,  they  will  stop 
the  movement;  they  will  just  suppress  and  silence 
these  two  men  who  are  giving  them  so  much  trouble ; 
they  will  simply  command  them  not  to  speak  to  any 
body  at  all  in  the  Name  of  Jesus.  There  will  be  no 
way  out  of  that.  And  so  the  commandment  is  given 
with  a  sharp  threat  to  enforce  it — with  all  that  power, 
anger,  cruelty,  and  determination  can  do  to  drive  it 
home  to  these  men's  hearts,  and  make  them  careful 
to  obey  it.  And  the  men  meet  it  at  once  with  a  very 
simple  answer :  "  Whether  it  be  right  in  the  sight  of 
God  to  hearken  unto  you  more  than  unto  God,  judge 
ye.  For  we  cannot  but  speak  the  things  which  we 
have  seen  and  heard." — "  Iii  the  sight  of  God."  It 
is  just  that  which  makes  the  difference ;  there  is  an 
authority  higher  than  that  of  this  great  and  learned 
council.  The  Apostles  have  made  up  their  minds  to 


206  A   NEW  HEART 

live,  as  General  Gordon  used  to  say,  "  for  God's  view 
and  not  for  man's ; " l  and  they  have  no  doubt  what 
He  would  have  them  do,  and  no  thought  of  doing 
anything  else. 

(6)  It  is  a  fine  answer ;  it  brings  out  "  the  heroism 
of  faith  ; "  the  strength  of  those  who  can  "  endure  as 
seeing  Him  Who  is  invisible."  And  now  let  us  fasten 
our  thoughts  upon  the  one  of  the  two  men  who 
answer  thus — upon  St.  Peter ; — and  let  us  think  how 
strange  it  is  to  listen  to  such  words  as  these  from  his 
lips,  and  then  to  look  back  to  another  scene — to  the 
last  time,  so  far  as  we  know,  that  he  may  have  heard 
the  voice  of  Annas  or  Caiaphas.  When  was  that  ? 
So  far  as  the  Gospels  tell  us,  it  was  on  the  night 
before  the  Crucifixion — that  night  in  which  he 
thrice  denied  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  Christ. 
What  a  wonderful  contrast  it  is !  Did  ever'  one  man 
bear  himself  so  differently,  and  seem  so  altered  in 
so  short  a  time — in  a  few  months?  Then  a  maid 
servant's  question  had  frightened  him ;  now  the  most 
peremptory  orders  of  the  whole  council  cannot  stir 
in  him  any  hesitation  or  alarm.  Then  he  could  not 
face  the  mere  thought  of  having  to  stand  with  Christ 
in  His  trial ;  now  he  is  quite  ready  to  go  to  death 
simply  for  the  Name,  the  work,  of  Christ.  Then  he 
1  C.  G.  Gordon's  Letters  to  his  Sister,  p.  30. 


A  NEW  HEART.  207 

broke  a  solemn  promise  in  his  terror,  he  needs  no 
promise  now  to  keep  him  steadfast.  Then  he  hurried 
from  one  falsehood  to  another  in  his  eagerness  to  get 
off  somehow ;  now  he  looks  straight  out,  and  answers 
without  a  quiver  of  uncertainty,  as  though  it  could 
never  cross  his  mind  to  say  anything  but  the  bare, 
clear  truth,  as  though  there  really  were  no  alternative 
at  all  to  be  considered. — Surely  it  is  a  most  striking 
and  splendid  change  that  has  come  about  in  him; 
and  if  by  chance  there  was  any  one  there  who 
remembered  what  had  happened  in  that  earlier  night, 
the  night  of  his  Master's  trial,  any  one  who  could 
recall  his  shifty,  timorous  denials,  they  must  have 
wondered  whether  it  really  could  be  the  same  man — 
then  so  feeble  and  confused,  now  so  clear  and  resolute. 
II.  Can  we  see  at  all  how  the  change  had  come 
about  ?  In  part,  I  think,  we  can.  We  do  know  of 
certain  events  in  St.  Peter's  life  during  those  months 
which  seem  to  explain  why  he  was  so  altered.  And 
as  they  are  events  which  may  more  or  less  enter  into 
the  experience  of  every  man,  and  which,  whenever 
they  come,  are  the  secret  of  real  strength,  I  will  ask 
you  to  look  at  them  for  a  few  minutes,  and  to  try  to 
bear  them  in  mind.  They  are  four  in  number ;  they 
may  lead  us  some  way  into  the  meaning  of  the  power 
of  Christ's  Resurrection. 


208  A   NEW  HEART. 

First,  then,  St.  Peter  had  heartily  repented  of  his 
sins.  With  bitter  tears  he  had  owned  how  shame 
fully  he  had  fallen;  he  had  faced  his  wrong-doing, 
and  hated  it,  and  thrown  himself  on  the  pity  and  the 
love  of  God ;  he  had  offered  up  to  God  the  sacrifice 
of  a  broken  and  a  contrite  heart.  He  had  not  hidden- 
or  slurred  over  his  misery ;  he  had  not  made  excuses 
for  himself,  or  tried  to  get  off  easily ;  or  said  to  him 
self  that,  after  all,  the  other  Apostles,  too,  forsook 
Christ  and  fled;  or  that  Christ  would  have  been 
crucified  anyhow ;  or  that,  at  least,  he  had  not  been 
as  bad  as  Judas.  No ;  St.  Peter  had  not  tried  to  make 
himself  easy  about  his  sin,  or  to  forget  it,  or  to  forget 
God ;  he  had  gone  out  and  wept  bitterly. 

And  then,  secondly,  St.  Peter,  as  we  are  reminded 
to-day,  had  seen  the  risen  Lord.  On  the  very  day 
of  His  Resurrection,  in  the  abundance  of  His  love, 
in  the  swiftness  of  His  compassion,  our  Lord  had 
appeared  to  him.  When  the  two  disciples  came  back 
from  Emmaus  late  on  Easter  Day,  they  found  the 
eleven  talking  about  it,  and  saying,  "The  Lord  is 
risen  indeed,  and  hath  appeared  to  Simon."  We  have 
no  fuller  record  of  that  scene ;  only  St.  Paul  once 
glances  back  to  it.  But  we  must  be  sure  that  two 
great  things  were  wrought  in  St.  Peter  by  his  Lord's 
coming  to  him:  that  in  his  penitence  he  received 


A   NEW  HEART.  209 

forgiveness  for  all  that  was  past;  and  that  he  was 
made  certain  of  his  Saviour's  everlasting  love  and 
care  for  him — certain  of  the  unseen  world,  the  resur 
rection  of  the  dead,  the  power,  the  watchfulness,  the 
pleading,  of  his  risen  Master  and  Redeemer.  St. 
Peter  cannot  "  forget  that  he  has  been  purged  from 
his  old  sins ; "  and  that  there  is  One  on  high  Who 
knows  him  perfectly,  and  to  Whom  he  can  commit 
the  keeping  of  his  soul. 

And,  thirdly,  St.  Peter  had  been  pointed  to  the 
work  he  had  to  do ;  the  task  that  was  marked  with 
his  name.  His  risen  Lord  had  set  him  his  work 
in  life;  and  nothing  now  could  matter  to  him  in 
comparison  with  doing  it.  By  the  Sea  of  Tiberias 
Christ  had  charged  him,  with  a  threefold  bidding,  to 
feed  and  tend  His  flock.  Though  he  had  so  failed 
and  disappointed  his  Master  in  the  past,  still  he  was 
not  dismissed  from  His  service  or  degraded  in  His 
ministry.  In  the  Divine  long-suffering  and  gentleness 
there  was  a  high  and  blessed  task  reserved  for  him ; 
and  life  was  worth  living,  or  might  thankfully  be 
laid  down,  for  that  task's  sake.  Life  was  not  dear 
to  him,  any  more  than  to  St.  Paul,  in  comparison 
with  finishing  his  course  with  joy,  and  the  ministry 
which  he  had  received  of  the  Lord  Jesus. 

And  then,  fourthly,  St.  Peter  had  received  that 

p 


210  A   NEW  HEART. 

unspeakable  gift  for  which  all  this  had  been  the 
preparation — the  shaping  and  tempering  of  the  vessel 
to  enshrine  the  treasure.  At  Pentecost  the  Holy 
Ghost  had  come,  the  Spirit  of  counsel  and  of  ghostly 
strength,  to  enter  in  and  dwell  with  him — the  Spirit 
of  truth,  to  make  him  free  indeed;  to  fill  his  heart 
and  mind ;  to  abide  "  by  the  springs  of  thought  and 
desire  and  action ; "  to  teach  him  what  really  is  and 
what  is  not  worth  caring  and  contending  for;  to 
show  the  things  of  this  life  in  the  light  of  that  which 
is  to  come ;  to  fasten  deep  into  his  being  the  steady 
conviction  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  great 
and  high  as  goodness. 

III.  Thus  had  St.  Peter's  inner  life,  and  all  his 
thoughts  about  himself  and  about  this  world,  been 
changed  since  the  night  when  he  denied  Christ ;  and 
it  is  not  strange  that  there  should  have  come  with 
such  a  change  an  entire  transformation  of  his  out 
ward  bearing.  He  had  learnt  and  used  the  grace  of 
penitence ;  he  had  found  the  gift  of  pardon ;  he  had 
seen  the  risen,  the  ever-living  Lord ;  from  Him  he  had 
received  his  task  for  life ;  and  then  the  Spirit  of  God 
had  come  to  dwell  in  him.  It  was  but  a  fragment  in 
the  outcome  of  all  this,  that  he  who  had  been  scared 
into  falsehood  by  a  woman's  words  should  now  stand 
up  untroubled,  to  face,  for  Christ's  sake,  the  worst  that 


A  NEW  HEART.  211 

the  great  council  of  the  Jews  could  do  to  him.  He 
had  something  else  to  think  of,  care  for,  live  and  die 
for,  now — the  joy  of  the  forgiven ;  the  work  of  Christ; 
the  peace  of  God;  the  dawn  and  growth  and  ever 
growing  hope  of  that  life  which  is  nothing  else  than 
love.  This  held  his  heart  beyond  the  reach  of  threats ; 
this  may  have  made  it  seem  to  him  almost  absurd 
that  the  rulers  should  think  that  anything  which 
they  could  do  could  come  between  him  and  his  Lord, 
could  hinder  him  from  speaking  in  the  Name  of 
Jesus.  Ah !  but,  where  it  all  comes  home  to  us  is  in 
this — that  there  is  no  reason  why  that  which  made 
him  strong  and  fearless  should  not  make  us  strong 
and  fearless  too.  How  many  men  who  make  a 
figure  in  the  world  are  a  long  way  off  being  so 
strong  and  so  courageous  as  they  look !  And  often, 
surely,  it  is  some  secret  sin,  unrepented  of,  indulged, 
extenuated,  and  unpardoned,  that  is  the  reason  of 
their  inner  weakness,  sapping,  undermining  all  their 
vigour;  some  unworthy  aim,  some  hidden  unreality, 
some  moral  taint,  that  is  preparing  the  shameful 
failure,  the  pitiful  outburst  of  selfishness  in  the  time 
of  trial.  Let  us,  first  of  all,  get  our  hearts  clear  with 
God,  by  the  pardoning  grace  of  Christ  our  Lord ;  let 
us  fill  our  minds  with  this  truth,  that  He,  our  risen 
and  ascended  Saviour,  is  ever  watching  us  and 


212  A  NEW  HEART. 

pleading  for  us ;  let  us  be  sure  that,  whatever  place 
we  hold,  He  has  a  bit  of  work  for  us  to  do,  by  the 
example,  at  all  events,  of  a  pure  and  dutiful  and 
humble  life ;  let  us  open  out  our  hearts  to  the  power 
and  the  guidance  of  the  indwelling  Spirit,  (remember 
ing  again  how  Gordon  said  that  it  is  the  truth  of  His 
indwelling  that  makes  Christianity  what  it  is) ;  and 
then  we  shall  be  gaining  quite  certainly  more  and 
more  of  that  true,  deep  strength  which  is  among  our 
greatest  needs  in  this  world,  and  of  which  no  man 
certainly  can  have  too  much ;  we  shall  be  learning  the 
secret  of  decision  and  of  fearlessness  in  great  things 
and  in  small.  And  so  we,  in  our  measure,  may  realize 
that  new  power  whereby  hearts  are  changed  and  cha 
racters  ennobled;  that  power  whereby  many  out  of 
weakness  have  been  made  strong — even  the  unending 
power  of  our  Saviour's  Resurrection. 


XIV, 
THE   CONTRASTS   OF   THIS   WORLD 

"Son,  remember  that  them  in  thy  lifetime  receivcdat  thy 
good  things,  and  likewise  Lazarus  evil  things :  but  now  he  IB 
comforted,  and  thou  art  tormented." 

ST.  LUKE  xvi.  25. 

THERE  is  something  very  terrible  and  disquieting  in 
the  bareness  and  unexplained  brevity  of  these  words 
Simply  and  abruptly  they  tell  of  a  vast  and  twofold 
contrast,  and  then  they  leave  it  for  us  to  think  over ; 
they  throw  on  us  the  responsibility  of  finding  out 
all  that  the  contrast  means.  They  are  spoken  in 
that  hidden  world  where  the  souls  of  men  wait 
for  the  day  of  judgment ;  where  they  receive  already 
some  forecast  of  the  lot  which  in  this  life  they  have 
chosen  for  themselves.  Already  the  hard  and  stubborn 
and  relentless  selfishness  of  the  rich  man  is  passing 
on  to  its  inevitable  issue.  To  the  end  and  in  the  end 
he  has  cast  love  away  from  him ;  he  has  destroyed 
his  own  capacity  for  it;  and  now  the  mysterious 


214  THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS   WORLD. 

terror  of  everlasting  lovelessness  is  seizing  on  his 
heart,  and  across  the  great  fixed  gulf  he  cries  for 
help.  And  out  of  the  light  and  peace  that  he  has 
ever  spurned  there  comes  a  voice  which  throws  him 
back  upon  the  witness  of  memory.  Memory  will  be 
heard  now ;  there  is  nothing  now  to  confuse  or  drown 
her  voice ;  he  must  remember  the  contrast  which  in 
this  world  was  thrust  upon  him  day  after  day,  and 
ever  thrust  aside — the  contrast  between  his  life  on 
earth  and  that  of  the  beggar  whom  he  sees  far  off  in 
the  rest  of  Paradise.  "Son,  remember  that  thou  in 
thy  lifetime  receivedst  thy  good  things,  and  likewise 
Lazarus  evil  things :  but  now  he  is  comforted,  and 
thou  art  tormented."  It  seems  to  be  implied  that  as 
he  recalls  that  earlier  contrast  he  will  know  that  the 
later  is  by  no  arbitrary  verdict,  no  merely  external 
law ;  he  will  see  where  he  began  to  be  what  now  he 
is ;  how  he  formed  and  hardened  the  character  which 
is  now  his  scourge  and  torment ;  how  all  light  and 
love  and  life  died  utterly  out  of  his  selfish,  pitiless 
heart. 

It  is  a  terrible  thought  that  is  thus  urged  upon  us 
on  this  First  Sunday  after  Trinity.1  Perhaps  it  is 
meant  to  teach  us,  with  merciful  sternness,  to  keep 

1  On  which  Sunday  this  sermon  was  preached  in  the  Cathedral 
Church  of  Christ,  in  Oxford,  at  a  College  Service. 


THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS   WORLD.  215 

fast  hold  of  that  wondrous  manifestation,  that  supreme 
and  all-transforming  gift  of  love  of  which  we  have 
been  thinking,  through  the  course  of  the  Christian 
year  up  to  the  height  of  Whitsuntide.  By  the  fearful 
picture  of  a  loveless  soul  God  would  teach  us  some 
thing  of  the  greatness  of  the  work  of  His  grace,  of 
the  blessing  of  His  Holy  Spirit's  presence.  Fear  may 
keep  us  within  the  range  of  love ;  that  selfishness  may 
not  cast  out  love,  but  love  in  the  end  may  cast  out 
fear.  So  let  us  think  of  this  great  contrast,  while  we 
have  time  to  learn  whatever  lessons  it  has  to  teach ; 
time  to  let  it  tell,  as  God  would  have  it  tell,  upon  our 
lives  and  characters. 

I.  (a)  "Thou  in  thy  lifetime  receivedst  thy  good 
things,  and  likewise  Lazarus  evil  things."  In  its 
simplest  form  the  abruptness  of  the  contrast  comes 
before  us  every  day.  We  can  hardly  walk  out  of 
Oxford  without  seeing  in  its  poorer  streets,  and 
down  alleys  poorer  still,  the  manifold  tokens  of  the 
wretchedness  in  which  Lazarus  and  his  like  drag  out 
their  comfortless  days.  Very  likely  we  have  grumbled 
at  the  dreariness  and  uncomeliness  of  the  bit  of  the 
town  through  which  we  hurry  to  the  river,  or  the 
hills;  but  we  have  not  realized,  and  perhaps  we 
have  hardly  tried  to  think,  what  it  would  be  to 
spend  day  after  day  and  year  after  year,  ill  fed  and 


216  THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS   WORLD. 

ill  clothed,  in  the  gloom  and  noise  and  dirt  of  an 
overcrowded  house  down  one  of  those  side  courts.  To 
toil  on  and  on  at  the  same  monotonous  work,  with  no 
expectation  of  any  change  or  brightening  of  one's  lot ; 
to  wake  morning  after  morning  to  the  same  dragging 
anxieties,  the  same  hungry  needs,  the  same  inevitable 
vexations ;  never  to  have  a  holiday,  never  to  gain  a 
step,  never  to  know  anything  like  a  real  intensity  of 
pleasure; — what  a  tremendous  gap  there  is  between 
such  a  lot  and  that  which  has  been  given  to  all  of  us ! 
Doubtless  social  science  can  account  for  the  inequality, 
and  trace  its  laws;  but  that  does  not  change  the 
moral  significance,  the  impressiveness,  the  pathos,  of 
the  facts — any  more  than  the  lightning  loses  its 
grandeur  and  terror  because  we  were  told  that  the 
storm  was  coming  across  the  Atlantic.  Doubtless, 
again,  the  poor  have,  by  God's  grace,  most  wondrous 
and  beautiful  alleviations  of  their  lot ;  and  there  are 
many  men  who,  by  idleness,  or  vanity,  or  ill-temper, 
or  hypochondria,  make  themselves  far  more  wretched 
in  their  abundance  than  Lazarus  ever  was  in  his 
want.  But  still,  for  all  that,  there  the  contrast  is ; 
we  know  that  nothing  really  strips  it  of  its  meaning, 
or  warrants  our  ignoring  it :  and  probably  it  is  by 
the  conditions  of  our  birth  that  we  are  on  one  side 
rather  than  the  other ;  it  is  by  no  atom  of  merit  on 


THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS   WORLD.  217 

our  part  that  we  in  our  lifetime  are  receiving  our 
good  things,  while  Lazarus  receives  evil  things. 

(b)  But  the  contrast  on  which  the  text  fastens  our 
thoughts  goes  far  deeper  than  the  outward  conditions 
of  the  bodily  life.  It  is  hard  for  us,  with  every 
opportunity  of  intellectual  development  lavished  upon 
us,  to  think  enough  of  the  real  suffering  that  is 
sometimes  borne  by  those  who  are  cut  off  from  all 
such  opportunities.  We  can  hardly  imagine  the 
wistful  envy  with  which  some  of  the  poor  wonder 
how  we  can  so  much  neglect  what  they  so  hopelessly 
covet.  Now  and  then  a  poor  man  struggles  out 
through  all  his  hindrances,  and  the  artist,  the  poet, 
the  naturalist,  the  mathematician,  forces  his  way 
above  the  obscurity  and  poverty  in  which  he  was 
born,  and  finds  the  joy  of  using  the  great  gift  which 
God  has  given  him.  But  more  often  the  hope  dies 
down  under  the  grim,  exacting  demands  of  the  poor 
man's  life.  "  A  first  effect  of  poverty,"  it  has  been 
truly  said,  "  is  the  confiscation  of  a  man's  best  time 
and  thought,  from  sheer  necessity,  to  the  task  of 
providing  food  and  clothing  for  himself  and  his 
family." l  Slowly  the  vision  of  that  which  he  knows 
he  might  be  is  darkened  by  the  relentless  drudgery 
for  bare  life ;  the  consciousness  of  power  turns,  perhaps, 
1  II.  P.  Liddon's  "  University  Sermons,"  second  series,  p.  286. 


218  THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS   WORLD. 

to  fruitless  bitterness ;  the  power  itself  grows  weak 
and  dull;  and  a  mind  that,  with  one-tenth  of  our 
opportunities,  might  have  entered  further  and  mounted 
higher  than  the  best  of  us  into  all  the  glories  of 
literature  or  of  art,  a  mind  that  might  have  found  in 
the  intellectual  life  a  joy  we  never  dream  of,  and 
enriched  and  gladdened  all  men  with  its  work,  settles 
down  into  the  dreariness  of  unused  gifts,  the  cruel 
restlessness  of  a  misdirected  life.  Yes,  in  thG  condi 
tions  of  intellectual  growth  as  well  as  in  those  of 
bodily  comfort  we  are  bound  to  remember  that  we 
in  our  lifetime  are  receiving  our  good  things,  and 
likewise  Lazarus  evil  things. 

(c)  Ah !  but  there  is  yet  another  sphere  of  contrast 
in  comparison  with  which  the  opportunity  or  im 
possibility  of  mental  culture  is  a  very  little  thing. 
Happily,  it  is  not  a  sphere  in  which  the  same 
characters  always  remain  on  the  same  sides  of  the 
contrast.  No ;  when  we  come  to  think  of  that  which 
really  most  of  all  makes  life  worth  living — when  we 
come  to  think  of  the  blessing  of  home  love — we  may 
often  find  that  Lazarus  is  richer  far  than  Dives. 
And  yet  there  are  especial  risks  besetting  the  growth 
of  love  and  gentleness  in  the  crowded  homes  of  the 
very  poor ;  it  is  not  easy,  it  is  sometimes  terribly 
difficult,  for  them  to  guard  those  delicate,  ennobling. 


THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS  WORLD.  219 

purifying,  hallowing  influences  to  which  we  owe, 
perhaps,  by  God's  mercy,  whatever  is  best  and  most 
hopeful  in  our  characters.  But,  at  all  events,  whether 
we  think  of  rich  or  poor,  there  is  this  tremendous 
and  all-affecting  contrast  in  men's  lives — that  some 
live  in  the  abundance  of  love  and  friendship,  while 
others  hardly,  it  may  be,  know  one  face  that  grows 
brighter  when  they  come,  one  voice  that  has  a  glad 
or  a  tender  tone  reserved  for  them,  one  heart  that 
would  feel  desolate  if  they  were  taken  away.  Yes, 
these  are  the  poor  indeed,  those  are  really  rich  beyond 
all  words;  and  this  is  the  strangest  inequality  in 
all  the  unequal  distribution  of  good  and  evil  in  this 
world.  What  have  we  ever  done,  that  we  should 
know  that  highest  theme  of  thanksgiving— 

"Blessings  of  friends,  which  to  our  door 

Unask'd,  unhoped,  have  come ; 
And  choicer  still,  a  countless  store 
Of  eager  smiles  at  home  "  ? l 

Surely  it  is  a  chastening  thought  that  here  too, 
while  we  are  thus  enriched,  there  are  others  who,  in 
their  lonely  or  darkened  lives,  hardly  find  one  touch 
of  friendship  or  of  love. 

II.  "Son,    remember    that    thou  in   thy    lifetime 
receivedst  thy  good  things,  and  likewise  Lazarus  evi] 

*  J.  II.  Newman,  •*  Verses  on  Various  Occasions,"  p.  42. 


220  THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS   WORLD. 

things."  As  we  try  to  enter  into  the  great,  deep 
contrasts  of  the  several  conditions  under  which  men 
pass  through  this  world  to  that  which  is  beyond,  can 
we  see  at  all  what  bearing  this  thought  should  have 
on  our  life  ?  It  bears,  of  course,  the  obvious  lesson 
of  humble  and  sincere  thanksgiving  for  all  that 
has  been  given  us  to  enjoy;  and  it  also  plainly 
demands  that  we  should  be  ever  watchful  and  eager 
to  do  all  we  can  to  help  and  cheer  in  any  pos 
sible  way  those  who  lack  so  much  that  gladdens 
our  days.  But  it  should  have,  I  think,  another  and 
perhaps  a  wider  influence  on  our  minds  and  our 
hearts.  Let  me  try  to  speak  of  it. — These  astounding 
contrasts,  these  vast  inequalities,  after  all  that  we 
can  do  or  say  to  alleviate  or  to  account  for  them, 
remain  as  a  great  and  ultimate  fact  in  human  life. 
They  have  their  place  side  by  side  with  sorrow,  with 
suffering,  with  death.  They  are  among  the  solemn 
presences,  as  it  were,  before  which  we  have  to  play 
our  part.  We  may  forget  them,  or  ignore  them,  or 
explain  them  away,  or  disparage  their  importance,  if 
we  will ;  we  have  that  fatal  power  of  inattention ; 
we  can  accustom  ourselves  to  any  strangeness  of 
neglect,  as  the  soldiers  in  the  Crimea  learnt  to  sleep 
beside  the  guns  that  were  being  fired.  Dives  used 
that  power  of  inattention ;  he  refused  to  think  about 


THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS  WORLD.  221 

facts  which  threatened  to  make  an  unwelcome  demand 
on  him ;  and  because  he  deliberately  wished  it,  the 
facts  receded,  probably,  from  his  mind  in  this  world; 
but  only  to  meet  him  again  in  the  day  of  reckoning. 
For  of  every  great  fact  in  our  life  this  is  true: 
"  Neglectum  sui  ulciscitur." — But,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  may,  God  helping  us,  steadily  and  faith 
fully  and  humbly  face  these  strange,  inexplicable, 
silent  witnesses  of  our  life ;  we  may  now,  "  while  we 
have  time,"  remember;  we  may  bear  in  mind  these 
pathetic  contrasts  as  characteristic  features  of  the 
scene  in  which  we  have  to  do  what  good  we  can 
for  a  few  years.  And  then  quite  surely  they  will 
tell  upon  our  character,  upon  our  estimate  of  life, 
our  conception  of  its  meaning,  our  use  of  the  present, 
our  purpose  in  the  future.  They  will  make  it  im 
possible  for  us  to  think  of  this  world  as  a  place 
laid  out  for  our  amusement  or  self-display ;  they 
will  help  us,  as  we  become  men,  to  put  away  childish 
things ;  they  will,  as  tragedy  of  old  was  said  to  do, 
purify  in  us  the  passions  of  pity  and  of  fear ;  teaching 
us,  at  all  events,  not  to  be  too  ready  to  pity  ourselves, 
and  not  to  fear  when  fear  is  vile  or  cowardly.1  They 
will  show  us  the  real  vulgarity  of  a  luxurious  life ; 
they  will  defy  us  to  go  on  living  only  for  pleasure 
1  Cf.  note  2  on  p.  64. 


222  THE  CONTRASTS  OF  THIS    WORLD. 

when  others  are  living — as  it  might  almost  seem-— 
only  for  pain;  to  go  on  loitering  or  trifling  in  a 
world  that  is  so  grim  and  stern  for  others.  We  shall 
grow  more  reverent,  more  humble,  more  anxious  and 
strenuous  to  do  all  we  can  of  whatever  work  Almighty 
God  has  given  us  to  do ;  and  then,  perhaps,  He  may 
show  us  more  to  do,  and,  it  may  be,  give  us  more  to 
suffer  in  this  world.  And  so,  since  with  Him  all  things 
are  possible,  He  may  save  us  out  of  all  the  perils  of 
a  life  that  lacks  the  unchosen  discipline  of  want,  the 
severity  of  undisguised  compulsion;  and  hereafter 
we  may  remember,  with  wonder  and  abasement,  but, 
by  His  mercy,  without  utter  terror  and  confusion,  that 
in  this  life  we  had  so  many  privileges,  and  so  strange 
a  wealth  of  the  opportunities  for  happiness. 


XV. 

HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION.1 

"  What  IB  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of  him?  and  the  son 
of  man,  that  Thou  visitest  him  ?  " 

Ps.  viii.  4. 

To  live,  or  even  to  stay  for  a  week  or  two,  in  a 
remarkable  place,  ought  not  to  be  without  some 
effect  upon  one's  character,  one's  ways  of  thought 
and  conduct.  A  man  must  be,  for  instance,  grievously 
absorbed  either  in  himself  or  in  his  work,  to  be 
wholly  unchanged  by  his  first  visit  to  London  or  to 
Rome;  to  receive  into  his  inner  life,  to  work  into 
his  own  views  and  habits,  nothing  out  of  all  that  is 
distinctively  wonderful,  or  glorious,  or  pathetic  in 
such  cities — in  their  present  aspect  or  their  past 
history.  The  inmost  depths  of  character,  the  efforts 
and  struggles  through  which  it  is  moving  in  one 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  at  Oxford,  in  the  Cathedral,  at  a  service 
attended  by  many  of  the  University  Extension  Students  during  their 
summer  meeting. 


224  HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION. 

direction  or  another,  growing  better  or  growing 
worse,  cannot,  indeed,  be  determined  or  controlled 
by  any  such  external  influence ;  a  man  who  habitually 
pleases  himself  will  become  continually  more  selfish 
and  sordid  even  among  the  most  noble  and  beauti 
ful  conditions  which  nature,  or  history,  or  art  can 
furnish ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  any  one  who  will 
try  each  day  to  live  for  the  sake  of  others,  will  grow 
more  and  more  gracious  in  thought  and  bearing, 
however  dull  and  even  squalid  may  be  the  outward 
circumstances  of  the  soul's  probation.  So  Tito  Melema 
sinks  lower  and  lower  amidst  all  the  glory  and  the 
delicacy  of  Florence  at  its  height  of  beauty ;  and  so 
Thomas  a  Kempis  rises  ever  nearer  to  the  perfect  life 
in  the  monotony  of  his  seventy  years  at  one  poor 
monastery,  amidst  the  hard  features  and  the  dull 
plains  of  Holland.  No  outward  conditions  can  touch 
the  divergence  of  such  lives.  But  if  we,  by  God's 
grace,  are  willing,  famous  cities  may  do  something 
for  us,  just  as  music  may;  they  may  bring  great 
thoughts  before  us,  and  speak  to  us  with  a  strong 
appeal;  they  may  bear  into  our  hearts  some  faint, 
indefinite  suggestion  of  the  greatness,  the  sincerity, 
the  generosity,  the  faith  of  those  who  made  them 
what  they  are ;  they  may,  perhaps,  make  us  ashamed 
of  ourselves;  they  may  leave  with  us  a  picture,  a 


HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION.  225 

translation,  as  it  were,  into  a  new  language,  of  that 
inner  quality,  that  moral  excellence,  which  their  out 
ward  beauty  or  dignity  may  seem  to  resemble,  or 
even  to  express.  So,  then,  let  us  try  to  think  of  a 
certain  influence,  perhaps  the  chief  and  the  most 
helpful  influence,  which  Oxford  might  exert  on  those 
who  live  in  it,  and  on  those  who  visit  it  with  some 
thing  deeper  than  a  hurried  curiosity. 

I.  It  has  been  well  said  by  a  great  writer  that 
"in  the  course  of  his  history  man  has  by  turns 
depreciated  and  exaggerated  his  true  importance 
among  the  creatures  of  God.  Sometimes  he  has 
made  himself  the  measure  of  all  things,  as  though 
his  was  the  sovereign  mind,  and  the  Creator  a  being 
whose  proceedings  could  be  easily  understood  by  him. 
Sometimes,"  on  the  other  hand,  "  man  has  appeared 
to  revel  in  self-depreciation,  placing  himself  side  by 
side  with  or  below  the  beasts  that  perish,  insisting 
on  his  animal  kinship  with  them,  and  anxiously 
endeavouring  to  ignore  or  deny  all  that  points  to  a 
higher  element  in  his  life." l  We  can  trace,  I  think, 
these  two  contrasted  tendencies  of  thought  in  the 
theories  which  have  been  formed  about  man's  nature, 
and  his  place  in  the  universe.  But  to  most  of  us  the 
same  contrast  may  come  home  more  vividly  and 
1  H.  P.  Liddon,  "  Chriatmastido  Sermons,"  p.  129. 


226  HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION. 

practically  in  two  strangely  diverse  temptations  to 
think  wrongly  about  ourselves  and  our  work  in  life. 
Surely  we  are  apt  to  be  very  inconsistent  in  the  view 
we  take  of  our  place  and  purpose  in  the  world;  in 
some  ways  vastly  exaggerating  our  importance,  and 
in  others  failing  of  the  reverence  we  owe  to  ourselves. 
Sometimes  a  man  seems  to  think  of  the  whole  world 
as  revolving  round  his  life,  and  measures  everything 
with  reference  to  his  own  wishes  and  opinions ;  and 
sometimes  he  is  content  to  drift  along  as  though  he 
had  no  distinct  power  of  choice  and  will — as  though 
he  could  only  go  where  the  current  and  the  eddies 
carry  him.  Sometimes  he  seems  unable  to  imagine 
that  the  lives,  the  feelings,  the  convictions,  of  others 
can  possibly  mean  as  much  to  them  as  his  do  to  him; 
and  sometimes  he  hardly  seems  to  have  a  conviction 
in  him,  but  yields  to  any  pressure  that  is  on  him,  and 
calls  himself  the  victim  of  circumstances.  Sometimes 
he  speaks  as  though  his  knowledge  were  certain  and 
his  decisions  infallible  ;  sometimes  as  though  he  could 
know  nothing  at  all  of  that  on  which  all  knowledge 
depends.  Sometimes  he  seems  to  himself  remarkable, 
exempt  from  the  obvious  defects  he  sees  in  others, 
and  incapable  of  their  blunders  and  misdoings;  at 
other  times  he  practically  takes  the  poorest  view  of 
his  own  endowments ;  he  thinks  that  it  is  of  no  use 


HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION.  227 

for  him  to  aim  high,  or  to  attempt  a  noble  life ;  that 
he  may  make  himself  easy  on  a  low  level,  or  a  down 
grade;  that  there  are  temptations  which  he  cannot 
withstand,  and  sins  which  he  will  never  overcome; 
that  people  must  take  him  as  he  is,  and  not  expect 
too  much  of  him. — Surely  it  is  a  curious  and  not 
uncommon  inconsistency ;  and  perhaps  we  all,  in  some 
degree,  in  some  aspects  of  our  life,  fall  into  it :  we 
think  of  ourselves  both  more  highly  and  more  meanly 
than  we  ought  to  think. 

II.  To  think  of  one's  self  at  once  too  highly  and 
too  meanly,  to  be  at  once  too  confident  and  too  faint 
hearted,  at  once  to  exaggerate  and  to  ignore  one's 
own  importance, — there  should  be,  I  think,  in  Oxford 
helpful  influences  against  both  elements  in  this 
complex  temptation.  For,  first,  it  ought  surely  to 
be  difficult  to  think  one's  self  remarkable,  to  think 
that  one  has  attained  any  right  to  rest  on  one's 
achievements,  or  to  be  self-confident  in  such  a  place 
as  this.  The  surpassing  beauty,  the  quiet  nobleness, 
the  venerable  antiquity  of  Oxford  ought  to  check 
us  like  a  living  and  a  reverend  presence;  it  might 
make  us  lower,  as  it  were,  the  tone  of  our  voices,  if, 
in  the  din  of  a  competitive  age,  we  have  grown  apt 
to  talk  too  positively;  it  might  remind  us  some 
times  that  we  "speak  under  correction." — For  there 


228  HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION, 

has  been  so  much  of  greatness  here.  The  succes 
sion  of  great  founders  and  builders  and  benefactors 
that  comes  before  us  as  we  pass  from  college  to 
college;  the  great  statesmen  who  have  been  trained 
here;  the  great  teachers  who  from  Oxford  have 
moved  men's  hearts  and  minds,  and  turned  the  broad 
stream  of  human  thought;  the  great  students  who, 
as  was  said  of  one  of  the  greatest  and  most  modest 
of  them,  have  searched  into  all  learning,  and  come  to 
nothing  that  was  too  hard  for  their  understanding ; l 
the  great  master-minds  that  have  seen  and  grasped  the 
truth,  where  others  could  only  grope  among  details ; 
and,  above  all,  the  "  holy  and  humble  men  of  heart ; " 
— these  confer  on  Oxford  something  which  seems  to 
lift  the  standard  of  life  and  work,  and  to  silence  the 
words  of  praise  and  confidence  which  we  are  apt  to 
use  so  lightly. — Ah!  but  then,  it  would  be  a  poor 
result  if  we  stopped  there;  if  the  greatness  of  the 
past  served  only  to  dwarf  the  present ;  if  the  impres 
sion  of  distinction  and  grandeur  simply  made  us  feel 
how  very  poor  and  rudimentary  and  feeble  are  our  best 
efforts  and  our  utmost  attainments ;  if  the  only  out 
come  of  visiting  the  Bodleian  Library  were  to  realize 
the  truth  that  one  has  virtually  read  nothing  at  all. 
But  while  the  influence  of  Oxford  ought,  indeed,  to 
1  Clement  VIII.,  concerning  Hooker,  in  Walton'a  "  Life  of  Hooker." 


HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION.  229 

chasten  us  and  to  repress  all  rising  of  self-confidence, 
certainly  it  should  also  quicken  us ;  it  should  rebuke 
all  our  faint-heartedness  and  failure  of  aspiration. 
For  our  lives  are  enriched  by  all  this  labour  and 
bounty  of  the  past ;  and  therefore  we  must  use  them 
reverently,  with  a  high  standard  of  unselfish  effort. 
More  or  less,  directly  or  indirectly,  consciously  and 
unconsciously,  we  all  are  using  day  after  day  that 
which  the  great  workers  of  past  ages  won  and  stored 
for  us.  In  the  material  surroundings  of  our  life ;  in 
the  knowledge  of  nature's  laws  and  the  power  which 
that  knowledge  gives;  in  the  thoughts  that  glow  with 
an  unfading  brightness;  in  the  visible  forms  of  beauty 
and  the  recorded  examples  of  goodness ; — in  all  these 
ways  we  are  helped  forward  and  urged  upward  by 
the  greatness  that  has  been.  Oxford  may  well  call 
us  to  remember  how,  as  Dr.  Whewell  finely  said,  our 
education  rests  on  "  the  results  of  ancient  triumphs  of 
man's  spirit  over  the  confusion  and  obscurity  of  the 
aspects  of  the  external  world;  and  even  over  the 
waywardness  and  unregulated  impulses  of  his  own 
nature,  and  the  entanglements  and  conflicts  of  human 
society." l 

There   is    hardly   any   duty   which   we   may  not 
do  the  better  for  realizing  that  great  inheritance  of 

1  "Lectures  on  Education,"  p.  19. 


230  HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION. 

which  Oxford  may  especially  remind  us.  For  some 
of  the  commonest  faults  of  thought  and  work  are 
those  which  come  from  thinking  too  poorly  of  our 
own  lives,  and  of  that  which  must  rightly  be  demanded 
of  us.  A  high  standard  of  accuracy,  a  chivalrous 
loyalty  to  exact  truth,  generosity  to  fellow -workers, 
indifference  to  results,  distrust  of  all  that  is  showy, 
self -discipline  and  undiscouraged  patience  through  all 
difficulties, — these  are  among  the  first  and  greatest 
conditions  of  good  work;  and  they  ought  never  to 
seem  too  hard  for  us  if  we  remember  what  we  owe 
to  the  best  work  of  bygone  days. 

III.  "  Lord,  what  is  man,  that  Thou  art  mindful  of 
him  ?  and  the  son  of  man,  that  Thou  visitest  him  ? " 
Thus  may  a  great  historic  city  point  us,  if  we  are 
willing  and  humble,  just  a  little  way  towards  the  true 
answer  to  that  deep  question ;  thus  may  it,  perhaps, 
suggest  to  us  some  thought  both  of  the  littleness  and 
of  the  greatness  of  our  separate  lives.1  But  it  cannot 
take  us  very  far;  it  cannot  do  much  to  keep  us  in 
order,  or  to  control  our  vanity  and  wilfulness  and  self- 
pleasing.  We  know  that ;  and  Oxford  has,  it  must  be 
feared,  like  other  great  places,  seen  enough  both  of  self- 
assertion  and  of  indolence,  both  of  empty  pride  and 
of  wasted  opportunities,  to  forbid  our  ever  thinking 

'  Of.  J.  H.  Newman's  "  Sermons  for  the  Seasons,"  p.  341 


HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION.  231 

that  even  the  most  gracious  of  external  influences 
can  discipline  men's  characters  or  guard  a  great 
heritage  from  their  misuse.  We  need,  indeed,  some 
thing  far  more  penetrating  and  arresting  than 
historical  associations  and  visible  beauty.  We  need 
the  knowledge  of  God,  and  of  that  which  He  made 
us  to  be,  and  has  made  possible  for  us ;  we  need,  if 
we  are  really  to  understand  and  to  employ  our  lives 
aright,  the  grace  and  truth  that  came  by  Jesus  Christ. 
All  that  is  noblest  in  history  and  art  may  be  lavished, 
often  has  been  lavished,  in  the  circumstances  of  a  life 
that  has  only  seemed  to  sink  the  faster  into  the 
depths  of  misery,  the  decadence  of  vanity  and  sloth. 
It  is  only  as  we  take  to  our  hearts  that  astounding 
disclosure  which  God  has  made  to  us  of  Himself,  and 
of  His  will  and  love  for  us,  that  we  may  really  over 
come  the  temptation  to  think  too  highly  or  too  poorly 
of  our  lives.  We  can  trace  the  two  great  lines  of  that 
disclosure  of  man's  true  place  with  increasing  clear 
ness  in  the  Old  Testament ;  they  are  seen  at  once  in 
the  record  of  creation,  where  he  who  is  formed  of 
the  dust  of  the  ground  is  yet  made  in  the  image  of 
God ;  they  meet  in  the  question  of  the  text.  For  as 
the  Psalmist  looks  at  the  magnificence,  the  purity, 
the  splendour,  of  the  starry  heavens,  as  he  thinks  of 
the  glorious  majesty  of  their  Creator,  as  he  realizes 


232  HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION. 

in  immeasurable  contrast  the  littleness  and  poverty 
and  feebleness  of  man,  he  yet  knows  that  this  is  only 
half  the  truth  ;  since  human  life  is  lifted  out  of  all  its 
outward  insignificance  by  the  Creator's  love  and  care ; 
since  in  His  wondrous  mercy  He  is  mindful  of  the 
sons  of  men,  and  visits  them  in  tenderness  and  bless 
ing.  As  man  seems  to  sink  towards  nothingness 
before  the  infinite  greatness  of  Almighty  God,  he  is 
raised  again  and  ennobled  beyond  all  thought  or  hope 
by  the  assurance  that  God  loves  and  pities  him,  and 
has  a  purpose  and  a  work  for  his  frail,  fleeting  life, 
— But  it  is  only  in  the  fulness  of  time,  only  in  the 
Incarnation  of  the  Eternal  Son,  that  the  true  place 
and  worth  of  every  human  soul  is  perfectly  revealed. 
For  then  at  length  is  seen  the  glory  of  God;  since 
all  the  marvels  of  creation,  all  the  splendour  and 
surprise  of  earth  and  sky,  far  less  disclosed  His  glory 
than  did  the  Cross  of  Christ;  since  in  His  willing 
death  we  may  see  at  length  the  greatness  of  God's 
love.  "  God  so  loved  the  world : "  there  is  the  true 
unveiling  of  Himself ;  there,  where  "the  love  o'ertops 
the  might."  And  we  have  far,  far  more  cause  to  feel 
our  meanness,  our  base  ingratitude,  our  blank  and 
shameful  failure,  before  that  disclosure  of  perfect 
love  and  holiness  and  self -surrender  than  in  all  the 
splendour  of  the  greatest  pageant  that  art  or  nature 


HUMILITY  AND  ASPIRATION.  233 

can  display ;  since  in  contrast  with  that  sight  the 
misery  of  our  selfish  hearts  breaks  in  on  us  at  last 
Ah!  but  with  that  sharp  conviction  comes  another 
voice  of  truth  to  banish  all  despondency  and  faint 
heartedness  ;  for  it  is  to  draw  us  to  Himself  that  He 
hangs  there:  "He  loved  me,  and  gave  Himself  for 
me."  His  Death  and  Resurrection  are  not  only  the 
revelation,  they  are  also  the  triumph,  of  His  love; 
that  love  which  His  grace  is  ever  ready  to  bear  even 
into  our  unworthy  hearts,  that  we  may  find,  in 
humbly  following  the  blessed  steps  of  His  most  holy 
life,  the  true  greatness  of  that  nature  which  He 
deigned  to  wear  on  earth — that  human  nature  which 
He  has  exalted  now  to  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty 
on  high. 


XVI. 

THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE. 

"  Freely  ye  have  received,  freely  give." 

ST.  MATT.  x.  8. 

I.  THE  first  reference  of  these  words  seems  to  be  to  the 
supernatural  gifts  of  healing  power  which  the  twelve 
Apostles  had  received  from  our  Blessed  Lord.  He,  to 
Whom  the  Father  had  eternally  given  "  to  have  life 
in  Himself,"  had  imparted  to  His  chosen  servants  that 
life-giving  energy  which  was  His  essentially.  "He 
gave  them  power  against  unclean  spirits,  to  cast  them 
out,  and  to  heal  all  manner  of  sickness  and  all  manner 
of  disease."  This  transcendent  grant  they  had  received 
freely ;  they  had  in  no  way  earned  it  or  achieved  it  for 
themselves;  it  had  come  to  them  as  spontaneously 
as  the  rain  falls  upon  the  drooping  plant;  and  it 
must  be  used  as  it  had  come — spontaneously,  un 
grudgingly,  without  demand  or  expectation  of  a 
recompense.  There  must  be  no  exacting  insistence 
upon  merit  or  upon  gratitude;  they  must  not  look 


TITR  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE.      235 

upon  the  powers  they  had  received  as  conferring 
greatness  or  importance  on  themselves,  or  as  conver 
tible  into  so  much  of  thanks  and  popularity  and 
influence,  or  as  enabling  them  to  enforce  their  own 
particular  views  of  what  men  and  women  ought  to 
be.  Freely  they  had  received,  and  freely  they  were 
to  give ;  with  a  pure  regard  to  the  will  of  God  ;  with 
a  humble  care  not  to  thrust  in  their  own  claims 
between  the  work  of  His  mercy  and  the  thankful 
ness  of  those  to  whom  they  were  allowed  to  bear  it. 
Doubtless  the  warning  was  needed  then :  how  greatly 
needed  we  may  feel,  if  we  venture  to  wonder  what 
use  Judas  Iscariot  made  of  the  beneficent  powers  he 
had  freely  received.  It  had  been  needed  constantly 
in  the  past ;  and  the  neglect  of  it  had  shut  out  Moses 
from  the  promised  land,  because  at  Meribah  "he 
spake  unadvisedly  with  his  lips,"  and  did  not  sanctify 
the  Giver  of  all  good  in  the  eyes  of  the  children  of 
Israel.  It  is  needed  at  all  times,  even  in  its  first  and 
plainest  application;  for  I  suppose  that  there  has 
never  been  a  period  when  even  the  highest  and  most 
mysterious  gifts  that  issue  from  the  love  of  God  have 
been  safe  from  the  abuse  of  greed  and  wilfulness,  of 
lust  for  praise  or  power. 

But  the  words  are  general  in  form ;  they  have  a 
bearing   far  beyond  the  sphere  of  those  distinctive 


236       THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE. 

gifts  which  God  entrusts  to  the  stewards  of  His 
mysteries.  And  one  plain  lesson  which  they  teach 
us  all  is  this — that  a  great  duty  rests  on  us  in  regard 
to  our  use  of  all  that  manifold  heritage  which  has 
come  to  us  so  freely  and  so  generously,  unearned, 
unasked,  from  the  toil,  and  patience,  and  wisdom,  and 
bounty  of  past  ages.  It  is  a  lesson  of  which  we 
ought  to  think  at  the  beginning  of  a  week  still 
nominally  concerned  with  the  commemoration  of 
founders  and  benefactors.1  Let  us  for  a  few  minutes 
fasten  our  thoughts  upon  it. 

II.  "  Freely  ye  have  received."  Directly  or  m- 
directly  very  many  of  us  are  debtors  to  the  splendid 
generosity  of  those  who  long  ago  devoted  their  wealth 
to  the  glory  of  God  in  the  advancement  of  religion 
and  learning.  Some  of  us  may  feel  that  through  every 
stage  in  our  life  since  childhood  we  have  owed  some 
privilege  to  their  liberality ;  and  most  of  us,  perhaps, 
either  for  ourselves,  or  through  the  help,  the  training, 
the  deeper  thoughts  and  higher  aims  that  others  have 
received  in  school  or  college  life,  have  had  some 
share  from  the  bounty  of  the  past.  And  whatsoever 
has  thus  come  to  us  we  have  received  as  a  free  gift. 
Men  gave  of  old  with  large-hearted,  unexacting 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  at  Oxford,  in  the  Cathedral,  on  "  Com 
memoration  Sunday." 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE.      237 

liberality;  they  cared  and  planned  and  spent  for 
those  who  might  never  think  of  them,  who  could 
never  show  them  gratitude  or  make  them  any  recom 
pense,  save  by  their  prayers.  From  some  who  have 
"  left  a  name  behind  them,  that  their  praises  might  be 
reported;"  and  from  some  who  have  no  memorial, 
whose  names  are  forgotten  where  their  work  lives 
on — the  broad  stream  of  bounty  has  come  down  to 
us. — There  seems  a  curious  contrast  between  the 
almost  morbid  restlessness  with  which  many  men  are 
anxious  to  be  or  to  seem  quit  of  any  obligation  to 
a  living  benefactor,  and  the  uninquiring  acquiescence 
with  which  they  will  settle  do-vn  to  enjoy  the 
splendid  gifts  of  those  who  have  passed  away.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  measure  how  much  harder, 
poorer,  darker,  our  lives  would  be  if  men  had  been 
in  bygone  ages  narrow  or  cold  in  giving ;  if  the  great 
builders  had  stayed  their  hands  at  that  which  would 
do  for  their  own  need  or  last  out  their  days ;  if  all 
had  been  timidly  bounded  by 

"The  lore 
Of  nicely-calculated  less  or  more ; "  * 

if  the  enthusiasm  of  a  great  conception  had  not  been 
allowed  its  liberty.  Freely  we  have  received ;  nothing 

1  Wordsworth's  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets,  "Inside  of  King's  College 
Chapel,  Cambridge." 


238       THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE. 

was  asked  of  us  as  we  entered  into  all  this  heritage 
of  help  and  beauty ;  we  found  the  homes  of  worship, 
the  facilities  and  encouragements  of  learning,  ready 
for  our  use.  Freely  we  have  received ;  and  our 
Saviour  teaches  us  how  to  show  our  gratitude  for 
this  ungrudged  and  unconditioned  largess.  We,  in  our 
turn,  must  freely  give.  Without  looking  for  requital, 
without  making  bargains,  without  any  thought  of 
recognition  or  gratitude,  we  must  bear  our  part  in 
that  great  chain  of  giving  which  binds  age  to  age, 
that  tradition  of  generosity  which  looks  like  the 
sunny  side  of  the  road  in  the  course  of  human  affairs. 
Freely  we  must  give,  for  the  good  of  those  whom 
we  shall  never  see,  and  who  will  never  know  of  our 
existence ;  those  for  whom,  in  distant  lands  or  ages, 
our  gifts  may,  perhaps,  help  to  do  something  like  what 
the  gifts  of  the  past  have  done  for  us.  Surely  the 
best  "commemoration  of  founders  and  benefactors," 
here  or  elsewhere,  is  to  ask  ourselves  what  we  can 
do,  with  some  approach  to  their  ungrudging  and  un- 
bargaining  spirit,  for  those  who  as  yet  have  been  left 
destitute  of  the  wealth  that  has  so  freely  come  to  us. 
And  if,  amidst  the  expense  and  pleasure  of  this  week, 
it  occurs  to  any  one  that  a  Latin  speech,  not  always 
listened  to  or  understood  by  all,  is  rather  a  poor 
acknowledgment  of  all  that  Oxford  owes  to  the  great 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE.      239 

givers  of  former  generations,  then  the  words  of  the 
text  may  point  to  a  clear  way  of  commemorating 
them  more  worthily: — "Freely  give:"  try  to  learn 
more  of  their  bountiful  temper,  their  far-sighted,  open- 
handed  care  for  others ;  see  what  you  can  do  to  keep 
up  their  work. 

Freely  we  have  received  our  opportunities  of  edu 
cation  :  what  are  we  doing  in  our  turn  for  the 
education  of  the  poor  ?  Freely  we  have  received 
these  "  monuments  of  love  divine,"  our  churches  and 
cathedrals,  rich  with  the  living  thoughts,  the  linger 
ing  prayers,  of  bygone  times :  what  are  we  doing  to 
provide  even  the  simplest  buildings  that  are  needed 
for  God's  service  in  the  quickly  spreading  suburbs  of 
$ur  huge,  grim  towns  ?  Freely  we  have  received  the 
tradition  of  revealed  truth:  what  are  we  doing  for 
the  proffer  of  that  truth  to  those  who,  at  home  and 
abroad,  are  living,  sinning,  suffering,  and  dying  with 
out  any  knowledge  of  the  love  of  God  made  manifest 
in  the  Incarnate  Son  ?  It  is  in  those  who  are  really 
caring  for  such  works  as  these  that  the  wise  and 
generous  temper  of  our  founders  and  benefactors 
lives  among  us  still ;  it  is  they  who  are  true  to  the 
traditions  of  the  past,  and  to  the  best  part  of  all  that 
Oxford  means.  In  ventures  and  efforts  such  as  those 
of  the  Universities'  Mission  to  Central  Africa,  the 


240        THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE. 

Oxford  Mission  to  Calcutta,  the  Oxford  House  in 
Bethnal  Green,  the  Christ  Church  Mission  at  Poplar, 
the  spirit  from  which  we  ourselves  so  freely  have 
received  still  struggles  on  to  deal,  in  the  hopefulness 
of  faith,  with  the  vast  needs  of  the  present,  and  to 
make  such  scanty  provision  as  it  can  for  the  incal 
culable  demands  and  difficulties  of  the  future.  Yes  ; 
and  surely  it  may  come  to  pass,  in  the  swift  changes 
through  which  history  works  out  the  will  of  Him  Who 
"  putteth  down  one  and  setteth  up  another,"  that,  when 
the  greatness  of  Oxford  is  a  mere  story  of  the  past, 
the  high  purpose  of  our  founders  may  be  living  still, 
and  their  devotion  to  God's  glory  may  be  bearing  its 
true  fruit  in  some  distant  field,  in  India  or  elsewhere, 
as  the  Church  of  Christ  rises  in  the  old  way,  by  the 
self-sacrifice  of  those  who  love  not  their  life  even 
unto  death. 

III.  "  Freely  ye  have  received,  freely  give."  We  must 
not  limit  our  application  of  the  words  to  such  benefits 
as  have  been  placed  within  our  reach,  or  brought 
indirectly  to  bear  on  our  lives,  out  of  the  liberality 
of  founders  and  benefactors.  In  far  wider  ways  we 
owe  more  than  we  can  ever  tell  to  the  large-hearted- 
ness  of  our  forefathers.  Other  men  have  laboured, 
and  we  have  entered  into  their  labours.  Think  of 
all  the  toil,  and  patience,  and  self -discipline,  and  per- 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE.      241 

severance  of  artists  and   students   and   artificers  in 
age  after  age,  that  have  gone  to  make  possible  or 
conceivable  the  things  that  we  may  take  for  granted ; 
the  most   ordinary  comforts  or  adornments  of   our 
lives.     Think  of  the  vast  suffering  that  went  before 
the   discovery  of  the  simplest   laws   by   which   our 
health  is  guarded   or   regained.     Or   think   of  that 
which  has    been    finely   described    as   "the   cost   of 
moral  movement ; "  "  the  immense  cost,  the  appalling 
severity  of  the  effort  which  has  been  spent  on  lifting 
men's  spiritual  faculties  from  the  state  of  the  savage 
to  the  condition  in  which  we  find  them  in  ourselves 
to-day."1    Freely  we  have  received  the  outcome  of 
all  this ;  and  if  there  is  any  sense  of  chivalry  or  of 
justice  in  us,  we  cannot  realize  at  how  vast  a  cost 
we  have  been  thus  endowed,  enabled,  taught,   and 
then  let  the  giving  halt  at  our  unproductive,  com 
fortable  lives. — But,  above  all,  let  us  try  to  imagine 
what  others  may  have  had  to  bear  that  the  faith  of 
Christ  and  the  ministry  of  His  sacraments  might  be 
handed  on  to   us  in  unimpaired  integrity.     We  are 
always  talking  of  the  difficulties,  the  anxieties,  the 
perplexities  of  our  day  in  matters  of  religion.     And 
doubtless  our  difficulties  are  real  and  serious;  they 
are  likely  to  test  our  strength  of  character  and  our 
1  H.  S.  Holland,  "Logic  and  Life,"  p.  79. 

B 


242       THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE. 

patience,  likely  to  prove  what  we  are  made  of,  before 
we  have  done  with  them.  But,  can  we  imagine  that 
it  ever  was  an  easy  thing  to  be  a  Christian  ?  Surely 
all  the  generations  of  the  past  have  had  their  trials 
of  faith ;  their  difficulties,  practical  or  theoretical,  to 
deal  with;  their  especial  exercise  for  trust  in  God, 
for  loyalty  through  dark  times,  for  resolute  tenacity 
of  truth,  even  when  it  has  looked  fragmentary  and 
disappointing.  There  has  never  been  a  time  when 
doubts  had  not  a  fair  chance  of  wresting  the  faith  of 
Christ  out  of  the  grasp  of  the  prayerless,  the  faint 
hearted,  the  impatient,  the  double-minded,  and  the 
undisciplined.  But  by  the  strong  grace  of  God,  in 
one  generation  after  another,  His  servants  have  been 
of  a  widely  different  character;  they  have  endured 
as  seeing  Him  Who  is  invisible ;  they  have  fought  the 
good  fight  against  all  that,  within  them  or  without, 
threatened  to  drag  them  back  from  their  Redeemer ; 
and  so  the  faith  has  come  down  to  our  age.  Freely 
we  have  received  what  all  that  moral  effort  has  pre 
served  ;  and  can  we  shrink,  ungenerous,  soon  wearied, 
or  soon  frightened,  from  the  demand  that  the  main 
tenance  of  our  own  faith  may  make  in  our  day  ?  It 
is  but  the  old  demand  in  a  new  form  ;  and  there  will 
have  been  grave  fault  somewhere  if,  when  we  should 
freely  give  to  those  who  come  after  us,  freely  give 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  INHERITANCE.     243 

the  heritage  which  we  received,  we  have  to  say  that, 
somehow,  it  has  slipped  from  our  hold.  Let  us 
see  to  this,  at  least,  that  that  which  has  come  down 
to  us  through  centuries  of  such  endurance  shall  not, 
by  any  lack  of  prayer,  of  trust,  of  self-control,  self- 
sacrifice,  and  patience  on  our  part,  be  wasted  in  our 
hands ;  and  then,  we  may  thankfully  believe,  Almighty 
God  will  see  to  it  that  we  shall  not  have  less  to  give 
than  that  which  we  have,  by  His  unspeakable  mercy, 
received  through  the  patience  of  the  saints  and  the 
steadfast  wisdom  of  the  Spirit-bearing  Church. 


XVII. 

THE   RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

"  We  then  that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  the  infirmities  of 
the  weak." 

ROM.  xv.  1. 

I.  LET  us  try  to  enter  into  the  position  which  has 
been  under  St.  Paul's  consideration  when  he  writes 
these  words. 

(a)  The  peace  and  welfare  of  the  Church  at  Rome 
had  been  imperilled  by  the  divergence  of  two  groups 
of  Christians  in  certain  details  of  practice.  It  was  a 
divergence  such  as  might  naturally  result  when  a  new 
principle,  telling  with  incalculable  energy  for  change 
on  thought  and  conduct,  had  been  welcomed  by  a 
number  of  men  who  differed  widely  in  calibre  and 
temperament  and  training.  The  revelation  of  Jesus 
Christ  and  of  the  grace  and  truth  that  came  by  Him 
held  within  it  a  power  to  make  all  things  new ;  and 
as  the  touch  of  faith  released  that  power,  it  must 
often  have  been  found  that  the  acceptance  of  Chris 
tianity  involved  far  more  than  had  been  at  first 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.          245 

disclosed.  To  be  a  Christian;  to  believe  that  the 
Eternal  and  Almighty  Son  of  God  had  taken  to  Him 
self  a  human  nature,  and  lived  and  died  on  earth 
and  risen  from  the  dead;  to  go  about  one's  work 
each  day  in  constant  reliance  on  His  strength,  know 
ing  that  He  was  looking  on,  wondering  whether  that 
very  day  He  might  come  back  to  judge  the  world,  to 
judge  one's  self  ; — this  could  not  but  affect  profoundly 
the  meaning  of  all  earthly  things,  the  drift  and  inten 
sity  of  all  hopes  and  fears  and  cares  and  efforts.  And 
as  the  Holy  Spirit  bore  deeper  and  more  fully  into 
a  man's  soul  the  life  of  Christ,  with  all  its  surprising 
consequences  of  conviction  and  of  duty,  many  forces 
which  had  claimed  some  influence  or  lordship  over 
him  would  fall  back,  relaxing  their  hold  and  relin 
quishing  their  pretensions.  We  may  know  how  con 
ventional  axioms  are  swept  aside  in  moments  of 
sudden  passion  or  enthusiasm ;  we  may  know  how 
passions  stronger  than  any  conventionality  may  yield 
up  their  tyranny  in  those  rare  cases  when  a  man 
knows,  with  undimmed  and  unenfeebled  intellect, 
that  he  has  but  a  few  hours  more  to  live.  But  it  was 
with  a  broader,  calmer,  surer  onset,  that  the  truth 
of  Christ  advanced  to  vindicate  its  empire,  and  to  free 
the  hearts  of  men  from  all  narrow,  timid  deference 
to  merely  outward  rules.  For  the  motive  force,  the 


246          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

guiding  light,  of  the  Christian  life  left  no  place  or 
meaning  for  such  soulless  precautions :  they  would 
look  like  street-lamps  left  burning  by  mistake  at  mid 
day  ;  they  could  add  nothing  to  the  amplitude  of 
radiance  which  Christ  was  pouring  into  the  new-born 
souls  of  His  redeemed. 

(6)  But  to  part  with  outward  rules,  however  un- 
spiritual  and  however  conventional  they  may  be, 
requires  a  certain  force  of  character,  a  certain  power 
of  self-realization,  which  is  not  found  in  all  men. 
For  outward  and  particular  rules,  if  sometimes  they 
are  irksome,  are  often  comfortable  and  reassuring : 
they  seem  to  save  men  trouble,  to  leave  less  room  for 
uncertainty,  to  lighten  the  burden  of  responsibility  at 
a  moderate  cost :  men  are  told  what  is  asked  of  them, 
and  can,  if  they  will,  be  sure  that  they  have  rendered 
it.  What  the  strong  may  feel  as  a  restriction  the 
weak  may  welcome  as  a  safeguard ;  and  there  is  need 
of  courage  and  enterprise  to  venture  beyond  the 
tutelage  of  external  directions  into  the  higher  sphere 
of  life,  where  the  challenge  of  God's  infinite  love  is 
the  one  principle  of  guidance,  and  His  absolute  per 
fection  is  the  source  and  strength  of  every  law.  And 
so,  as  the  call  to  substitute  the  obedience  of  faith  for 
attention  to  rules  came  home  to  the  conscience  of 
Christians  individually,  it  brought  to  light  some  deep 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.         247 

differences  of  character  and  temperament;  men  fell 
apart  from  one  another  according  as  they  were  or 
were  not  able  to  welcome  such  a  call,  to  commit  them 
selves  to  such  a  venture,  to  trust  themselves,  God 
helping  them,  in  the  liberty  wherewith  Christ  had 
made  them  free.  There  were  some  who,  in  the  sanc 
tified  independence  of  a  strong  character,  sprang  at 
once  to  realize  the  privilege  and  the  demand  of  the 
new  life:  risen  with  Christ,  they  looked  to  Him  alone; 
from  Him,  from  Him  alone,  by  whatsoever  influence, 
through  whatsoever  channels  of  communication  He 
might  be  pleased  to  use,  must  come  the  law  whereby 
they  must  be  judged,  even  the  royal  law  of  liberty ; 
to  them  the  narrow  and  unquickening  rules  by  which 
men  crept  about  the  world  seemed  somewhat  as  our 
roads  and  railways  may  look  to  the  swallow  while,  in 
obedience  to  the  impulse  God  has  given  him,  he  wings 
his  way  through  the  broad  spaces  of  the  sky  towards 
the  ever-growing  light  and  warmth  he  loves.  But 
there  were  others  who  had  not  strength  of  character 
or  firmness  of  self-realization  to  renounce  all  deference 
to  those  laws  whose  limit  of  demand  they  could 
exactly  measure,  and  with  which  they  could  conform 
so  perfectly  as  to  feel  a  sense  of  security  if  not  of 
self-satisfaction.  It  does  not  seem  that  these  weak 
brethren  in  the  Church  at  Rome  denied  any  truth 


248          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

which  the  strong  believed;  they  were  not  like  the 
Judaizers  of  the  Galatian  Church;  but  belief  meant 
less  to  them,  because,  if  one  may  so  speak,  they  meant 
less  to  themselves ;  they  had  not  the  moral  vigour  to 
enter  on  their  heritage  of  liberty ;  they  were  like  the 
timid  convalescent  who  shrinks  from  the  ventures  to 
which  his  doctor  encourages  him,  and  keeps  up  the 
precautions  and  the  dietary  of  his  illness  long  after 
they  have  become,  to  say  the  least,  wholly  unnecessary 
for  him.  Whether  it  was  from  dread  of  even  the 
slightest  pollution  by  any  unconscious  contact  with 
a  heathen  sacrifice,  or  from  an  idea  of  some  intrinsic 
unfitness  in  certain  kinds  of  food,  or  from  a  scrupulous 
anxiety  to  secure  the  merit  of  being  on  the  safe  side, 
we  cannot  tell ;  but  there  were  Christians  at  Rome 
who  persisted  in  carefully  submitting  their  life  to 
rules  which  they  had  learnt  elsewhere  than  in  the 
school  of  Christ,  and  in  hanging  back  from  the  liberty 
to  which  He  called  them.  And  so  there  had  arisen 
that  divergence  and  contrast,  that  danger  of  mutual 
misunderstanding,  with  which  St.  Paul  deals  in  the 
fourteenth  chapter  of  this  Epistle :  one  man  believed 
that  he  might  eat  all  things ;  another,  who  was  weak, 
ate  only  herbs:  one  man  esteemed  one  day  above 
another ;  another  man  esteemed  every  day  alike. 
II.  Such  is  the  difficulty  before  St.  Paul,  and  he 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.          249 

deals  with  it  on  principles  of  wide  and  lasting  import. 
He  has,  you  will  remember,  a  word  of  warning  for 
each  of  the  two  divergent  groups  :  "  Let  not  him  that 
eateth  despise  him  that  eateth  not :  and  let  not  him 
which  eateth  not  judge  him  that  eateth."  He,  on 
the  one  hand,  whose  swiftness  of  apprehension  and 
strength  of  grasp  and  moral  energy  enable  him  to 
realize  how  a  single  and  absolute  allegiance  to  Christ 
lifts  a  man  above  the  reach  of  this  world's  arbitrary 
and  traditional  rules,  must  have  no  thought  of  scorn 
or  ridicule  for  the  backward  but  well-meaning  brother 
who,  with  perhaps  an  equal  desire  to  devote  himself 
wholly  to  Christ's  service,  is  still  of  opinion  that  such 
rules  ought  not  to  be  disregarded.  And  he,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  he  keeps  his  rules  and  eats  his  dinner 
of  herbs,  must  not  be  thinking  any  hard  things  of 
those  who  with  an  unhesitating  conscience  live  a  less 
restricted  life.  The  reason  for  the  latter  part  of  this 
counsel,  for  the  Apostle's  warning  to  the  weak,  is 
simple.  That  unnecessary  censure  of  other  men's 
ways  is  an  ignorant  and  irreverent  meddling  with  the 
Divine  prerogative  of  judgment ;  it  is  an  intrusion  of 
ill-informed  opinion  where  only  the  unerring  voice 
of  Christ  should  speak :  "  Who  art  thou  that  judgest 
another  man's  servant?  To  his  own  Master  he 
standeth  or  falleth." 


250          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

The  principle  here  is  clear  for  us  all,  however 
reluctant  we  may  be  in  realizing  it ;  however  hard  it 
may  be  to  recollect  that  one's  impertinent  fault-finding 
with  one's  neighbours  simply  adds  to  one's  own  un- 
sightliness  before  the  Judge  of  all  But  for  the 
strong,  for  him  who  has  insight  and  confidence  to 
commit  himself  wholly  to  the  law  of  liberty,  St.  Paul 
has  a  more  complex  task,  involving  that  great  and 
characteristic  principle  of  Christianity  which  is  enun 
ciated  in  the  text:  and  it  is  of  this  task,  of  this 
principle,  that  I  would  try  especially  to  speak. 

His  words  recall  the  closely  parallel  passage  in  the 
First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians.  The  strong,  he 
recognizes,  may  be  rightly  free  from  any  scruples  of 
his  own ;  but  the  very  love  which  gives  him  freedom 
binds  him  to  be  considerate  for  the  scruples  of  the 
weak.  The  weak  man  is  like  one  with  a  delicate 
constitution  who  may  easily  be  encouraged  to  impru 
dence  ;  and  the  strong  must  use  for  his  sake  a  care 
which  he  need  never  use  for  his  own.  "  For,"  it  has 
been  well  said,  "  there  is  a  tyranny  which  even  free 
dom  may  exercise,  when  it  makes  us  intolerant  of 
other  men's  difficulties." 1  And  weakness  itself  is 
a  source  of  real  difficulties,  and  a  claim  therefore  for 

1  B.  Jowett,  "St.  Paul's  Epistles  to  Thessalonians,  Romans,  and 
Galatians,"  ii.  345 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.         251 

forbearance  and  for  considerateness.  The  weak  and 
scrupulous  brother  may  be  distressed  and  wounded 
by  the  inconsiderate  display  of  liberty;  or  he  may 
be  led  on  by  the  force  of  example,  if  not  of 
ridicule,  to  venture  beyond  the  sanction  of  his  own 
conscience,  and  thus  made  bold  to  do  what  in  itself 
may  be  indifferent  but  for  him  is  wrong,  since  all 
the  while  his  moral  sense  is  witnessing  against  it. 
Well,  then,  if  one  is  strong,  to  be  always  clutching 
one's  liberty,  to  look  at  it  as  a  prize  to  be  held 
tight,  a  right  to  be  asserted,  a  flag  to  be  displayed 
at  all  hazards  and  all  times ;  to  forfeit  sympathy 
that  one  may  evince  superiority;  to  prove  one's 
own  advance  at  the  expense  of  others'  welfare, 
is  a  preposterous  inversion  of  the  whole  order  of  a 
Christian  life.  Strength  and  freedom  are  indeed 
great  gifts ;  and  when  a  man  has  realized  that  they 
are  his,  and  has  thanked  God  for  them,  let  him  turn 
them  to  a  really  great  use.  Let  him  exercise  and 
prove  them  by  stooping  down  and  taking  upon  him 
self  the  burdens  of  the  weak ;  putting  himself  in  the 
place  of  the  weak ;  going  back,  as  it  were,  to  take  his 
stand  with  them,  to  stay  with  them  till  he  can  help 
them  onward ;  divesting  himself,  not  indeed  of  the 
very  strength  and  freedom  which  belong  to  him  as 
a  member  of  Christ,  but  of  the  assertion  and  mani- 


252          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTff. 

festation  and  enjoyment  of  them:  controlling  and 
humbling  himself  for  the  sake  of  others  (yes,  it  is  the 
one  sufficient  task  for  the  strong  and  free),  controlling 
and  humbling  himself  so  to  live  as  though,  in  these 
regards,  his  freedom  and  his  strength  were  bounded 
by  the  limits  of  their  weakness.  So  may  he  make 
known  to  them  the  reality  of  that  grace  which  makes 
him  free,  and  will  in  due  time  free  them  also :  so  may 
his  life  be  used  to  help  them,  as  God  bears  into  their 
hearts  the  beauty  and  the  strength  of  love,  teaching 
them  through  His  servant's  humility  and  unselfishness 
what  is  the  central  splendour  of  that  life,  of  which 
the  liberty  that  men  discuss  is  but  an  incidental  trait. 
For  the  kingdom  of  God — that  invasion  and  conquest 
and  transfiguration  of  this  life  by  the  powers  of  the 
life  to  come — does  not  consist,  and  is  not  realized  and 
displayed,  in  setting  men  free  from  this  or  that  ex 
ternal  rule,  however  justly  such  freedom  may  belong 
to  the  children  of  the  kingdom ;  but  in  righteousness 
and  peace  and  joy ;  in  a  reverent  and  generous  recog 
nition  of  one's  duty  towards  others ;  in  that  tranquil 
lity  which  love  is  for  ever  tending  to  increase  around 
and  in  the  soul  it  rules  ;  and  in  that  quiet  and  stead 
fast  glow  of  joy  which  neither  pain,  nor  poverty,  nor 
weariness,  nor  injustice  can  overwhelm — the  joy  which 
in  its  triumph  over  anxiety  and  sin  tells  from  whence 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.         253 

it  comes.  In  these  things  let  the  strong  evince  the 
reality  of  his  life  of  faith ;  thus  let  him  employ  and 
prove  that  freedom  which  he  has  found  only  that  he 
may  exercise  it  in  self -surrender,  that  he  may  bring 
to  the  work  of  God  and  the  service  of  man  the  offer 
ing  of  a  free  heart. 

III.  "We  then  that  are  strong  ought  to  bear  the 
infirmities  of  the  weak."  Let  me  briefly  speak  of 
three  points  in  regard  to  the  ethical  principle  which 
is  thus,  in  its  widest  form,  declared. 

(a)  First,  let  us  realize  how  great  and  how  unlike 
the  ordinary  ways  of  men  is  the  demand  it  makes. 
There  is  nothing  which  seems  to  try  men's  patience 
and  good  temper  more  than  feebleness  :  the  timidity, 
the  vacillation,  the  conventionality,  the  fretfulness, 
the  prejudices  of  the  weak ;  the  fact  that  people  can 
be  so  well-meaning  and  so  disappointing, — these  things 
make  many  men  impatient  to  a  degree  of  which  they 
are  themselves  ashamed.  But  it  is  something  far 
more  than  patience  and  good  temper  towards  weak 
ness  that  is  demanded  here.  It  is  that  the  strong,  in 
whatsoever  sphere  their  strength  may  lie,  should  try 
in  silence  and  simplicity,  escaping  the  observation 
of  men,  to  take  upon  their  own  shoulders  the  burdens 
which  the  weak  are  bearing;  to  submit  themselves 
to  the  difficulties  amidst  which  the  weak  are  stum- 


254          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

bling  on ;  to  be,  for  their  help's  sake,  as  they  are ;  to 
share  the  fear,  the  dimness,  the  anxiety,  the  trouble 
and  heart-sinking  through  which  they  have  to  work 
their  way;  to  forego  and  lay  aside  the  privilege  of 
strength  in  order  to  understand  the  weak  and  back 
ward  and  bewildered,  in  order  to  be  with  them,  to 
enter  into  their  thoughts,  to  wait  on  their  advance ; 
to  be  content,  if  they  can  only  serve,  so  to  speak,  as 
a  favourable  circumstance  for  their  growth  towards 
that  which  God  intended  them  to  be.1  It  is  the 
innermost  reality  of  sympathy,  it  is  the  very  heart 
and  life  of  courtesy,  that  is  touched  here :  but  like  all 
that  is  best  in  moral  beauty,  it  loses  almost  all  its 
grace  the  moment  it  attracts  attention.  It  is  noblest 
when  it  is  least  conscious,  when  another's  load, 
another's  limitations,  another's  trials  are  assumed 
quite  naturally,  as  a  mother  takes  her  children's 
troubles  for  her  own,  by  the  straightforward  instinct 
of  her  love ;  it  is  impaired  whenever  the  disfiguring 
shadow  of  self -consciousness  has  begun  to  creep  about 
it ;  it  is  ruined  utterly,  it  ceases  to  have  any  semblance 
of  its  former  self,  when  once  it  has  been  tainted  by 
any  insolent  complacency  in  condescension.  But 
when  it  is  pure  and  true  and  self -forgetful ;  when  it 

1   Of.  «  The  Gifts  of  the  Child  Christ,"  in  « Stephen  Archer,  and 
other  Tales,"  by  G.  MaoDonald. 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.          255 

is  guarded  by  a  real  hatred  of  praise,  a  real  joy  in 
hiddenness ;  when  it  has  no  motive  and  no  goal  save 
love ; — then,  indeed,  it  may  be  the  distinctive  glory  of 
the  Christian  character. 

In  strangely  different  ways  we  try  sometimes  to 
prove  to  others  or  to  ourselves  that  we  are  strong: 
by  self-assertion  and  positiveness,  by  getting  our  own 
way,  by  vehemence  or  wilfulness  or  diplomacy,  or  by 
standing  aloof  in  an  attitude  of  critical  reserve.  Let 
us  try  our  strength  where  St.  Paul  would  have  it- 
exercised,  in  making  others'  trials  our  own :  and 
perhaps  our  first  reward  may  be  the  wholesome  and 
necessary  discovery  that  our  strength  is  less  than  we 
imagined.  For  it  has  been  truly  said  that  "  there  is 
no  strain  so  continuous  as  that  of  helping  the  weak 
friend  to  climb.  Every  footstep  has  to  be  steadied 
as  he  laboriously  ascends ;  he  gets  fatigued,  he  gets 
giddy,  he  disdains  the  use  of  the  rope ;  perhaps 
he  slips  and  falls;  his  constant  stumbles  seem  to 
imperil  our  very  existence ;  he  keeps  us  back,  he 
makes  our  progress  slow ;  we  cannot  enjoy  the  pros 
pect  by  the  way,  nor  the  delight  of  climbing." l  That 
parable  points  us,  I  think,  to  the  hardest  task,  the 
highest  privilege  that  true  strength  of  character  can 
find.  In  God's  service,  we  are  taught,  is  perfect 
1  W.  C.  E.  Newbolt,  "  The  Fruit  of  the  Spirit,"  pp.  58,  59. 


256          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

freedom;  and  the  ancient  prayer  from  which  those 
words  are  taken  seems  to  say  even  more — that  to  serve 
Him  is  to  reign.  But  there  is  yet  a  higher  dignity 
to  be  found  in  service  than  either  royalty  or  freedom, 
since  to  serve  others  is  to  help  them  to  be  free. 

(b)  Yes ;  for,  in  the  second  place,  there  is  no  sure 
way  of  helping  others  save  that  to  which  St.  Paul 
directs  us.  It  is  an  impressive  part  of  the  witness  that 
comes  to  Christianity  from  the  sphere  of  ethics,  that 
if  we  have  courage  to  let  it  lead  us  apart  from  all  that 
we  think  natural  and  hopeful,  we  find  that  it  has  put 
us  in  the  way  to  reach  an  end  beyond  our  hopes,  and 
to  realize  a  higher  nature  than  that  which  men  usually 
call  human.  Christ  tells  us,  for  instance,  that  the 
meek  shall  inherit  the  earth ;  and  we  begin  to  see,  as 
life  goes  on,  that  there  are  indeed  no  victories  so  real 
and  sure  as  those  which  meekness  wins.  We  are 
taught  that  we  must  be  made  perfect  through  suffer 
ing  ;  and  we  put  a  very  scanty  meaning  into  the  words, 
until  some  day  we  see  a  human  soul  ascend  through 
pain  to  a  dignity  and  beauty  before  which  we  stand 
abashed.  "He  that  followeth  Me  shall  not  walk  in 
darkness : " — there  are  no  words  which  admit  of  more 
conclusive  verification  by  experience  than  those.  And 
so  in  the  case  of  which  we  have  been  thinking :  the 
guidance  which  crosses  our  natural  impulse  as  to  the 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.          257 

Use  of  strength  points  us  to  the  very  secret  of  its 
worth  and  safety  and  increase.  We  shall  not  much 
help  others  to  advance  till  we  have  taken  our  stand 
with  them,  and  made  their  task  our  own.  We  know 
that  well  in  regard  to  education.  The  man  of  learn 
ing,  who  is  so  engrossed  in  his  own  investigations,  or 
so  dazzled  by  his  own  brilliancy,  or  so  anxious  to 
make  his  own  standpoint  clear,  that  he  forgets  or  fails 
to  enter  at  all  into  his  hearers'  minds,  may  possibly 
impress  but  hardly  educate  them.  His  teaching  may 
show,  indeed,  how  far  on  he  has  got,  and  it  may 
quicken  aspiration  in  those  who  are  nearest  to  him ; 
but  it  will  leave  many  whom  he  might  help  just  where 
they  were.  To  "  bear  the  infirmities  of  the  weak ; " 
to  learn  how  things  may  seem  to  them ;  to  realize  how 
naturally  they  may  see  but  little  meaning  in  words 
and  arguments  which  study  has  made  full  of  force  to 
the  teacher ;  to  measure  the  possibility  of  misunder 
standing  or  the  range  of  prejudice ;  to  recollect  how 
easily  an  untrained  mind  confuses  the  relative  import 
ance  of  its  data ; — we  are  familiar  with  these  conditions 
of  all  excellence  in  the  ministry  of  teaching.  And 
surely  we  know  how  in  those  deeper  and  more  anxious 
difficulties  through  which  we  may  have  to  fight  our 
way,  in  the  trials  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  life,  if 
any  help  can  come  to  us  from  others,  it  can  only  be 

s 


258          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

from  those  who  see  our  troubles,  not  from  without  but 
from  within;  who  with  the  wisdom,  the  simplicity, 
the  strength  of  love,  will  come  out  of  the  sunshine  to 
be  with  us  in  the  gloom  and  dimness ;  who  touch  our 
wounds  as  tenderly  as  though  their  own  nerves 
throbbed  for  them ;  who  measure  our  fears  and  hin 
drances  and  sorrows  not  by  the  cold  estimate  of  an 
external  critic,  but  as  they  are  to  the  heart  which 
really  has  to  bear  them.  We  may  be  unreasonable 
enough  in  our  fears,  our  anxiety,  our  faint-heartedness, 
our  despondency,  our  slowness  of  belief ;  but  if  we 
are  to  be  helped  at  all,  it  will  not  often  be  by  one  who 
stands  far  off  and  calls  to  us  to  be  as  rational  and 
robust  as  he  is ;  but  by  some  one  who  never  seems  to 
pity  us  just  because  he  stands  so  close  beside  us ;  some 
one  in  whom  the  quiet  radiance  of  love  scarcely 
suffers  us  at  first  to  see  the  sustaining  massiveness  of 
strength ;  some  one  whom  we  can  gladly  trust  with 
the  knowledge  of  our  infirmities  because  he  never 
thrusts  on  us  his  own  exemption  from  them,  because 
when  he  is  with  us  he  turns  all  his  strength  and 
insight  to  the  task  of  taking  on  himself  the  burden 
of  our  weakness. 

(c)  Lastly,  let  us  lift  our  eyes  to  look  towards  Him 
Who  is  for  evermore  our  One  Supreme  Example  in  the 
task  thus  set  to  love  and  strength.  "  We  that  are 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.          259 

strong  ought  to  bear  the  infirmities  of  the  weak." 
Yes,  how  can  we  evade  or  wonder  at  the  claim,  since  He 
Himself  took  our  infirmities,  and  bare  our  sicknesses ; 
since,  though  He  was  rich,  yet  for  our  sakes  He  became 
poor ;  since  we  "  owe  everything  to  the  self-abnegation 
of  a  Kedeemer,"  Who,  "  being  in  the  form  of  God," 
"  did  not  cling  with  avidity  to  the  prerogatives  of  His 
Divine  Majesty,"  "  but  divested  Himself  of  the  glories 
of  Heaven,"  and  "  made  Himself  of  no  reputation,  and 
took  upon  Him  the  form  of  a  Servant "  ?  He  (as  has 
been  said  by  a  great  historical  and  theological  teacher 
in  this  University) — He  accepted  within  the  human 
sphere  on  which  He  entered  by  becoming  Man  "  restric 
tion,  subjections,  obscurations,  pertaining  to  the  position 
of  a  servant ; "  "as  Man,  He  willed  to  live  compassed 
with  sinless  infirmities,  and  in  dependence,  as  to  His 
soul's  life,  on  the  word,  the  will,  the  presence  of  His 
Father — a  dependence,  be  it  always  remembered,  not 
scenic,  but  genuine  and  actual." l  There  could  be 
indeed  "no  sin  in  Him  to  become  that  spring  of 
evil,"  which  our  sins  so  often  are  to  us ;  but  save  in 
this  He  took  His  stand  with  us,  that  He  might  lead 
us  to  be  with  Him  where  He  is.  How,  then,  can 
we  hang  back  or  cling  to  thoughts  of  pride  and  care 

1  W.  Bright,  "  The  Incarnation,"  p.  277.    Cf.  Bishop  Lightfoot  on 
Phil.  ii.  5-11 


260          THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH. 

for  self,  if  He  will  let  us  help  to  lead  the  least  of  all 
He  saved  a  little  nearer  to  His  light  by  humbly 
trying  to  bear  with  them  the  burden  of  their  weak 
ness  ?  It  is  true  that  His  vast  condescension  wrought 
a  work  we  cannot  touch;  and  true  again  that  the 
example  of  it  comes  to  us  across  a  great  gap;  for 
the  utmost  difference  that  there  can  ever  be  between 
two  sinful  men  is  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
infinite  difference  which  for  love's  sake  He  spanned 
when  He  was  made  man,  and  hid  His  glory  and 
omnipotence  in  weakness  and  in  hunger,  in  shame  and 
weariness,  in  suffering  and  death.  Yet  still  across 
the  gap  we  look  to  Him ;  and  surely  anything  like 
self-assertion,  anything  like  anxiety  for  the  display  and 
acknowledgment  of  our  powers  and  position,  seems  a 
strange  infatuation  when  we  think  what  He  forewent, 
how  He  was  pleased  to  live  for  our  sakes  on  earth. 
We  wonder  at  the  words  He  spake — words  such  as  no 
other  ever  spake ;  but  what  can  we  say  about  the 
wonder  of  His  silence,  about  the  patient,  gentle  holding 
back  of  that  He  had  to  say,  because  men  could  not 
bear  it  yet  ?  "  Whence  hath  this  Man  this  wisdom  ? " 
— so  men  asked  as  they  listened  to  His  teaching ;  but 
neither  they  nor  we  could  ever  tell  the  love  and  might 
of  self-restraint  which  checked  the  beams  of  His 
Divine  omniscience,  that  being  very  Man  He  might  as 


THE  RESPONSIBILITY  OF  STRENGTH.          261 

really  grow  in  wisdom  as  in  stature.1  We  mark  how 
His  almighty  power  issued  forth  to  quell  the  storm, 
to  heal  the  sick,  to  raise  the  dead ;  but  we  must  not 
miss  the  majesty  of  hidden  strength,  the  marvel  and 
the  teaching  of  His  patient  self-repression,  as  He 
keeps  in  calm  abeyance  that  which  could  not  but 
belong  to  Him  as  the  Eternal  and  Co-equal  Son  of 
God. 

"  He  might  have  reared  a  palace  at  a  word, 
Who  sometimes  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head  : 
Time  was,  and  He  Who  nourished  crowds  with  bread 
Would  not  one  meal  unto  Himself  afford : 
Twelve  legions  girded  with  angelic  sword 
Were  at  His  beck,  the  scorned  and  buffeted  : 
He  healed  another's  scratch,  His  own  side  bled, 
Side,  feet,  and  hands,  by  cruel  piercings  gored. 
Oh,  wonderful  the  wonders  left  undone  I 
And  scarce  less  wonderful  than  those  He  wrought 
Oh,  Self-restraint,  passing  all  human  thought, 
To  have  all  power,  and  be  as  having  none  ! 
Oh,  Self-denying  Love,  which  felt  alone 
For  needs  of  others,  never  for  its  own  I "  8 

•  Cf.  Hooker,  V.  liv.  6.    H.  P.  Liddon,  "Bampton  Lectures,"  p.  464. 
«  Archbishop  Trench,  «  Poems,"  p.  H2. 


XVIIL 
OLD   AND  YOUNG. 

w  I  "write  unto  you,  little  children,  because  your  sins  are 
forgiven  you  for  His  Name's  sake.  I  write  unto  you,  fathers, 
because  ye  have  known  Him  that  is  from  the  beginning.  I 
write  unto  you,  young  men,  because  ye  have  overcome  the 
wicked  one.  I  write  unto  you,  little  children,  because  ye 
have  known  the  Father.  I  have  written  unto  you,  fathers, 
because  ye  have  known  Him  that  is  from  the  beginning.  I 
have  written  unto  you,  young  men,  because  ye  are  strong,  and 
the  Word  of  God  abideth  in  you,  and  ye  have  overcome  the 
wicked  one." 

1  ST.  JOHN  ii.  12-14. 

L  WHEREVER  we  look  in  the  wide  scene  of  human 
life  we  seem  to  mark  two  elements  or  factors  working 
out  the  Will  of  God.  The  ceaseless  drama  of  history, 
however  great  or  humble  may  be  the  stage  on  which 
we  see  it  played,  constantly  betrays  in  its  course 
the  presence  of  two  forces,  animating  the  action, 
meeting  in  its  critical  points.  Let  us  try,  speaking 
broadly,  to  distinguish  them. — On  the  one  hand  there 
is  the  force  of  such  convictions,  affections,  antipathies, 
associations,  habits  of  mind  as  belong  to  those  who 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  263 

have  already  given  their  distinctive  impress  to  a 
period  which  is  now  passing  away.  It  is  not  that 
their  work,  or  even  the  greater  part  of  their  work, 
is  done ;  it  well  may  be  that  "  they  shall  bring  forth 
more  fruit  in  their  age ; "  and  perhaps  in  the  years 
that  remain  to  them  their  influence  may  be,  if  they 
will  have  it  so,  stronger  than  it  ever  has  been  before. 
But  the  stage  of  life  which  bears  their  stamp,  and  in 
which  their  characteristic  powers  told  most  freely 
and  evidently,  is  receding  further  and  further  into 
the  past ;  and  to  their  eyes,  at  all  events,  the  retro 
spect  of  their  life  looks  more  than  the  prospect  in 
this  world. — Then,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  the 
force  of  their  convictions  or  intentions  whose  dis 
tinctive  work  lies  for  the  most  part  before  them,  or 
is  but  just  beginning.  They  are  looking  forward  to 
a  time  in  which  they  shall  win  out  of  the  new 
conditions  of  their  age  a  new  triumph  because  of  the 
truth :  a  time  which  shall  be  characterized  by  the 
ideas  that  seem  to  them  the  noblest  and  most  just, 
even  as  the  past  was  either  characterized  or  redeemed 
by  the  truth  their  fathers  saw ;  a  time  in  which  they 
shall  find  their  scope,  achieve  their  task,  say  what 
they  have  to  say,  and  dedicate  what  they  have  to 
spend.  For  with  them  there  is,  or  should  be,  the 
gladness  and  confidence  of  morning ;  and  with  what- 


264  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

ever  thankfulness  and  reverence  and  admiration 
they  may  look  back  to  the  victories  of  the  past,  the 
victories  which  have  won  for  them  the  very  ground 
on  which  they  stand,  still  they  know  that  it  is  only 
in  sham  fights  that  men  can  simply  mimic  former 
victories ;  that  it  is  on  other  fields,  amidst  other 
difficulties,  and,  it  may  be,  with  other  weapons  that 
their  battle  must  be  fought,  and  their  service  rendered 
in  the  cause  of  God  and  of  His  truth. 

Such  are,  I  think,  roughly  stated,  the  two  great 
tendencies  or  currents  of  influence  which  are  always 
telling  in  the  course  of  human  life.  Still  more 
roughly  it  might  be  said  that  they  are  the  tendencies 
generally  characteristic  of  the  old  and  of  the  young : 
the  elements  which  they  respectively  contribute  to 
the  development  of  history.  The  distinction  is  such 
as  one  can  often  see,  real  and  deep,  though  not 
marked  by  any  sharp,  precise  line.  Differences  of 
training  and  temperament  often  take  the  place  of 
difference  in  age.  The  boundary  is  indefinite,  and 
there  is  constant  interaction  over  it;  for  the  scenes 
of  history  succeed  one  another  like  dissolving  views, 
and  the  lineaments  and  colours  of  that  which  is 
passing  away  can  be  traced  long  after  that  which  is 
coming  in  has  begun  to  gather  strength  and  clearness. 
Hard  outlines  are  seldom  true  to  nature;  yet  when 


OLD  AND    YOUNG  265 

we  stand  back  a  little  and  try  to  get  a  broad  view, 
we  can  scarcely  doubt,  I  think,  that  two  such  currents 
are  acting  on  the  affairs  of  men ;  and  as  we  watch 
the  surging  tide  of  change,  whether  in  the  leaping 
waves  or  in  the  multitude  of  swirling  eddies,  we  see 
that  human  history  is  for  the  most  part  TOTTO? 
StflaXaoxToe,  a  place  where  two  seas  meet. 

II.  Surely,  then,  if  it  be  true  that  at  point  after 
point  in  the  world's  course,  in  its  preparation  for  the 
second  coming  of  Christ,  there  are  these  two  forces 
to  be  felt  telling  on  the  way  things  take :  if  the  two 
groups  of  characters  and  convictions  which  I  have 
tried  to  describe  are  always  present  in  that  silent  and 
unconscious  conference  of  mind  with  mind,  where  the 
drift  of  human  thought  and  opinion  is  decided — then 
we  may  be  confident  that  there  must  always  be  a 
work  for  each  to  do,  a  gift  for  each  to  bring,  towards 
the  fulfilment  of  the  Will  of  God.  He  maketh  the 
outgoings  of  the  morning  and  of  the  evening  to 
praise  Him ;  so  long  as  it  is  day  we  must  work  the 
works  of  God,  each  according  to  the  powers  he  has 
gained,  the  light  that  he  has  seen,  the  experience  that 
has  trained  his  judgment,  and  disciplined  his  will. 
So  long  as  it  is  day  each  must  do  all  he  can  of  that 
which  he  can  do  best,  and  it  may  be  that  no  man 
knows  when  he  can  do  most,  when  the  gift  that  it  is 


266  OLD  AND   YOUNG. 

his  to  bring  may  tell  most  for  the  cause  of  God  and 
for  the  good  of  man.  But  we  can  be  sure  that 
there  is  a  true  part  for  us  all  to  bear  at  every  stage 
of  life,  whether  we  be  young  or  old :  a  contribution 
that  we  have  to  make,  being  what  and  where  we  are, 
to  the  welfare  of  the  world :  an  offering  which  God, 
Who  has  placed  it  in  our  power,  looks  to  us  to  bring. 
And  we  can  see,  I  think,  how  large  a  part  of  the 
worth  and  happiness  of  a  man's  work,  both  in  his 
earlier  and  in  his  later  years,  depends  on  his  bearing 
towards  that  tide  of  life,  that  drift  of  feeling  and 
conviction  which  is  not  his  own.  The  relation  between 
the  generation  that  is  passing  away  and  that  which 
is  coming  on  is  always  full  alike  of  difficulties  and 
of  opportunities  on  both  sides ;  and  there  is  a  deep 
pathos  in  the  frequency  with  which  the  opportunities 
are  missed  and  the  difficulties  aggravated.  Let  us 
keep  our  minds  back  from  any  thought  of  judging 
where  the  blame  should  fall ;  let  us  only  think  how 
pitiful  it  is  when  those  who  might  enrich  and  gladden 
and  invigorate  each  other's  lives  (each  bringing  what 
the  other  lacks,  each  thankfully  welcoming  from  the 
other's  hand  what  lay  beyond  his  own  reach),  instead 
of  this  stand  off  and  look  askance  with  mutual 
distrust  or  fear,  or  even  scorn,  letting  themselves 
fall  back,  after  only  a  half-hearted  effort  towards 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  267 

sympathy,  into  that  despondency,  or  impatience,  or 
suspicion,  which  blocks  with  an  ever-increasing  barrier 
all  the  ways  of  mutual  understanding  and  influence. 
We  may  recall  the  great  disasters  which  in  bygone 
ages  have  been  thus  wrought ;  but  to  some  extent 
we  may  see  the  same  dreary  misconception  and  misuse 
of  the  relation  between  old  and  young  going  on  in 
many  fields  of  life.  We  may  see  it  in  the  history 
of  a  nation,  or  of  the  Church ;  it  has  been  prominent 
among  the  causes  of  religious  discord  and  divisions ; 
and  I  venture  to  think  that  it  has  sometimes  cost 
much  waste  of  time  and  strength  in  our  academic  and 
collegiate  life.1  And  often,  surely,  the  same  tragedy 
is  going  on  in  the  life  of  many  a  home  :  and  nowhere 
perhaps  is  it  more  pathetically  played ;  as  father  and 
son,  or  mother  and  daughter  grow  conscious,  some 
times  with  silent  pain  and  sometimes  with  scarcely 
veiled  resentment,  of  an  ever-widening  severance,  a 
perpetual  and  almost  irrevocable  ebbing  of  sympathy 
and  trust.  I  think  that  there  can  hardly  be  a  sadder 
thought  to  realize  than  that ;  for  all  the  while  the 
years  are  passing  by  so  swiftly,  and  the  help  that 
each  needs  from  the  other,  the  joy  that  each  might 
minister  to  the  other,  is  wasting  away  unused,  un- 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  in  the  University  Church  of  Great 
St.  Mary's,  Cambridge. 


268  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

Bought,  until  it  is  hopelessly  too  late  to  seek  it; 
wasting  like  water  that  sinks  into  the  desert  sand, 
while  but  a  few  yards  off  the  traveller  lies  down 
despairingly  to  die  of  thirst.  Is  it  not  true,  brethren, 
that  there  is  no  relation  of  life  in  which  men  have 
greater  need  of  help  and  guidance  and  self -discipline 
than  in  this  of  which  I  have  been  trying  to  speak : 
the  relation  between  that  which  is  passing  away  and 
that  which  is  coming  forward  ;  between  that  which 
the  young  are  apt  to  call  old-fashioned  and  that 
which  the  old  are  apt  to  call  new-fangled  ?  It  is 
difficult  indeed.  But  the  grace  of  God  is  given  for 
the  hallowing,  the  illumination,  of  every  relation  of 
life ;  and  it  is  the  very  work  of  grace  to  transform 
difficulties  into  opportunities.  So  let  us  try  to  see 
how  this  difficulty  is  touched  by  the  light  of  the 
Christian  faith. 

III.  In  the  passage  which  I  read  for  my  text,  St. 
John  is,  as  has  been  well  shown,1  halting  for  a 
moment  and  calling  vividly  before  his  mind  the 
characters  and  positions  of  those  to  whom  he  writes. 
He  is  about  to  close  one  part  of  his  letter  with  a 
great  appeal  for  unworldliness ;  and  he  stays  to  con 
sider  on  what  grounds  he  can  presume  a  readiness 
for  that  appeal  in  those  to  whom  he  sends  it.  Twice 
1  Of.  Bishop  Westcott  in  looo. 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  269 

do  they  seem  to  stand  before  his  gaze :  each  time  he 
sees  them  first  as  one  group,  then  as  parted  into  two ; 
each  time  he  marks  first  a  warrant  for  his  confidence 
that  is  common  to  them  all,  and  then  the  special 
warrant  that  he  has  for  making  his  appeal  to  the 
older  among  them,  and  to  the  younger.     "I  write 
unto  you,  little  children,  because  your  sins  are  for 
given  you  for  His  Name's  sake" — there  is  his  first 
ground  of  hope  about  them  all,  both  old  and  young; 
but  in   each  of  those  two  classes  he  marks  a  dis 
tinctive  note  that  promises  an  answer  to  his  words, 
''  I  write  unto  you,  fathers,  because  ye  know  Him 
that  is  from   the  beginning;"   "I   write  unto  you, 
young  men,  because  ye  have  overcome  the  evil  one." 
Again   he  seems  to  see  them  standing  all  together, 
old  and  young  alike  his  little  ones  in  Christ :  u  I  have 
written  unto  you,"  he  says,  changing  the  tense,  it 
may  be,  as  he  resumes  his  writing  after  some  inter 
ruption,  "  I  have  written  unto  you,  little  ones,  because 
ye  know  the  Father,"  and  then,  just  as  before,  he 
turns  first  to  the  old  and  afterwards  to  the  young: 
he  repeats  to  each  the  peculiar  claim  on  which  before 
he  had  rested  his  appeal :  "  I  have  written  unto  you, 
fathers,  because    ye   know   Him  that    is  from  the 
beginning ; "  "I  have  written  unto  you,  young  men, 
because " — and  here  he  lingers  on  his  former  words, 


270  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

and  amplifies  them,  as  though  with  something  like 
that  special  love  and  eagerness  with  which  a  parish 
priest  thinks  of  those  who  are  giving  to  their  Lord 
the  full  vigour  of  their  early  manhood — "  because  ye 
are  strong,  and  the  Word  of  God  abideth  in  you,  and 
ye  have  overcome  the  evil  one." 

Let  us  try  briefly  to  gather  up  the  teaching  of  this 
passage:  necessarily  foregoing  the  consideration  of 
many  points  of  very  suggestive  detail.  And  first  let 
us  mark  the  thoughts  that  rise  in  St.  John's  mind 
as  he  regards  separately  the  elder  and  the  younger 
among  those  to  whom  he  is  appealing. 

(a)  Each  class,  then,  stands  before  the  Apostle 
bearing  its  distinctive  gift,  characterized  by  the 
peculiar  power  which  lifts  the  standard  of  its  hope 
and  effort,  and  binds  it  to  hear  and  to  obey  Christ's 
bidding.  There  is  first  the  matured  discernment  and 
experience,  the  steady  penetration  of  the  old.  They 
"  know  Him  that  is  from  the  beginning."  Faith  has 
made  them  clear-sighted,  and  experience  has  deepened 
and  confirmed  their  intuition :  they  have  learnt  what 
it  is  that  is  really  going  forward  under  all  the 
apparent  confusion  and  disorder  of  the  world,  and 
Who  it  is  that  through  the  strife  and  din  ever  has 
been,  ever  is,  carrying  on  the  work  of  love;  and 
knowing  Him  they  have  found  the  clue  to  life,  and 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  271 

grown  surer  of  its  meaning,  and  less  likely  to  be  led 
aside  from  the  true  aim  of  effort  and  self -concen 
tration.  Others  may  be  impatient  of  the  twilight, 
others  may  lose  heart  when  hopes  prove  false,  or 
may  sacrifice  the  greater  to  the  nearer  object;  but 
he  who  knows  Him  that  is  from  the  beginning  will 
endure  as  seeing  the  Invisible — 

M  He  holds  on  firmly  to  some  thread  of  life — 
(It  is  the  life  to  lead  perforoedly) 
Which  runs  across  some  vast  distracting  orb 
Of  glory  on  either  side  that  meagre  thread, 
Which,  conscious  of,  he  must  not  enter  yet— 
The  spiritual  life  around  the  earthly  life  : 
The  law  of  that  is  known  to  him  as  this, 
His  heart  and  brain  move  there,  his  feet  stay  here."1 

And  then,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  young  there  is 
the  glad  enthusiasm  of  consecrated  strength,  the  glow 
of  victory  and  enterprise.  "  They  are  strong,  and  the 
Word  of  God  abideth  in  them,  and  they  have  overcome 
the  evil  one."  The  natural  vigour  of  their  age  is 
lifted  up  and  hallowed  and  assured  in  the  warfare 
to  which  Christ  has  called  them :  they  will  not  "  faint 
and  be  weary,"  for  they  "renew  their  strength"  in 
abiding  communion  with  the  Eternal  Word;  and  in 
the  thrilling  sense  of  conquest  they  are  sure  that 
greater  is  He  that  is  in  them  than  he  that  is  in  the 

1  B.  Browning,  vol.  iv.  p.  193,  ed.  1888. 


272  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

world.  The  fresh  and  bracing  air  of  triumph  fills 
their  hearts  with  hope :  they  rejoice  in  this,  that  the 
spirits  of  evil  are  subject  unto  them;  they  are  con 
fident  of  mastery  in  Christ's  Name  "over  all  the 
power  of  the  enemy." 

(6)  Thus,  then,  in  the  prerogative  graces  of  the  old 
and  of  the  young,  St.  John  sees  ground  for  making 
his  appeal  with  a  good  hope.  He  looks  to  that  which 
God  the  Holy  Ghost  has  made  of  their  age  and  of 
their  youth,  and  he  is  not  afraid  to  bid  them  to 
further  ventures  for  Christ's  sake.  As  they  stand 
apart  he  has  been  insisting  on  their  distinctive 
powers:  each  has  that  which  will  give  penetration 
and  definiteness  to  the  appeal  as  it  falls  upon  his 
ears;  each  has  something  of  his  own,  something  in 
his  own  experience  and  consciousness  which  quickens 
a  distinct  receptive  faculty,  something  which  will 
wake  and  stir  at  the  Apostle's  words.  But  beyond 
and  above  these  separate  gifts  there  are  the  two 
great  master  truths  to  which  he  points  as  dominant 
alike  in  the  experience  of  all ;  the  truths  that,  high 
and  steadfast  as  the  arch  of  heaven,  span  from  end 
to  end  the  Christian  life:  those  strong  supreme 
convictions  which  are  the  light  and  strength  of 
every  age,  availing  most  of  all,  wherever  they  are 
ruling  a  man's  heart,  to  guard  him  from  the  things 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  273 

which  make  us  slow  to  hear  God's  voice,  and  dull  to 
see  His  way  in  the  various  relations  of  this  earth. 
"  Your  sins  are  forgiven  you  for  His  Name's  sake," 
and  "Ye  know  the  Father."  These  are  the  all- 
controlling,  all-transforming  truths  for  every  period 
and  every  task  in  life;  in  their  light  the  Christian 
course  begins,  they  give  the  strength  of  perseverance, 
they  sustain  the  glow  of  eventide ;  many  things 
change  around  a  man  as  he  advances  in  his  journey 
through  this  world,  but  as  he  draws  near  its  close, 
weary  and  travel-stained,  he  lifts  his  eyes  to  those 
same  heights  on  which  they  rested  as  he  set  out  in 
the  freshness  of  the  morning.  No  change  has  told  on 
them ;  only  it  may  be,  by  the  Divine  mercy,  he  sees 
a  little  clearer  now  the  forgiveness  of  sins  and  the 
Fatherhood  of  God.  And  thus  it  is  that  when  he 
speaks  of  these  St.  John  makes  no  distinction  between 
old  and  young;  these  are  truths  whose  power  he 
presumes  in  all  who  are  Christ's ;  truths  in  whose 
ever-remembered  presence  all  must  stand  and  work 
together,  as  forgiven  and  as  children. 

IV.  The  forgiveness  of  sins :  the  Fatherhood  of  God, 
Can  it  be,  brethren,  that  in  the  constant  recollection, 
the  advancing  realization  of  these  truths,  we  may 
find  the  help  we  need  in  that  frequent  difficulty  of 
which  we  have  been  thinking  ?  Is  it  thus  that  we 

T 


274  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

may  learn  to  do  our  true  work  in  every  stage  of  life, 
and  to  be  wise  and  just  and  generous  towards  those 
whom  the  broad  difference  of  age  or  temperament 
may  tempt  us,  if  we  are  careless  or  wilful,  to  think 
irreconcilably  and  impenetrably  unlike  ourselves  ?  It 
is  so  easy,  on  either  side,  to  acquiesce  in  such  differ 
ences  as  insuperable ;  it  is  so  hard  at  once  to  bear 
one's  own  witness  to  the  truth  of  which  one's  self  is 
sure,  and  yet  to  persevere  in  courageous  generosity 
and  trustfulness  towards  those  whose  thoughts  and 
ways  belong  to  another  generation  than  one's  own. 
It  may  be  that  from  those  two  great  truths,  in  whose 
light  St.  John  forgets  the  difference  of  age  and  youth, 
some  help  may  come ;  help,  perhaps,  only  the  deeper 
and  surer  for  coming  indirectly ;  for  telling  rather  on 
ourselves  than  on  our  difficulties.  In  our  own  hearts, 
or  in  the  history  of  the  past,  we  may  discover  some  of 
the  faults  that  darken  counsel  and  make  men  prone  to 
misunderstand  and  to  suspect  each  other;  such  faults  as 
pride,  impatience,  wilf  ulness,  despondency ;  or,  issuing 
more  or  less  from  these,  that  fear  of  being  beaten 
which  makes  men  withhold  the  opposition  which  they 
should  have  offered;  the  dread  of  being  wounded  or 
of  seeming  slighted;  the  exaggeration  of  fragments  till 
they  seem  the  whole  truth  ;  the  disinclination  to  keep 
judgment  in  suspense;  the  failure  to  allow  for  that 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  275 

which  may  be  hidden  in  the  unexplored ;  the  love  of 
symmetry,  or  paradox,  or  epigram ;  reluctance  or  pre 
varication  in  acknowledging  one's  blunders.  Surely 
we  may  be  stronger  to  resist  such  things  as  these  if 
we  realize  the  seriousness  and  urgency  that  is  dis 
closed  in  human  life  since  Christ  was  crucified  that 
man  might  be  forgiven,  and  the  strength  of  hope 
that  should  abound  in  those  who  know  the  Fatherhood 
of  God.  "  Your  sins  are  forgiven  you  for  His  Name's 
sake:"  the  words  recall  to  us  our  deepest  need,  our 
uttermost  unworthiness ;  but  in  the  same  moment  they 
lead  us  to  the  Cross ;  and  there  falls  on  life  an  awe  in 
which  the  thoughts  of  self-esteem  and  self-assertion,  of 
vanity  and  petulance,  die  down  for  very  shame.  "  Ye 
know  the  Father : "  infinite  in  power  and  in  wisdom 
and  in  goodness :  ever  watching  over  this  world,  and 
working  out  in  many  ways  the  will  of  love : — how, 
then,  is  it  possible  to  be  faint-hearted  or  despondent, 
or  to  doubt  that  in  the  coming  years  His  glory  shall 
appear  as  in  the  ages  that  are  past  ?  Let  us  fasten 
our  thoughts  upon  the  Cross  of  Christ  and  lift  our 
hearts  to  our  Father  Which  is  in  heaven ;  and  we  may 
find  it  easier  with  reverence  and  self-distrust  simply 
to  do  what  work  we  can,  to  be  patient  under  the 
discipline  of  incompleteness  and  obscurity,  and  to 
hope  that  much  which  we  think  strange  and  un- 


276  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

promising,  much  even  which,  so  far  as  we  can  judge, 
we  feel  bound  in  duty  to  resist,  may  have  its  hidden 
purpose  and  value  in  His  sight.  And  as  the  evening 
of  life  falls  on  us,  He  will  guard  us  from  the  true 
sadness  of  old  age :  from 

"  The  inward  change 
On  mind  and  will  and  feelings  wrought ; 

The  narrowing  of  affection's  range, 
The  stiffness  that  impedes  the  thought ; 

The  lapse  of  joy  from  less  to  less, 

The  daily  deepening  loneliness."  l 

He  will  save  us  from  all  this;  and,  if  it  please 
Him,  give  us  grace  to  say  our  Nunc  Dimittis  with 
unfading  hope :  thankful  to  believe  that  our  eyes 
have  seen  His  salvation,  and  that  He  Who  has  shown 
us,  unworthy  as  we  are,  some  fragment  of  His  work, 
may  grant  to  those  who  shall  come  after  us  to  see  His 
glory. 

V.  I  was  led  to  speak  of  these  things  by  the  thought 
of  him  in  whose  stead  I  have  been  suffered  to  come 
here  to-day.3  We  are  slowly  learning  at  Oxford  as 
this  term  goes  on  what  we  have  lost  by  Aubrey 
Moore's  death.  We  knew  how  rare  a  mind  his  was, 

1  W.  Bright,  "  lona  and  other  Verses,"  p.  148. 

2  The  Kev.  Aubrey  L.   Moore,  Hon.  Canon  of  Christ   Church, 
Oxford,  Tutor  of  Magdalen  and  of  Keble  College,  who  was  to  have 
preached  the  University  Sermon  on  the  Sunday  on  which  this  sermon 
wag  preached.    He  died  on  January  17,  1890. 


OLD  AND    YOUNG.  277 

how  true  and  resolute  and  fearless  and  delightful  he 
had  always  been  ;  but  we  hardly  realized,  I  think,  at 
how  many  points  we  should  find  ourselves  longing 
in  vain  to  hear  his  voice:  and  to  some  of  us  it 
seems  as  though  Oxford  can  never  be  to  us  as  it  was 
while  he  was  there,  to  bring  clearness  and  courage 
into  all  perplexities,  and  to  enrich  all  interests  and 
hopes. 

God  gave  us  many  blessings  through  his  life.  But 
in  nothing,  perhaps,  was  he  more  singular  and  noble 
than  in  the  power  he  had  of  delighting  with  equal 
generosity,  equal  helpfulness,  in  the  best  qualities,  the 
distinctive  excellences,  of  men  of  all  ages.  Very  few, 
I  think,  can  enter  so  thoroughly  as  he  did  into  minds 
so  widely  diverse.  It  seemed  as  though  his  vivid 
and  penetrating  intellect  were  lifted  by  great  moral 
qualities  to  a  level  where  it  could  work  in  steady 
victory  over  the  faults  and  blunders  which  so  often 
spoil  the  worth  and  limit  the  beneficence  of  mental 
brilliancy.  Thoroughness,  reverence,  consistency, 
humility,  patience,  unworldliness, — these  seemed,  by 
God's  grace,  ever  growing  in  him;  these  made  the 
keenest  mind  that  I  have  ever  known  to  be  always 
bringing  help  and  gladness  alike  to  old  and  young. 
His  love  for  truth  was,  I  think,  like  that  which 
Francis  of  Assisi  bore  to  poverty :  he  would  always 


278  OLD  AND    YOUNG. 

go  where  truth  led:  for  truth,  he  knew,  could  not 
betray  him :  and  it  seemed  in  his  work  as  though 
indeed  his  love  for  truth  had  cast  out  fear.  May 
God,  from  Whom  all  good  gifts  come,  grant  to  His 
Church  in  the  needs  that  now  are  on  us  and  in  those 
which  seem  swiftly  to  be  drawing  near,  some  who 
will  work  for  her  as  Aubrey  Moore  was  working :  in 
steadfastness  and  self-control,  in  courage  and  simplicity 
and  love. 


XIX 

SIN   AND   LAW. 

"The  sting  of  death  is  sin ;  and  the  strength  of  sin  is  th« 
law." 

1  COB.  xv.  56. 

THE  first  aspect  of  these  words  is  clear  and  vivid. 
They  come  before  us  and  demand  attention  with  a 
power  to  which  neither  the  simplest  nor  the  most 
critical  mind  can  be  insensible.  There  is  something 
deep  in  them  which  goes  straight  to  something  deep 
in  us.  The  rough  lad  who  hears  them  read  at  his 
father's  funeral  in  the  village  church  may  know 
where  they  touch  him,  and  what  it  is  they  ask  of 
him ;  the  priest  who  reads  them  may  be  feeling  how 
no  familiarity  changes  in  the  very  least  the  sharpness 
and  penetration  of  their  challenge  ;  the  most  thought 
less  may  be  finding  that  for  once  he  cannot  choose 
but  stay  to  think.  "  The  sting  of  death  is  sin ; " — we 
may  say  what  we  will,  we  may  almost  do  or  think 
what  we  will;  but  while  we  live,  and  know  that  we 


280  S2N  AND  LAW. 

must  die,  those  words  will  keep,  please  God,  some 
power  to  get  at  us  and  to  recall  us  to  ourselves. 

I.  The  warning  and  the  challenge,  then,  with 
which  we  are  at  once  confronted,  may  be  plain 
enough.  But  a  change  comes  as  soon  as  we  begin 
to  look  into  the  words — to  try  to  frame  a  definite 
conception  of  the  truth  which  was  filling  St.  Paul's 
mind  and  ruling  all  his  thoughts  as  he  wrote.  We 
cannot  be  content  with  discovering  expressions  more 
or  less  analogous  in  his  other  letters :  for  here  the 
words  fall  within  the  strong  inclusive  hold  of  a  great 
purpose;  and  parallel  passages  elsewhere  may  be 
suggestive,  but  can  hardly  be  decisive  in  regarc  to 
their  dominant  and  inmost  meaning.  And  as  we  try 
to  keep  our  minds  fixed  upon  them,  as  we  labour  to 
think  out  into  clearness  and  reality  some  answer  to 
the  question  in  what  sense  is  sin  the  sting  of  death, 
and  the  law  the  strength  of  sin,  we  may  feel  that  we 
are  touching  truths  which  we  can  never  grasp ;  that 
behind  the  words  we  use  are  vast,  mysterious  pre 
sences,  whose  import  and  issues  and  interdependence 
we  can  only  know  in  part;  and  that  the  fragment 
we  discern  shades  off  into  depths  and  distances  far 
beyond  our  ken.  What  sin  and  death  and  law  may 
in  the  fulness  of  their  meaning  be,  we  cannot  tell ; 
and  that  partial  apprehension  which,  if  we  are 


SIN  AND  LA  W.  281 

faithful  and  obedient,  suffices  amply  for  the  guidance 
of  life,  the  discipline  of  character,  and  the  increase 
of  light,  will  not  suffice  us  if  we  want  at  once  to 
round  our  thoughts  into  a  system  or  to  answer  all 
the  questions  we  can  ask.  "The  sting  of  death  is 
sin ; " — it  would  be  hard  to  say  how  far  St.  Paul  is 
thinking  of  that  unnatural  power  which  accrued  to 
death l  when  man  fell  and  sin  entered  into  the 
world ;  when,  as  one  has  said,2  "  by  sin  death  became 
a  king,  and  got  him  a  dominion,  pale,  hideous,  ter 
rible;"  when  "he  clothed  himself  with  terrors,  and 
made  himself  a  palace  of  mankind."  Again,  it  would 
be  hard  to  say  how  far  the  Apostle  is  thinking  of 
that  more  awful  scene  which  lies  beyond  the  day  of 
death ;  how  far,  as  he  speaks  of  death,  he  links  with 
it  that  certainty  of  the  judgment  to  come  which 
could  shake  even  the  mean  and  lustful  heart  of 
Felix  with  a  terror  that  he  could  not  hide.  And 
then,  "  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law : "  here  again 
many  lines  of  thought  are  suggested  when  one  reflects 
that  probably  about  twelve  months  after  he  wrote 
these  words  St.  Paul  was  writing  the  Epistle  to  the 
Romans ;  though  I  venture  to  think  that  such  sug 
gestions  must  be  treated  as  subordinate  to  the  de- 

1  Of.  St.  Athanasius,  "  De  Incarnations  Verbi,"  iii.-v. 

*  Cf.  Bishop  Milman,  "  The  Love  of  the  Atonement,"  p.  38. 


282  SIN  AND  LA  W. 

mands  of  the  passage  in  which  the  words  here  stand, 
and  to  their  close  connection  with  the  preceding 
clause; — so  that  we  must  not  lose  hold  upon  the 
thought  that  in  some  especial  way  it  is  to  be  the 
sting  of  death  that  sin  is  made  strong  by  the  law. 
Thus  many  avenues  of  meditation  open  out  before 
us  as  we  gaze  into  the  depths  beyond  the  words :  and 
each,  it  may  be,  looks  as  though  it  stretched  further 
than  our  utmost  strength  of  penetration.  It  is  with 
consciousness  of  this  that  I  would  try  to  speak  this 
morning  only  of  one  fragmentary  thought,  which 
seems  to  rise  out  of  the  words,  and  which  at  times, 
perhaps,  may  bring,  by  God's  grace,  something  of 
their  force  to  bear  on  our  lives. 

II.  "  The  sting  of  death  is  sin ;  and  the  strength  of 
sin  is  the  law."  Yes :  for  "  sin  is  lawlessness."  1 
Those  words  of  St.  John's  carry  us  to  the  inner  and 
unvarying  character  of  sin:  whatever  outward  form 
it  wears  this  is  the  common,  constant  quality  of  it ; 
this  we  shall  find  at  the  heart  of  it.  It  is,  says  the 
Bishop  of  Durham,  "  the  assertion  of  the  selfish  will 
against  a  paramount  authority.  He  who  sins  breaks 
not  only  by  accident  or  in  an  isolated  detail,  but 
essentially  the  '  law '  which  he  was  created  to  fulfil." a 

1  St.  John  iii.  4. 

*  Of.  Bishop  Westcott  on  the  Epistles  of  St.  John,  tn  loco. 


SIN  AND  LA  W.  283 

It  may  be  "  the  law  of  his  own  personal  being,  or  the 
law  of  his  relation  to  things  without  him,  or  the  law 
of  his  relation  to  God : "  for  we  may  distinguish 
these  three,  though  all  alike  proceed  from  God,  as 
rays  from  the  central  light  of  His  Eternal  Law,  and 
though  none  can  be  broken  without  infringement 
upon  all  But  whether  it  be  primarily  against  his 
own  inner  life  and  health  and  growth  that  a  man 
sins,  or  against  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  or 
against  Almighty  God  Who  is  waiting  to  have  mercy 
on  him — whether  it  be  the  love  of  God,  or  the  love 
of  man,  or  the  true  unselfish  love  of  self,  that  he 
disregards  and  casts  aside  in  sloth  or  wilfulness  or 
passion ;  in  every  case  the  ultimate,  the  characteristic 
note  of  his  sin  is  still  the  same:  it  is  lawlessness* 
it  is  the  abuse  of  will,  thrusting  away  the  task, 
declining  from  the  effort,  refusing  the  sacrifice 
wherein  lay  the  next  step  towards  the  end  of  life, 
the  man's  one  raison  d'etre:  it  is  the  distortion  of 
faculties,  the  wrenching  aside  of  energy,  the  per- 
rersion  of  a  trust  from  the  purpose  marked  upon 
it,  from  the  design  which  conscience  seldom,  if  ever, 
wholly  ceases  to  attest,  to  a  morbid  use,  to  a  senseless 
squandering,  a  listless,  wasteful,  indolent  neglect,  a 
self-chosen  and  self-centred  aim.  Whether  the  sin 
be  quiet  or  flagrant,  brutal  or  refined,  secret  or 


284  SIN  AND  LAW. 

flaunting,  arrogant  or  faint-hearted,  its  deep  dis 
tinctive  quality,  its  badness  and  its  power  for  havoc 
lie  in  this — that  the  man  will  not  have  law  to  reign 
over  him;  that  he  will  do  what  he  wills  with  that 
which  is  not  in  truth  his  own ;  that  he  is  acting,  or 
idling,  in  contempt  of  the  law  which  conditions  the 
great  gift  of  life,  and  is  involved  in  his  tenure  of  it. 

(a)  "  Sin  is  lawlessness : "  and  to  persist  in  any  sin 
is  to  go  on,  with  ever-increasing  ease  and  senseless 
ness  it  may  be,  beating  off  the  everlasting  Law, 
ignoring  or  defying  the  essential  rules  of  moral 
health  and  spiritual  growth,  rejecting  in  the  Law 
the  Lawgiver  Who  created  us  to  find  in  its  ways 
our  joy  and  strength.  So  do  men  go  on  who  sin 
against  the  law  of  their  own  personal  being.  For 
instance,  let  us  mark  for  a  moment  that  dull  rebellion 
of  lawless  thoughts ;  the  perverseness,  the  ever-deepen 
ing  disorder  of  a  mind  that  swerves  from  its  true  calling 
wilfully  to  loiter  or  to  brood  about  the  thoughts  of 
sin ;  about  thoughts  of  sensuality,  or  of  jealousy,  or 
of  self-conceit.  The  high  faculties  of  memory,  reflec 
tion,  fancy,  observation,  are  dragged  down  from  their 
great  task:  day  by  day  the  field  for  their  lawful 
exercise  is  spread  out  before  them:  all  the  wonder, 
the  beauty,  the  mystery,  the  sadness,  the  dignity 
and  wretchedness,  the  endless  interests  and  endless 


SIN  AND  LAW.  285 

opportunities  of  human  life  and  of  the  scene  which 
it  is  crossing — these  are  ever  coming  before  the 
mind  which  God  created  to  enter  into  them,  to  find 
its  work  and  training  and  delight  and  growth  amidst 
them :  while  over  all  His  creatures,  He  Himself,  the 
Most  High  God,  is  ready  to  lead  on  the  mind  fiom 
strength  to  strength,  preparing  it  for  that  surpassing 
sight  in  which  it  may  hereafter  find  its  ceaseless 
exercise  and  perfect  rest — the  sight  of  His  uncreated 
glory.  Such  is  its  lawful  course :  such  are  the  good 
works  which  God  has  prepared  for  it  to  walk  in: 
whatever  may  by  nature  be  its  strength  or  weakness, 
He  will  enable  it  by  grace  for  such  an  end  as  this. 
And  yet,  all  the  while,  in  the  dismal  lawlessness  of 
sin,  it  stays  to  grovel  among  the  hateful  thoughts 
of  mean,  degrading  vices ;  or  turns  day  after  day  to 
keep  awake  the  memory  of  some  sullen  grudge,  some 
fancied  slight ;  to  tend  the  smoky  flame  of  some  dull, 
unreasonable  hatred:  or  to  dwell  on  its  own  poor 
achievements,  its  fancied  excellences,  the  scraps  of 
passing  praise  that  have  been  given  to  it,  the  dignity 
that  its  self  -  consciousness  is  making  laughable. 
Surely  it  is  terrible  to  think  that  a  man  may  so  go 
on,  and  so  grow  old,  continually  stumbling  further 
and  further  from  the  law  of  his  own  joy  and  health. 
(b)  Let  us  mark,  again,  in  the  case  of  luxury,  how 


286  SIN  AND  LAW. 

a  man  may  refuse  year  after  year  to  listen  to  the  law 
of  his  relation  to  his  fellow-men;  how  he  may  be 
ever  putting  off  until  the  end  of  this  life  the  day  of 
reckoning  with  that  law  which  God  fastened  into  his 
very  nature  when  He  framed  him  for  the  privilege, 
the  happiness,  the  responsibilities  of  a  social  being. 
To  gather  round  one's  self,  in  ever-growing  plenty 
and  elaboration,  all  the  means  of  comfort  and 
pleasure  which  civilization  brings  within  one's 
reach ;  to  shelter,  and  enrich,  and  decorate,  and  soothe 
one's  daily  life  with  the  outcome  of  others'  toil  and 
ingenuity ;  to  take  whatever  one  can  get  of  all  that 
has  been  won  by  the  labour,  the  experience,  the 
inventiveness,  the  suffering  of  the  past  and  of  the 
present ; — to  let  all  this  flow  towards  one  for  the  ease, 
the  pride,  or  the  pleasantness  of  one's  own  lot,  and 
then  to  make  no  real  contribution  to  the  work  of 
one's  own  day ; — to  shirk  one's  share  of  hardship  and 
fatigue,  to  bear  no  part,  with  whatever  gifts  one  has, 
in  the  painful  efforts,  the  unselfish  ventures,  the 
exacting  strain  of  mind  or  body  to  their  utmost 
strength,  through  which  the  social  order,  that  makes 
all  this  comfort  possible,  may  move  on  its  slow, 
costly  course  of  progress  towards  a  better,  juster, 
happier,  more  peaceful  state: — how  can  a  life  like 
this  seem  other  than  a  continual  lawlessness ;  a  plain 


SIN  AND  LAW.  287 

abuse  of  the  conditions  of  one's  place  among  man 
kind;  an  unnatural  absorption  of  that  which  one  is 
suffered  to  receive  only  in  order  that,  only  so  far  as, 
it  may  make  one  better  able  to  repay  one's  due  and 
thankful  tribute  to  the  welfare  of  others?  It  may 
be  possible  for  some  of  us  to  thrust  off  that  demand, 
to  keep  that  law  of  social  life  at  arm's  length,  as  it 
were,  year  after  year;  it  is  possible  for  most  of  us 
to  meet  it  with  miserable  inadequacy,  with  glaring 
disproportion  between  that  which  we  receive  and 
all  that  in  any  way  we  give.  But  conscience  wit 
nesses  that  wilful  luxury  is  lawlessness;  and  that 
those  who  go  on  fancying  that  more  and  more  is 
necessary  or  reasonable  for  themselves,  while  they 
think  less  and  less  of  what  is  certainly  necessary  for 
others,  must  somehow  have  to  meet  the  Nemesis  of 
violated  law.  For  "the  poor  shall  not  alway  be 
forgotten :  the  patient  abiding  of  the  meek  shall  not 
perish  for  ever  " — and  "  the  Helper  of  the  friendless  " 
cannot  in  the  end  let  man  have  the  upper  hand. 

(c)  Or  think  again  of  the  lawlessness  of  a  prayer- 
less  life :  the  disorder,  the  disproportion,  the  atrophy 
and  wasting  that  must  come  when  the  faculty  for 
communion  with  God  is  never  used,  and  love,  the 
first  law  of  our  relation  to  Him,  is  never  stirred  by 
the  realization  of  His  Presence,  the  recollection  of 


288  SIN  AND  LAW. 

His  Love.  The  nature  that  is  endued  with  the 
capacity  for  prayer,  the  soul  that  can  be  filled  with 
the  disclosure  of  His  Goodness,  the  life  that  was  meant 
to  find  its  highest  exercise,  its  point  of  illumination, 
its  way  to  rise,  in  seeking  Him,  cannot  without  hurt 
refuse  all  this.  Prayer  is,  for  spiritual  beings,  a  law 
of  health — a  law  which  we  may  put  back  and  ignore 
persistently  in  this  life  if  we  will,  but  which  we  cannot 
change.  The  desire  to  pray  may  disappear,  just  as 
for  a  lazy  man  there  may  cease  to  be  any  pleasure  in 
the  healthy  use  of  his  limbs :  like  him,  we  may  find 
it  hard,  distasteful  work  at  first  to  take  up  again  what 
we  have  long  abandoned.  But  if  we  yield  to  that 
distaste,  if  we  acquiesce  in  our  inertness,  we  are  with 
holding  the  effort  which  an  essential  law  of  our  life 
demands  from  us ;  silently  and  sluggishly,  or  in  im 
patience  and  vexation,  we  are  saying  that  we  will  not 
have  law  to  reign  over  us.1  God  bids  the  soul  press  on 
to  claim  its  goodly  heritage;  and  the  soul  of  the 
prayerless  thinks  scorn  of  that  pleasant  land  and 
gives  no  credence  to  His  Word.  And  so  that  which 
was  made  for  Him  is  imprisoned  in  the  world ;  that 
which  should  hunger  and  thirst  after  His  Bight- 

1  "  Faculties  without  any  acquired  habits  witness  for  God  and  con 
demn  us."  Benjamin  Whichcote,  quoted  by  Bishop  Westcott,  "Be« 
ligious  Thought  in  the  West,"  p.  385. 


AND  LAW.  289 

eousness  is  set  to  make  what  it  can  of  the  substitutes 
which  this  life  offers ;  that  which  can  receive  the 
Infinite  and  the  Eternal  Love  is  silenced  with  the 
things  of  sense  and  time. 

III.  Our  own  personal  being,  our  relation  to  society, 

our  relation  to  Almighty  God ;  each  has,  we  know,  its 

law :  and  great  is  the  peace  that  they  have  who  love 

that  law ;  and  those  who  seek  it,  walk  at  liberty.    But 

while  this  life  lasts,  for  its  few  precarious  years,  we 

can,  if  so  we  will,  dispute,  reject,  evade,  ignore  the  law. 

But  not  for  ever ;  we  must  meet  and  own  it  some  day : 

for  lawlessness  is  sin ;  and  sin,  if  we  are  not  trying  now 

by  the  grace  of  God  to  deal  with  it,  must  be  the  sting 

of  death.    For,  surely,  when  we  try  to  think  what  the 

moral  law  is,  and  where,  as  men  in  every  age  have 

owned,  it  lives  and  has  its  being,  it  is  hard  to  see  how 

we  can  demur  to  words  like  these :  "  Those  things  that 

are  held  within  the  vault  of  heaven,  cannot  flee  from 

heaven  save  by  drawing  near  to  it ;  for  howsoever  far 

they  go  from  the  one  part  of  heaven,  by  so  much  do  they 

approach  the  other  part.     And  even  so,  though  a  man 

will  not  be  obedient  to  the  Divine  will  and  ordinance, 

yet  can  he  not  flee  from  it ;  for  if  he  sets  himself  to  flee 

from  under  the  will  that  bids,  he  runs  under  the  will 

that  punishes." l    We  cannot  think,  if  we  try  to  think 

1  Cf.  St.  Anselm,  «  Cur  Dens  Homo,'  I.  xv.    Also  Hooker,  •<  Of  the 

U 


290  SIN  AND  LAW. 

at  all,  that  the  soul,  when  it  has  done  with  this  world, 
can  go  on  trifling  with  the  laws  that  it  has  slighted 
here :  we  know  that  sooner  or  later,  somehow  or  other, 
that  essential  demand,  "Fast  linked  as  Thy  great 
Name  to  Thee,  O  Lord,"  must  needs  be  reckoned  with ; 
and  that  the  career  of  wilfulness  must  have  an  end. 
And  Death,  as  it  comes  among  us,  ought  to  make  us 
think  of  this.  For  it  is  the  great,  indisputable  witness 
of  the  arrest  of  wilfulness,  the  folly  of  a  lawless  will. 
In  its  awful  steadfastness,  its  refusal  of  all  compro 
mise,  resource,  appeal,  evasion,  it  shadows  forth,  as 
nothing  else  in  this  world,  the  ultimate  certainty  of 
law.  No  man,  however  rich,  or  powerful,  or  insolent,  or 
ingenious,  can  for  one  instant  say  it  nay,  or  make  the 
smallest  difference  in  the  way  it  deals  with  him  ;  the 
traveller  might  as  well  attempt  to  check  the  avalanche 
that  is  already  thundering  upon  the  fields  of  ice  and 
snow  above  the  ledge  of  rock  on  which  he  stands. 
We  may  come  to  terms  with  many  of  our  troubles : 
almost  all  bodily  pain  may  now  be  more  or  less  alle 
viated,  though  not  quite  all ;  when  sorrow  comes,  some 
of  us  may  perhaps  be  able  to  divert  our  minds  from 
it,  or  to  harden  our  hearts  ;  we  may  refuse  to  face  the 
difficulties  of  our  day,  and  make  up  phrases  to  con 
ceal  its  miseries ; — and  civilization  has  made  many 

Laws  of  Ecclesiastical  Polity,"  I.  iii.  1,  and  note ;  St.  Thomas  Aquinas, 
S.  Th.  1«»  2^,  xciii.  6. 


SIN  AND  LAW.  291 

inventions  for  prolonging  the  comfort  of  a  selfish 
life;  but  there  is  no  way  of  making  terms  with 
Death ;  and  when  he  comes,  the  utmost  wealth  has 
nothing  to  offer  which  he  is  not  already  clutching. 
Abruptly  the  sheer  certainty  of  law  breaks  in  among 
our  confusions,  and  half-heartedness,  and  crooked 
ways :  away  go  all  the  subterfuges,  the  half-truths, 
the  means  of  forgetfulness  whereby  men  get  off  facing 
facts ;  and  the  puny,  lawless,  wilful  heart  is  brought 
to  book.  Even  if  it  could  mean  nothing  more  than 
this,  that  we  are  left  to  be  for  evermore  what  we  have 
chosen  to  become,  how  could  we  bear  to  think  of  it  ? 

IV.  It  is  amidst  such  thoughts  as  these  that  we 
may  come  to  know  the  meaning  and  the  power  of 
the  Cross  of  Christ,  and  the  exceeding  great  love  of 
our  Master  and  only  Saviour  dying  for  us.  You  will 
remember  what  are  the  words  that  follow  those  of 
which  we  have  been  thinking,  "  The  sting  of  death  is 
sin ;  and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law.  But  thanks 
be  to  God,  Which  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ." — St.  Paul  had  known  that  grace 
of  repentance,  that  power  of  renewal  which  the 
astounding  Love  of  God  had  sent  into  the  world 
For  him,  old  things  were  passed  away,  and  all  things 
were  become  new ;  he  had  found  that  penetrating 
reality  of  pardon  which  changes  the  whole  look  of 


292  SM  AND  LAW. 

life  and  death ;  and  amidst  the  things  of  time  his 
conversation  was  in  heaven.  And  so  he  springs  in 
an  instant  from  the  awful  thoughts  of  sin  and 
death  to  the  unhindered  gladness  of  thanksgiving. 
Thousands  since  then  have  known,  in  part  at  least, 
what  he  knew  of  God's  victorious  and  pardoning 
grace ;  and  we,  in  His  infinite  compassion,  may  know 
it  too :  for  us,  too,  He  has  stored  within  His  Church 
the  means  of  that  great  deliverance,  the  power  of 
that  glad  renewal.  Yes,  for  all  the  past,  for  all  our 
lawlessness  and  shame  and  backwardness,  St.  Paul's 
thanksgiving  may  be  ours  yet.  Only  it  is  good,  it  is 
necessary,  for  us  to  remember  what  was  the  life,  the 
habit  of  mind  and  work,  out  of  which  those  thankful 
and  triumphant  words  arose  in  the  very  face  of  death. 
It  was  the  life  of  one  who  lived  by  the  faith  of  the 
Son  of  God ;  as  the  slave  of  all  men,  constrained  by 
the  love  of  Christ ;  in  weariness  and  painfulness,  and 
in  much  patience  ;  as  poor,  yet  making  many  rich,  as 
having  nothing  and  yet  possessing  all  things :  one 
who  counted  not  his  life  dear  unto  himself,  that  he 
might  finish  his  course  with  joy,  and  the  ministry 
which  he  had  received ;  and  who,  having  suffered 
the  loss  of  all  things  that  he  might  win  Christ,  still 
in  all  simplicity  and  truth  could  only  judge  himself 
to  be  the  chief  of  sinners. 


XX. 


THE   LIGHT   IN   THE   DARKNESS. 

"The  light  shiueth  in  darkness;  and  the  darkness  com 
prehended  it  not." 

ST.  JOHN  i.  5. 

IT  is  hard  to  say  with  any  certainty  what  is  the 
exact  meaning  of  the  latter  part  of  this  verse.  St. 
John  is  speaking  of  the  way  in  which  the  life  of 
sinful  men  has  been  visited  and  penetrated  by  the 
light  of  God.  And  as  his  gaze  travels  back  over 
the  years  that  are  past,  he  marks  one  constant  sign 
of  God's  long-suffering.  "The  light  is  shining  in 
the  darkness;"  in  the  midst  of  all  the  gloom  that 
has  fallen  on  the  world  he  can  discern  an  ever- 
present  gleam  of  brightness.1  And  then,  it  seems, 
he  looks  back  to  a  past  stage,  or  passes,  it  may  be, 
from  point  to  point,  in  the  history  of  the  relation 
between  the  darkness  and  the  light.  How  has  the 
Divine  radiance  been  met  and  dealt  with  by  the 
1  Cf.  Bishop  Westcott,  in  looo. 


294  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS. 

obscurity  it  has  thus  invaded  ?  "  The  darkness,"  St 
John  writes,  "laid  no  hold  on  it."  The  word  he 
uses  may  have  either  of  two  meanings,  and  they 
are  meanings  which  point  to  diverse  lines  of  thought. 
On  the  one  hand,  the  purport  may  be  that  the 
darkness  did  not  grasp  the  light,  did  not  apprehend 
it  or  lay  hold  on  it  as  a  prize  or  a  possession, 
but,  as  it  were,  stood  apart  from  it,  as  alien  or 
indifferent,  or  without  capacity  for  it,  as  rejecting 
or  disregarding  it.  Or,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
picture,  the  associations,  which  the  word  is  meant 
to  raise,  may  be  of  a  different  kind;  it  may  touch 
the  note  of  triumph  rather  than  of  pathos ;  it  may 
suggest  thoughts  of  the  enmity  that  has  been  baffled 
rather  than  of  the  blessing  that  has  been  missed; 
the  darkness,  it  may  mean,  did  not  overtake  the 
light,  did  not  come  down  on  it,  or  close  in  on  it, 
so  as  to  enwrap  and  overwhelm  it.  It  was  not  as 
the  night  that  falls  upon  the  earth,  enshrouding, 
hiding  it,  ~and  hindering  the  traveller  on  his  road, 
the  labourer  in  his  work.  No,  the  darkness  men 
had  gathered  round  them  had  no  such  power  over 
the  light  of  God;  it  was  arrested  and  kept  back 
by  that  unearthly  brightness,  and  it  "laid  no  hold 
on  it." 

The  word,  then,  which  St.  John  employs  may  have 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS.  295 

either  of  these  two  meanings.  The  balance  of  evi 
dence  and  likelihood  seems,  on  the  whole,  in  favour 
of  the  second ;  but  the  first  also  is  upheld  with  argu 
ments  which  cannot  be  explained  away,  which  retain 
real  force,  even  though  it  may  be  less  than  that  which 
is  found  on  the  other  side.  In  such  a  case  we  might 
fairly  take  from  each  of  the  two  meanings  so  much 
of  its  teaching  as  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  other. 
But  we  are  on  firmer  ground  if  we  can  penetrate  to 
the  thought  which  underlies  them  both — the  broad 
and  deep  conception  with  which  the  word,  in  its  first 
and  simplest  import,  spans  their  difference.  And  they 
meet,  it  seems,  in  laying  stress  on  the  strange  truth 
that  is  told  us  in  the  first  half  of  the  verse:  in 
developing,  as  it  were;  the  paradox  which  St.  John 
has  just  set  forth — "The  light  is  shining  in  the  dark 
ness."  We  have  never  realised,  perhaps,  the  strange 
ness  of  the  phrase.  We  think  at  once  of  the  light 
streaming  through  the  gloom  into  which  it  has  been 
brought,  as  the  sunshine  rushes  into  a  dark  room 
when  the  shutters  are  thrown  back.  But  this  is  not 
what  St.  John  sees  as  he  watches  the  sinful  world 
that  "  the  dayspring  from  on  high  has  visited."  No, 
the  light,  he  says,  "  is  shining  in  the  darkness."  The 
light  is  there,  but  the  darkness  is  not  swept  away ; 
the  darkness  is  still  thick  and  heavy,  but  the  light  i3 


296  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS. 

not  bereft  of  its  purity  and  splendour.  In  the  history, 
the  course  of  life,  at  which  St.  John  is  gazing,  he 
discerns  them  both,  plain  and  unblent,  retaining  each 
its  own  character  in  the  presence  of  the  other.  Of 
any  shifting  of  the  border-line  between  them  he  does 
not  speak  as  yet :  elsewhere  he  points  to  that.  "  The 
darkness,"  he  can  say,  "  is  passing  away." 1  But  here 
his  mind  seems  dwelling  only  upon  this:  that  the 
light  is  there,  and  the  darkness  too.  And,  he  adds, 
as  though  to  insist  upon  the  paradox  which  guards 
the  truth,  "  The  darkness  laid  no  hold  upon  the  light." 
There  had  been  moments,  perhaps,  in  the  "  glad,  con 
fident  morning "  of  the  Church's  life  when  it  seemed 
as  though  the  darkness  swiftly  might  lay  hold  upon 
the  light,  and  be  transformed  by  apprehending  it; 
and  certainly  there  had  been  times  when  it  was  hard 
for  faith  to  keep  at  bay  the  thought  that  the  dark 
ness  was  closing  in  upon  the  light  to  overwhelm  it. 
Kor  St.  John  had  stood  by  the  Cross  of  Jesus ;  he  had 
seen  that  appalling  semblance  of  successful  hatred; 
he  had  felt  again  the  sickening  desolateness  of 
the  oppressed  as  Nero's  persecution  broke  upon  the 
Church ;  he  had  known,  it  may  be,  the  yet  drearier 
and  more  disheartening  misery,  as  the  storm  that  had 
gone  by  rolled  back  again  under  Domitian's  savage 

1  1  St.  John  ii.  8. 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS.  207 

tyranny ;  and  he  had  had  to  bear  that  which  must  be 
the  keenest  trial  of  courage  in  old  age,  to  see  fresh 
perils  ever  gathering  round  those  who  had  not  known, 
who  could  not  know,  what  he  knew.  And  thus  the 
solemnity  of  bygone  anguish,  of  conviction  deepened 
through  much  tribulation,  may  have  filled  his  heart, 
and  touched  his  very  hopefulness  with  awe  and  stern 
ness,  as  with  the  retrospect  of  such  a  life  he  wrote  : — 
"  The  light  is  shining  in  the  darkness,  and  the  dark 
ness  laid  no  hold  upon  it." 

"  The  light  is  shining  in  the  darkness  " — the  light, 
unconquered;  the  darkness,  undispelled.  It  seems 
indeed  a  paradox.  Yet,  as  we  fix  our  thoughts  upon 
it,  we  may  well  forget  its  strangeness  in  the  sense  of 
its  exact  correspondence  with  the  facts  of  actual 
experience.  For  surely  this  is  still  the  task,  the 
test  of  faith,  and  truthfulness,  and  patience  —  to 
recognize  alike  the  darkness  and  the  light  in  human 
life;  to  realize,  with  equal  justice,  equal  sincerity, 
the  necessity  there  is  for  shame  and  fear,  and  the 
cause  there  is  for  hope ;  on  neither  side  to  trifle 
with  the  facts :  to  own  both  the  actual  intensity  of 
the  darkness,  and  the  actual  energy  of  the  light  that 
shines  in  it.  In  various  ways  it  brings  a  heavy 
strain  on  a  man's  faith  to  realize  the  strength,  the 
malignity,  the  subtlety  of  evil  in  the  world.  Many 


298  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS. 

of  us,  it  may  be,  can  recall  the  way  in  which,  when 
we  were  young,  older  men  received  at  times  some 
utterance  on  our  part  of  easy  hopefulness.  With 
out  being  either  cynical  or  despondent,  they  yet 
made  us  feel,  perhaps,  that  they  had  passed  through 
something  which  we  had  yet  to  face,  and  that  we 
should  probably  find  the  exercise  of  hope  a  more 
difficult  and  expensive  duty  as  we  went  on.  They 
looked  at  us  somewhat  as  an  experienced  guide  is 
apt  to  look  at  anything  like  jauntiness  in  the  earlier 
stages  of  a  long  expedition.  Their  confidence,  very 
likely,  went  with  ours  and  rested  on  the  same 
grounds;  but  they  had  known  and  we  had  yet  to 
learn  how  strong  and  massive  are  the  forces  of  dis 
couragement.  The  cruelty  of  lust  and  avarice,  the 
brutal  insolence  of  strength  or  riches ;  the  miserable 
passions  that  break  out  when  conventional  restraints 
are  loosened;  the  madness  of  unreasonable,  unfor 
giving  hatred ;  the  insincerity  that  can  live  on  under 
fair  words  and  religious  profession ; — it  tries  the 
justice,  the  balance  of  a  man's  mind  and  heart  when 
these  things  first  come  home  to  him,  not  in  plays  or 
novels,  not  as  studies  of  character  by  moralists  or 
poets,  not  merely  in  the  history  of  the  past,  but  in 
the  urgent,  irrepressible  experience  of  his  own  life. 
It  tempts  him  to  despair ;  it  whispers  suggestions  of 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS.  299 

that  utter  infidelity,  the  disbelief  of  goodness.  One 
hardly  knows  how  men  can  bear  the  discovery,  the 
recognition  of  that  darkness,  save  in  the  strength 
of  that  unfailing  light  which  has  invaded  it,  and 
which  is  shining  in  it.  For — blessed  be  God — if 
the  darkness  seems  intense,  and  if  we  dare  not  try 
to  attenuate  its  gravity,  still  the  light  is  real  and 
steadfast — the  light,  unowned  it  may  be  and  un 
loved,  yet  never  overborne;  the  light  that  beats 
upon  the  darkness,  working  on,  perhaps,  in  ways 
we  cannot  see,  towards  conquests  which  may  be 
known  when  the  time  of  final  severance,  of  righteous 
judgment  comes.  This  is  the  strength  of  Christian 
hope ;  this  is  what  makes  it  different  from  any 
natural  buoyancy,  any  good-humoured  readiness  to 
make  the  best  of  life,  any  timorous  disinclination  to 
be  told  how  bad  things  are.  It  can  face  the  facts 
of  evil,  because  it  believes  in  the  absolute  reality  of 
good.  In  His  life  Who  as  on  this  day  was  born 
for  us,  the  Word  made  Flesh :  in  that  surpassing 
evidence  of  the  love  of  God ;  in  the  great  humility 
and  patience  of  our  Lord;  in  His  immense  com 
passion  ;  in  the  perseverance  of  His  care  for  all 
men,  even  for  the  ungrateful,  the  disappointing,  the 
disloyal ;  in  the  Will  that  chose  to  die  for  the  thank 
less  and  unloving,  we  have  seen  the  full  disclosure, 


300  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS. 

the  revealing  of  that  light  whose  forecast  gleams 
had  been  the  strength  of  all  true  hope  before  He 
came — that  light  which  never  since  has  ceased  to 
shine  amidst  the  darkness.  We  are  keeping  now 
His  birthday  Who  was  made  very  man,  without  spot 
of  sin.  We  lift  our  hearts  to  God  for  the  dawn  of 
the  one  perfect  life  in  human  history:  the  life 
in  which  the  full  splendour  of  goodness  was  made 
manifest  to  men.  Besides  all  else  that  Christmas 
means,  it  speaks  to  us  of  the  unveiling  of  that  light 
which  is  the  spring  and  stay  of  all  our  hope  when 
the  persistence  and  the  confidence  of  evil  come 
against  it.  Yes,  for  still  we  know  that  light  is 
shining  in  the  darkness :  over  against  all  that  can 
suggest  despondency,  there  rise  the  lives  of  those  in 
whom  His  grace,  His  presence  is  achieving,  though 
it  be  but  slowly  and  imperfectly,  the  reality  of 
holiness.  There  are  some  with  whom  we  always 
can  regain  our  hold  on  hope — some  whose  very 
voice  may  seem  enough  to  renew  the  look  of  life 
for  us,  to  rebuke  our  faintheartedness,  to  bring 
back  the  freshness  of  our  aspiration.  To  be  with 
them,  to  come  under  the  influence  of  their  per 
sonality,  does  more  for  us  than  the  most  convincing 
arguments  or  the  most  exuberant  display  of  optimism 
ever  does;  for  when  we  are  with  them  we  feel 


THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS.  301 

again  the  reality  of  that  power  which  has  come 
forth  from  God  to  work  in  human  life — the  power 
that  is  stronger  than  all  the  violence  and  subtlety 
and  stubbornness  of  evil ;  the  power  upon  which 
hope  fastens  as  the  pledge  of  God's  presence,  the 
brightness  of  His  light,  and  the  beginning  of  His 
victory. 

"The  light  is  shining  in  the  darkness."  Let  us 
take  these  words  to  heart,  as  telling  us  the  ground, 
the  principle  of  that  frank,  courageous,  sober  hope 
which  faces  facts,  which  "maketh  not  ashamed." 
The  duty  of  such  hopefulness  stands  high  among 
the  lessons  which  we  may  hava  gained  from  his 
teaching  and  example  who  not  many  weeks  ago 
asked  me  to  preach  here  to-day  for  him — lately  the 
Dean  of  this  cathedral.1  I  do  not  think  that  hope 
came  easily  to  him.  He  cared  too  much  for  truth 
to  rest  in  any  partial  or  one-sided  view  of  what 
was  going  on  around  him ;  he  knew  too  much  of 
human  life,  in  bygone  ages  and  in  this,  to  exagge 
rate  the  significance  of  isolated  tokens  of  encourage 
ment  in  the  complex  movement  of  society,  or  to 
think  that  any  course  of  amendment  will  continue 

1  This  sermon  was  preached  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  on  Christmas 
Day,  1890,  according  to  the  request  of  the  late  Dean,  confirmed  after 
his  death  by  the  Chapter,  of  St.  Paul's. 


302  THE  LIGHT  IN  THE  DARKNESS. 

long  when  men  have  once  begun  to  withdraw  from 
it  their  devotion  or  self-sacrifice;  he  thought  too 
much  of  men's  responsibility  in  the  exercise  of 
judgment  to  let  himself  go  with  any  pleasant 
current  of  general  self-satisfaction.  No  one  ever 
could  have  called  him  sanguine;  but  through  all 
the  manifold  anxieties  of  our  day  he  never  stood 
with  the  faint-hearted  or  despondent.  God  gave 
him  courage  and  sincerity  and  strength  to  look 
steadily  at  all  that  was  threatening,  discouraging, 
and  perilous ;  he  took  to  heart  the  things  that 
made  it  hard  for  us  to  hope;  but  through  them 
all,  above  them  all,  he  saw  the  goodness  of  Almighty 
God:  the  present  powers  of  the  world  to  come: 
the  light  shining  in  the  darkness.  And  he  dared 
not  hesitate  to  hope.  It  is  such  hope  as  that  that 
makes  men  in  the  time  of  trouble  brave  and  calm 
themselves  and  able  to  sustain  the  hope  of  others. 
May  the  God  of  hope,  Who  knows  our  need,  in 
the  fulness  of  His  might  and  wisdom,  grant  us  grace 
to  keep  fast  hold  on  the  assurance  of  His  love, 
and  to  open  our  hearts  and  lives  to  welcome  the 
brightness  of  His  light 


XXI. 

A  GOOD   EXAMPLE. 
BISHOP  ANDREWES  :   HIS   TIME  AND   WORK. 

THERE  are  many  ways,  I  think,  in  which  we  may  be 
helped  by  the  study  of  those  passages  in  the  history 
of  the  English  Church  which  seem  to  have  been 
characterized  by  especial  elements  of  difficulty  and 
distress.  For  so  we  may  be  taught  to  take  a  truer 
measure  of  the  troubles  and  imperfections  and 
anxieties  of  our  own  day ;  to  see  how  hopefully  a 
man  may  try  to  deal  with  them,  and  to  do  his  work 
in  spite  of  much  that  he  would  fain  have  otherwise ; 
refusing  to  let  the  wholesome  sense  of  urgency  degene 
rate  into  the  weakness  of  panic  or  fretful  impatience. 
Again,  we  may  thus  deepen  our  loyalty  and  our  love 
towards  the  Church,  which  in  such  trials  has  evinced 
her  God-given  power  of  endurance  and  advance,  and, 
holding  her  course  through  the  dimness  and  the  storm 
has  emerged  with  surer  strength  of  experience  and 


304  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

self-realization  for  whatever  still  remains  to  be  under 
taken  or  endured.  But  we  may  also  learn  a  lesson 
which  will  bear  more  directly  on  our  own  conduct, 
helping  us  to  bestow  aright  whatever  of  effort,  labour, 
service,  and  self -sacrifice  we  may  have  to  contribute 
to  the  setting  forward  of  God's  cause  in  our  own  age. 
For  plainly  every  one  of  us  may,  if  he  will,  do  some 
thing,  be  it  much  or  little,  towards  making  that  which 
will  be  the  history  of  our  generation ;  and  the  abiding 
worth  of  whatever  he  can  do  will  depend,  perhaps, 
mainly  on  his  just  discernment  of  the  chief  issues 
that  are  being  either  decided  or  kept  open  in  his  day; 
on  his  correcting  in  his  own  mind  the  misplaced 
emphasis  of  common  talk  and  controversy;  on  his 
throwing  whatever  strength  he  has  into  the  real,  and 
not  the  merely  apparent  crisis  of  the  perpetual  con 
flict  between  truth  and  error,  between  good  and  evil, 
or  between  the  better  and  the  less  good.  It  needs 
some  insight  and  calmness  and  independence  to  see 
clearly  and  steadily  what  matters  most  in  one's  own 
day;  and  men  have,  for  instance,  said  sometimes 
that  the  Church  was  in  danger,  without  apparently 
suspecting  that  by  their  own  worldly  anxiety  and 
partisanship,  and  their  own  neglect  of  simple  duties, 
they  were,  indeed,  doing  more  to  endanger  their  real 
trust  than  any  political  opponent  ever  could  have 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  305 

done.  It  is  a  safeguard  against  all  such  misdirection 
of  vehemence  and  solicitude,  it  may  help  us  to  give 
to  the  real  task  of  our  day  whatever  energy  or 
influence  we  have  to  dedicate,  if,  from  time  to  time, 
looking  back  to  past  ages  of  especial  trial  and  con 
fusion,  we  single  out  in  the  melee  of  the  fight  those 
whom  time,  the  great  arbiter  of  all  blunders,  has  ap 
proved  as  the  men  who  were  not  misled;  who  saw  for 
what  they  must  contend,  and  held  to  that ;  who  were 
strong  enough  to  do  without  the  encouragement  of 
easy  triumphs,  fighting  neither  with  small  nor  great, 
but  only  with  the  antagonist  whose  onset  was  making 
for  the  true  centre  of  their  position — the  men  who 
not  only  meant  well,  but  went  right.  As  we  watch 
them,  standing  apart  somewhat  from  the  throng  of 
their  contemporaries,  misunderstood,  perhaps,  or  dis 
trusted  by  many  on  their  own  side  in  the  struggle, 
quietly  and  chivalrously  holding  fast  the  principle, 
the  right,  which  they  had  seen  to  be  the  secret  of 
freedom,  integrity,  and  hope ;  foregoing  for  its  sake 
obvious  advantages  and  tempting  compromises;  we 
may,  perhaps,  be  able  to  gain  a  little  more  of  the 
faith  and  patience  of  that  quiet  insight  whereby  they 
were  enabled  to  guard  intact  the  truth  or  liberty 
which  later  ages  prized  aright  as  it  disclosed  its 
latent  strength  and  fruitfulness. 

x 


306  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

It  is  with  the  hope  of  some  such  gain  that  I  would 
ask  you  to  look  back  to-night  across  just  three 
centuries ;  from  the  eventful  scene  of  London  in  the 
later  years  of  Elizabeth's  long  reign,  to  single  out 
one  figure ;  and  to  try  to  form  some  estimate  of  the 
service  which  Lancelot  Andrewes  rendered  to  his 
generation  and  of  the  good  that  from  his  life  has 
accrued  to  those  who  have  come  after  him. 

I.  Three  hundred  years  ago.  Let  us  try  to  bring 
before  our  minds,  with  as  few  words  as  may  be  used, 
the  anxieties  which  seem  likely  to  have  been  fore 
most  in  the  thoughts  of  any  thoughtful  man  who  in 
1589  was  caring,  working,  praying,  for  the  Church 
of  England.  He  would  be  conscious  that  a  certain 
change  for  the  better  had  passed  over  the  aspect  of 
her  affairs  within  the  last  twelve  months;  that  an 
imperious  and  engrossing  fear  had  been,  though  not 
dispersed,  yet  greatly  lightened  and  moderated.  The 
ruin  of  the  Spanish  Armada  had  not  only  thrilled 
men's  hearts  with  the  sense  of  a  national  deliverance 
which  may  well  have  seemed  unique ;  it  had  also 
told  upon  the  course  and  temper  of  religious  thought.1 
The  dread  lest  the  supremacy  of  Rome  should  be 
enforced  in  England  was  not  so  near  and  huge  on  the 
horizon  at  the  end  of  1588  as  it  had  been  at  the 
1  Cf.  Keble's  Preface  to  Hooker's  Works,  sec.  35. 


A    GOOD  EXAMPLE.  307 

beginning ;  and  in  the  relief  thus  gained  some  were 
entering  upon  larger  and  worthier  ways  of  thought, 
and  laying  aside  the  hesitation  and  reserve  with 
which  under  the  stress  of  fear  they  had  spoken  of 
their  heritage.  But,  however  thankfully  an  English 
Churchman  in  1589  may  have  recalled  the  events  of 
the  preceding  year,  however  gladly  he  may  have  felt 
the  abatement  of  one  great  hindrance  to  the  Church's 
freedom  in  realizing  her  prerogative,  in  developing 
her  resources,  in  putting  forth  her  strength,  in  grap 
pling  with  her  task ;  still  the  reasons  for  alarm,  the 
excuses  for  faint-heartedness,  were  neither  few  nor 
slight.  A  strong  and  resolute  party,  including  some 
who  were  learned  and  able,  and  many  who  were 
earnest  and  unworldly,  was  bent  upon  setting  up  in 
England  the  discipline  and  government  which  Calvin's 
masterfulness  had  made  paramount  at  Geneva.  Some 
who  were  thus  minded  had  seceded  from  the  Church's 
worship ;  others,  more  numerous,  more  weighty,  and 
more  dangerous,  were  endeavouring,  while  they 
retained  their  positions  and  exercised  their  ministry, 
to  intrude  the  Genevan  system,  silently  and  steadily, 
into  the  English  Church ;  and,  with  the  help  of  two 
men  of  very  real  power,  a  plan  had  lately  been 
devised  by  which  this  alien  structure  might  be 
quietly  built  up  within  the  Episcopal,  and  athwart 


308  A   GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

its  lines,  so  as  gradually  to  supersede  it.v  And 
then  beyond  the  range  of  tacit  secession  and  of 
conformity  for  innovation's  sake,  there  were  sects 
clamorous  and  active — one  tampering  with  the  basal 
principles  of  Christianity,  and,  it  was  alleged,  of  all 
morality  also ; 2  the  other,  with  far  more  power  and 
result,  lifting  the  great  banner  of  independence, 
taunting  and  upbraiding  those  who  let  "  I  dare 
not "  wait  upon  "  I  would,"  crying  for  "  reformation 
without  tarrying  for  any," 8  and  calling  upon  the 
"Queen  to  forbid  and  exterminate  within  her 
dominions  all  other  religious  worship  and  ministers  " 
than  their  own.4  And  as  three  hundred  years  ago  a 
quiet  man  was  thinking  of  these  things,  and  wonder 
ing  what  would  come  of  it  all,  he  would  grow  sick 
at  heart  as  he  saw  from  time  to  time  the  gross  and 
ribald  nonsense  that  was  being  poured  out  in  abusive 
pamphlets  from  the  secret  presses;  and  he  would 
grow  yet  more  wretched  and  despondent  when  the 
Church's  cause  was  dishonoured  by  an  attempt  to 
answer  such  pamphlets  in  their  own  style.  He  well 

1  Cf.  Neal's  «  Puritans,"  vol.  i.  pp.  204,  205 :  265,  266 :  303-305 ; 
Fuller's  "  Church  History,"  ix.  103,  142. 

*  Cf.  Archbishop  Sandys'  "  Sermons,"  p.  130. 

8  Robert  Browne  in  1582. 

»  H.  Barrow's  "Platform,"  quoted  by  Gardiner,  "History  of 
England,"  vol.  i.  p.  37. 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  309 

might  say,  as  one  great  layman  did  about  that  time, 
"  Two  principal  causes  have  I  ever  known  of  atheism, 
curious  controversies  and  profane  scoffing.  Now  that 
these  two  are  joined  in  one,  no  doubt  that  sect  will 
make  no  small  progression;"1  and  he  would  hardly 
wonder  that  some  were  venturing  to  assert,  as  they 
saw  this  travesty  of  controversy,  that  the  religion 
which  men  thus  degraded  was  itself  but  a  shrewd 
device  for  keeping  society  in  order.2  But  nothing, 
perhaps,  would  make  his  heart  so  heavy  and  appre 
hensive  as  the  apparent  inability  of  many  among  the 
clergy  to  meet  in  any  way  the  needs  and  perils 
which  beset  them;  the  slowness  with  which  they 
were  emerging  out  of  the  disorder  and  neglect  dis 
closed  in  the  earlier  years  of  Elizabeth's  reign ; 3  the 
ignorance,  and  incapacity,  and  sloth,  and  worldliness 
with  which  in  many  places  they  were  still  so  sense 
lessly  provoking  the  victorious  onset  of  any  antago 
nist  who  could  wield  against  them  the  rightful  and 
unfailing  strength  of  a  high  purpose,  a  pure  life,  and 
a  truth  sincerely  trusted.4 

1  Lord  Bacon,  "  An  Advertisement  touching  the  Controversies  of 
the  Church  of  England."  Probably  written  about  1590. 

1  Cf.  Hooker,  V.  ii.  2-4. 

'  Cf.  the  returns  elicited  in  1561 :  quoted  from  Strype's  "  Parker,** 
by  Perry,  "  English  Church  History,"  p.  277. 

*  Cf.  Hooker,  V.  Ixxxi.  1. 


310  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

Such  may  have  been  among  the  thoughts  whicli 
rose  in  a  man's  mind  three  hundred  years  ago  as  he 
watched  the  course  of  Church  affairs  and  tried  to 
guess  their  likely  outcome;  such  were  some  of  the 
conditions  under  which  Lancelot  Andrewes  sought 
and  found  his  work. 

II.  If  a  Londoner  had  been  asked  in  1589  who 
were  the  most  remarkable  preachers  in  the  City,  the 
answer  would  probably  have  included  three  names 
that  soon  were  very  famous  throughout  England. 
One  certainly  would  be  the  name  of  Richard  Bancroft, 
rector  of  St.  Andrew's  Holborn,  treasurer  of  St- 
Paul's,  and  chaplain  to  Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  the 
Lord  Chancellor  of  England.  For  Dr.  Bancroft  had 
lately  come  to  the  front  of  discussion  and  conflict 
by  a  sermon  preached  at  Paul's  Cross  early  in  the 
year *  —  a  sermon  in  which  many  have  traced  the 
first  public  utterance  of  that  more  adequate  and 
courageous  defence  of  the  Church's  ancient  order  and 
discipline  which  seems  to  have  been  released  by  the 
destruction  of  the  Armada.  It  would  have  been 
characteristic  of  Bancroft  to  be  the  first  to  say  what 
many  had  been  thinking;  and  he  was  probably,  at 
the  time  we  are  recalling,  still  busy  with  the  assailants 

1  Reprinted  in  Hickes's  "  Bibliotheca  Scriptorum  Ecolesiw  Angli- 
canae." 


A  GOOD  EXAMPLE.  311 

whom  his  impetuosity  had  provoked.1  But  there  was 
a  greater  man  than  Bancroft  preaching  every  Sunday 
morning  in  the  Temple  Church ;  neither  popular  nor 
happy  there,  but  with  strength  and  diligence  and 
learning  of  the  rarest  splendour,  working  steadily  at 
a  great  book  which  should  outlive  all  the  con 
troversies  that  had  made  his  fame  and  spoilt  his 
peace.  For  Richard  Hooker  was  still  Master  of  the 
Temple,  though  he  was  longing  to  regain  the 
blessings  of  obscurity  in  a  country  parish ;  and  while 
some  thought  his  sermons  tedious  and  difficult,  and 
others  who  had  sided  with  his  now  silenced  ad 
versary,  Travers,  bore  a  grudge  against  him  for 
the  past,  still  men  could  not  be  unmoved  by  his 
massive  thought  and  knowledge,  by  the  power  of  his 
patience  and  holiness,  and  by  the  memory  of  those 
exciting  Sundays,  when  there  were  almost  as  many 
writers  as  hearers  in  the  Temple  Church,  and  the 
gravest  Benchers  were  busy  morning  and  afternoon 
taking  notes  of  the  discourses  through  which  the 
Master  and  the  Lecturer  argued  out  their  differences.3 
And  then,  with  Hooker  and  Bancroft,  Lancelot 
Andrewes  surely  would  be  recalled,  as  prominent 
among  the  younger  men  who  were  closing  with  the 

1  Cf.  Strypo's  "  Life  of  Whitgift,"  i.  559,  seq. 

»  Cf.  Fuller's  "  Church  History,"  bk.  ix.  §§  49-62. 


312  //   GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

difficulties  of  the  day.  For,  junior  to  Hooker  by 
two  years,  to  Bancroft  by  eleven,  he  had  at  the  age 
of  thirty -four  already  taken  his  place  in  the  strongest 
work  of  his  day.  Let  us  glance  back  over  the  earlier 
stages  of  his  career. — He  had  hardly  entered  boy 
hood  when  the  enthusiasm  of  the  true  student  came 
on  him;  and  there  is  something  pathetic  in  the 
picture  of  the  lad  at  Merchant  Taylors'  School 
needing  to  be  driven  out  into  the  playground  from 
the  books  he  loved — the  books  for  which  he  rose  at 
four  in  the  morning  and  lingered  far  into  the  night. 
He,  like  Hooker,  owed  much  to  the  watchfulness  and 
insight  of  his  schoolmasters,  first  at  the  Coopers'  Free 
School  and  then  at  Merchant  Taylors';  whence  in 
1571  he  went  to  Pembroke  Hall  at  Cambridge, 
holding  one  of  the  eight  Greek  scholarships  newly 
founded  by  Thomas  Watts,  the  Archdeacon  of  Middle 
sex,  and  further  helped  in  1573,  (as  Hooker,  too,  was 
helped  more  than  once,)  by  Robert  Nowell,  a  great 
lawyer  in  London,  wise  and  large  in  his  bounty.1 

I  have  the  copy  of  Demosthenes  which  Andrewes 
used  at  Cambridge ;  in  the  title-page  he  has  written 
with  his  own  name  that  of  his  benefactor,  the  Arch 
deacon;  and  if  the  beautiful  and  elaborate  Latin 

1  Cf .  "  The  Towneley  Nowell  Manuscripts,"  edited  by  Dr.  Grosart, 
p.  184. 


A    GOOD  EXAMPLE.  313 

annotations  in  the  margin  of  the  volume  are  indeed 
his,  they  illustrate  the  scholarly  diligence  and  pre 
cision  which  made  him,  it  is  said,  "  one  of  the  rarest 
linguists  in  Christendom,"  knowing  more  than  twenty 
languages,  and  "  so  perfect  in  the  grammar  and  criti 
cism,"  "as  if  he  had  utterly  neglected  the  matter," 
and  yet  "  so  exquisite  and  sound  in  the  matter,"  "  as 
if  he  had  never  regarded  the  grammar."  l  It  is  not 
strange  that  in  1576  he  was  elected  a  Fellow  of  his 
college,  receiving  soon  after  the  distinction  of  an 
Honorary  Fellowship  at  the  new  foundation  of  Jesus 
College,  Oxford.  To  this  period  of  his  life  belongs, 
I  think,  his  earliest  published  work,  a  wondrous 
monument  of  painstaking  and  conscientious  toil. 

A  great  French  Bishop  of  this  century  has  told  us 
that  for  many  years  he  wrote  at  full  length  all  his 
catechizings ;  and  his  biographer  says  that  ten 
volumes  of  manuscript  attest  that  dutiful  and  hidden 
labour.2  Lancelot  Andrewes  in  the  same  stage  of 
his  life  seems  to  have  taken  like  pains  over  a  task 
not  very  different.  "The  custom  of  catechizing  in 
church  was,  in  those  days "  (says  a  recent  historian 
of  Cambridge),  "  systematic  and  general.  .  .  .  While 

1  Bishop  Buckeridge,  in  the  sermon  preached  at  Bishop  Andrewea' 
funeral.     Cf.  Fuller,  «  Church  History,"  xi.  1.  46. 
3  F.  Lagrange,  "  Vie  de  Mgr.  Dupanloup,"  i.  82. 


314  A   GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

not  one  minister  in  ten  was  permitted  to  preach,  all 
were  expected  to  catechize.  With  the  view,  there 
fore,  of  rendering  those  in  the  University  who  were 
destined  for  the  clerical  profession  more  competent 
to  the  discharge  of  this  primary  duty,  Andrewes  initi 
ated  at  Pembroke  a  series  of  Saturday  and  Sunday 
afternoon  catechetical  lectures,  designed  to  serve  to 
some  extent  as  illustrations  of  the  best  method  of 
teaching  the  elements  of  Christian  belief."  He  soon 
had  gathered  round  him  a  large  class,  both  from  the 
University  and  from  among  the  neighbouring  clergy ; 
and  we  are  even  told  that  a  man  "was  scarcely 
reputed  a  pretender  to  learning  and  piety  in  Cam 
bridge"  (at  that  time)  "who  had  not  made  himself 
a  disciple  of  Andrewes  by  diligent  resorting  to  his 
lectures ;  nor  he  a  pretender  to  the  study  of  divinity 
who  did  not  transcribe  his  notes,  which  ever  after 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  in  many  hundred  copies." l 
It  appears  that  after  his  death  inaccurate  and  incom 
plete  reproductions  of  these  notes  were  published 
till  in  1675  his  own  papers  were  elaborately  edited, 
in  a  folio  of  five  hundred  pages.2 

He  does  not  stand  alone  in  having  prepared  himself 

•  Mullinger's  "  History  of  the  Dniversity  of  Cambridge,"  vol.  ii. 
pp.  487,  488. 

8  "The  Pattern  of  Catechistical  Doctrine  at  Large"  (Preface  to  the 
Reader). 


A    GOOD  EXAMPLE.  315 

for  the  most  complex  tasks  by  taking  immense  pains 
over  the  simplest ;  so  illustrating  the  peculiar  efficacy 
of  the  work  that  does  not  show,  and  the  wide  range 
of  the  great  law,  that  "  he  that  is  faithful  in  that 
which  is  least  is  faithful  also  in  much." 

We  have  little  knowledge  of  his  earlier  work  in 
Holy  Orders,  save  that  he  was  singled  out  for  special 
trust  and  encouragement  by  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon 
and  by  Sir  Francis  Walsingham,  travelling  with  the 
former  to  the  north,  and  there  evincing,  it  is  said, 
those  controversial  powers  which  he  afterwards  em 
ployed  with  reluctance  and  with  distinction.  In  1589, 
it  seems,  the  year  to  which  we  have  especially  been 
looking  back,  a  threefold  'charge  was  given  to  his 
care :  he  was  made  Vicar  of  St.  Giles's,  Cripplegate, 
a  Residentiary  Canon  of  St.  Paul's,  and  Master  of 
his  old  college,  Pembroke  Hall,  at  Cambridge.  The 
first  of  his  printed  sermons,  which  was  preached 
before  the  Queen,  bears  date  in  this  same  year. 

So,  then,  we  may  think  of  him  as  now  prominent 
and  active  in  the  central  life  of  England — a  student 
still,  as  he  was  to  the  end  of  his  laborious  days; 
jealously  guarding  for  this  duty  the  forenoon ;  so  that 
it  has  been  said  that  "the  rare  exceptions  to  his 
usual  sweetness  and  gentleness  of  temper  were  pro 
voked  by  those  who  disturbed  "  his  morning  hours. 


316  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

"  They  were  no  true  scholars,"  he  used  to  say,  "  who 
came  to  speak  with  him  before  noon."1  But  now 
the  external  activity  of  his  life  was  considerable 
and  the  demands  of  a  conspicuous  position  were 
beginning  to  come  upon  him.  On  most  Sundays  he 
would  preach  twice  to  his  parishioners,  though  we  are 
told  in  the  sermon  preached  at  his  funeral  that  "  he 
ever  misliked  often  and  loose  preaching  without  study 
of  antiquity,  and  he  would  be  bold  with  himself  and 
say,  when  he  preached  twice  a  day  at  St.  Giles's,  he 
prated  once."2  Nor,  it  seems,  did  he  neglect  the 
quiet  round  of  daily  duties  in  his  parish;  for  the 
"Manual  of  Directions  for  the  Sick,"  which  was 
published  after  his  death,  is  said  to  have  been  "  con 
ceived  and  used  by  him  in  his  ordinary  Visitation  of 
the  sick,  when  he  was  Vicar  of  St.  Giles's,  Cripplegate." 
At  St.  Paul's  he  read  the  divinity  lecture  thrice  a 
week  in  term  time  ;  and  he  is  described  as  "  walking 
about  the  aisle,  ready  to  give  advice  and  spiritual 
counsel  to  any  who  sought  it ; "  for,  we  are  told,  he 
was  "  deeply  seen  in  cases  of  conscience."  8  Nor,  for 
all  he  had  to  do  in  London,  was  his  work  at  Cam 
bridge  neglected.  "  As  an  administrator  "  (writes  one 

1  Cf.  B.  W.  Church,  in  "  Masters  in  English  Theology,"  p.  63. 

*  Bishop  Buckeridge  in  "  Andrewes's  Sermons,"  p.  295  of  vol.  V. 

*  H.  l?aaoson :  of.  Fuller's  "  Abel  Redevivua." 


A    GOOD  EXAMPLE.  817 

concerned  especially  with  his  University  work) — "  as 
an  administrator  he  was  no  less  successful  than  as 
a  teacher.  He  found  his  college  in  debt ;  he  left  it " 
(thanks  to  his  care  in  business  and  to  his  personal 
generosity)  "not  only  with  the  debts  paid  off,  but 
with  a  reserve  fund  of  £1000  at  its  command." l  In 
1601  he  was  made  Dean  of  Westminster ;  and  there, 
as  in  the  old  days  of  his  catechizing  at  Pembroke, 
the  true  teacher's  love  of  teaching  came  out  in  spon 
taneous  painstaking.  "  He  did  often  supply,"  says 
a  Westminster  scholar,  "the  place  of  both  head 
schoolmaster  and  usher  for  the  space  of  a  whole 
week  together,  and  gave  us  not  an  hour  of  loitering 
time  from  morning  to  night  .  .  .  And  all  this  with 
out  any  compulsion  of  correction;  nay,  I  never 
heard  him  utter  so  much  as  a  word  of  austerity 
among  us."  a 

But  austere  he  could  be  when  need  was  :  strict  and 
firm  enough  to  refuse  two  bishoprics  in  Elizabeth's 
reign,  because  he  could  not  accept  them  without  con 
niving  at  some  plunder  of  Church  property  : 8  grave, 
says  Fuller,  with  a  certain  patristic  gravity,  which 
"  in  a  manner  awed  King  James,  who  refrained  from 

1  Mullinger,  ubi  supra,  p.  488. 

*  Cf.  Mullinger,  ubi  supra,  p.  487,  note  8. 

'  Cf.  Bishop  Buckeridge's  Sermon. 


318  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

that  mirth  and  liberty  in  the  presence  of  this  prelate 
which  otherwise  he  assumed  to  himself." l  It  is 
striking  to  combine  with  this  the  assurance  that  "  all 
evidence  attests  the  lovableness  of  his  nature ;  "  2  and 
that  "of  all  those  whose  piety  was  remarkable  in 
that  troubled  age,  there  was  none  who  could  bear 
comparison  for  spotlessness  and  purity  of  character 
with  the  good  and  gentle  Andrewes."  8  For  thus  we 
see  in  him  that  singular  union  of  tenderness  and 
decision  which  seems  to  be  the  distinctive  beauty  of 
a  life  of  prayer.  All  the  chief  elements  of  strength 
may  seem  to  have  met  in  him — learning,  ability, 
power  of  work,  facility  of  expression,  charm  of 
manner,  purity  of  purpose,  courage,  holiness ;  so  that 
it  is  not  strange  that  great  honours  came  to  him 
unsought,  and  did  him  no  harm.  Elizabeth  made 
him  one  of  her  Chaplains-in-Ordinary ;  James,  soon 
after  his  accession,  made  him  Bishop  of  Chichester, 
and  thence  translated  him  first  to  Ely,  and  after 
wards  to  Winchester.  He  was,  moreover,  Almoner, 
Dean  of  the  Chapel,  and  a  Privy  Councillor  to  James 
and  to  Charles  I.,  in  the  second  year  of  whose  reign 
he  passed  away,  at  the  age  of  seventy-one.  The 

1  Book  xi.  sec.  46. 

1  B.  W.  Church,  ubi  supra,  p.  67. 

»  Gardiner,  ii  33,  quoted  by  B.  W.  Church. 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  319 

manner  of  his  life  has  been  summed  up  by  the  Dean 
of  St.  Paul's  in  a  few  vivid  words:  "When  he  was 
called  into  public  employment  he  lived,  as  great 
Church  officers  did  in  those  days,  through  a  round 
of  sermons,  Court  attendances,  and  judicial  or  eccle 
siastical  business,  varied  by  occasional  controversies 
and  sharp  encounters,  on  paper  or  face  to  face,  with 
the  numberless  foes  and  detractors  of  the  English 
Church  and  State ;  from  great  Cardinals,  like  Bellar- 
mine  and  Du  Perron,  to  obscure  sectaries,  like  Barrow 
and  Mr.  Traske.  ...  It  was  the  life  of  many  men  of 
that  period.  What  is  specially  to  be  noticed  in  his 
case,  is  the  high  standard  which  was  recognized  both 
in  his  learning  and  his  life." 

So  he  lived,  in  constant  converse  both  with  the 
great  scholars,  philosophers,  statesmen  of  his  own 
day,  and  with  the  great  saints  and  doctors  of  the 
past;  resolute,  laborious,  consistent,  sympathetic, 
effective,  amidst  the  things  of  this  world,  just  because 
so  large  a  part  of  all  his  time  and  care  and  love  was 
spent  upon  the  things  unseen.  The  manner  of  his 
death  is  told  in  the  sermon  preached  at  his  funeral 
by  the  Bishop  of  Ely,  his  successor  as  Vicar  of  St. 
Giles's — told  in  words  which  touch  so  dominant  a 
note  of  all  his  life  that  I  will  venture  to  quote  them 
at  length : — 


320  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

"After  the  death  of  his  brother,  Master  Thomas 
Andrewes,  in  the  sickness  time,  whom  he  loved 
dearly,  he  began  to  foretell  his  own  death  before  the 
end  of  summer  or  before  the  beginning  of  winter. 
And  when  his  brother  Master  Nicholas  Andrewes 
died,  he  took  that  as  a  certain  sign  and  prognostic 
and  warning  of  his  own  death ;  and  from  that  time 
till  the  hour  of  his  dissolution  he  spent  all  his  time 
in  prayer,  and  his  prayer-book,  when  he  was  private, 
was  seldom  seen  out  of  his  hands,  and  in  the  time 
of  his  fever  and  last  sickness,  besides  the  often 
prayers  which  were  read  to  him,  in  which  he  repeated 
all  the  parts  of  the  Confession  and  other  petitions 
with  an  audible  voice,  as  long  as  his  strength  endured, 
he  did — as  was  well  observed  by  certain  tokens  in 
him — continually  pray  to  himself,  though  he  seemed 
otherwise  to  rest  or  slumber;  and  when  he  could 
pray  no  longer  with  his  voice,  yet  by  lifting  up  his 
eyes  and  hands  he  prayed  still,  and  when  both  voice 
and  eyes  and  hands  failed  in  their  office,  then  with 
his  heart  he  still  prayed,  until  it  pleased  God  to 
receive  his  blessed  soul  to  Himself." l 

His  body  was  buried  in  the  little  chapel  which, 
till  its  destruction  in  1830,  stood  at  the  east  end  of 
the  Lady  Chapel  of  St.  Saviour's  Church,  in  South- 
1  Bishop  Buokeridge  in  Andre  wea'a  Sermons,  vol.  v.  p.  297. 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  3 2 1 

wark.  At  that  date  it  was  removed  to  the  Lady 
Chapel,  and  his  name  was  often  mentioned  in  the 
struggle  which  saved  that  chapel  from  being  also 
demolished  a  few  years  later.1  Wherever  he  rested 
in  his  life  his  unfailing  generosity  left  its  trace.  It 
is  pitiful  to  think  how  the  irreverence  and  neglect 

ft 

of  later  generations  have  dealt  with  the  place  of  his 
burial.  It  is  a  reproach  which  now,  I  trust,  is  soon 
to  be,  so  far  as  it  is  possible,  put  away. 

III.  I  have  reserved  but  very  scanty  time  in  which 
to  speak  of  that  which,  most  of  all,  I  wish  that  I 
could  duly  bring  before  you — namely,  the  character 
of  his  especial  service  to  the  Church  of  England,  the 
secret  of  his  work's  effective  value;  the  conviction 
which  guided  him  to  see  what  were  the  real  issues 
of  his  day,  where  lay  the  great  strength  of  the 
Church's  cause,  and  what  were  the  principles  never 
to  be  let  go,  never  to  be  trifled  with.  It  is  hard  to 
speak  briefly  of  these  things;  and  I  must  speak 
from  only  a  fragmentary  knowledge  of  his  writings, 
with  large  indebtedness  to  those  who  have  more 
worthily  studied  them.  But  this,  I  think,  is  clear. 
His  place  is  in  that  great  line  of  English  theologians 
who,  beginning  in  the  later  Elizabethan  period,  carried 

1  Cf.  W.  Taylor,  «  Annals  of  St.  Mary  Overy,"  and  "  Papers    re 
lating  to  St.  Saviour's,  South  wark,"  in  Bodleian  Library. 


322  A   GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

forward  the  realization,  and  elicited  the  energy  and 
worth  of  those  essential  elements  of  vitality  and 
strength  which  the  Church  of  England  had,  in  the 
providence  of  God,  carried  through  all  the  struggle 
and  confusion  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  great 
safeguards  of  continuity,  the  pledges  of  renewal,  had 
been  preserved  by  those  who  hardly  seem,  in  some 
instances,  to  have  understood  the  worth  of  the 
treasure  they  were  defending — its  worth,  that  latent 
and  unending  power  of  fruitfulness  which  it  dis 
closed  in  the  hands  of  their  successors,  and  is  dis 
closing  still.  There  are  splendid  names  along  that 
line ;  but  I  doubt  whether  we  can  owe  to  any  among 
them  much  more  than  to  those  two  who  stand  close 
together  near  the  beginning  of  the  series,  Hooker  and 
Andre wes.  For  it  seems  that  they  especially  de 
veloped  and  secured  for  the  Church  of  England  the 
strength  which  lay  in  her  power  to  appeal  to  two 
great  witnesses  of  her  authority  and  truth — to  reason 
and  to  history.  A  recent  writer  has  finely  said,  "  I 
believe,  with  a  conviction  the  strength  of  which  I 
could  hardly  express,  that  it  is  the  vocation  of  the 
English  Church  to  realize  and  to  offer  to  mankind 
a  Catholicism  which  is  Scriptural,  and  represents  the 
whole  of  Scripture;  which  is  historical,  and  can 
know  itself  free  in  face  of  historical  and  critical 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  323 

science;  which  is  rational  and  constitutional  in  its 
claim  of  authority."  1  These  three  great  elements  of 
strength  and  courage  had  been  carried  unimpaired 
through  the  work  of  reformation:  the  first  had 
been  vivid  in  the  consciousness  and  work  of  its 
earlier  agents ;  but  the  second  and  the  third, 
guarded  no  less  really,  present  no  less  certainly, 
waited  for  the  touch  which  should  release  their 
potency  and  blessing.  And  as  Hooker,  in  his  great 
treatise,  maintained,  against  the  faithlessness  of 
Puritan  distrust  and  scorn,  the  place  and  dignity  of 
human  reason,  "  aided  with  the  influence  of  Divine 
grace," — showing  that  "  the  way  to  be  ripe  in  faith  " 
is  not  necessarily  to  be  "raw  in  judgment,"2 — so 
Andrewes,  outliving  Hooker  by  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
deployed,  as  it  were,  upon  the  field  of  thought  and 
controversy  the  force  that  issues  from  the  strong 
holds  of  history.3  He  realized  and  trusted  and  dis 
played  the  strength  of  an  historic  Church;  he  was 
fearless  when  he  felt  that  history  was  with  him,  and 
careless  about  apparent  advantages  which  history 
encouraged  him  to  disregard.  In  a  vigorous  passage 
of  his  answer  to  Bellarmine  he  heartily  accepts,  and 

1  0.  Gore,  in  Preface  to  last  edition  of  "  Roman  Catholic  Claims." 
«  III.  viii.  18,  4. 

8  Cf.  B.  W.  Church,  in  «'  Masters  in  English  Theology,"  pp.  105, 
106,  whence  the  thought  of  this  comparison  is  taken. 


324  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

wields  as  one  familiar  with  his  weapon,  the  famous 
canon  of  the  Catholic  faith — that  it  is  that  which 
has  been  believed  always  and  everywhere  and  by  all.1 
He  meets  Du  Perron  at  point  after  point  of  his  attack  ; 
frankly  accepting  the  verdict  of  antiquity,  even  where 
the  English  Church  had  not  spoken  explicitly,  as  in 
regard  to  prayers  for  the  dead,2  frankly  untroubled 
by  any  criticism  which  has  not  history  behind  it. 
And  the  same  profound  belief  in  the  future  of  the 
Church  that  can  fearlessly  appeal  to  the  witness  of 
the  past,  the  same  unqualified  reliance  on  the  strength 
of  a  continuous  history,  makes  him  apparently  indif 
ferent  to  advantages  which  men  less  sure  of  their 
footing  are  apt  somewhat  restlessly  to  desire : — in 
different,  for  instance,  to  present  and  obvious  com 
pleteness,  "I  doubt,"  says  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's, 
"  whether  Andrewes  cared  much  for  that  intellectual 
completeness  of  theory  which  we  make  much  of." 
And  this  strong  patience  in  unfinishedness  seems 
characteristic  of  one  who  was  always  resting  on  the 
witness  of  the  past.  For  history,  I  suppose,  would 
certainly  not  teach  him  that  the  purest  truth  had 
always  been  embodied  in  the  compactest  system. 
There  never  was  a  scheme  more  perfect  in  logical 

1  "  Kesponsio  ad  Apologiam,"  p.  20,  ed.  1610. 
•  "Strictures,"  p.  9,  ed.  1629. 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  325 

coherence  and  finish  than  the  scheme  of  Calvin  at 
Geneva — a  scheme  so  perfect  and  disastrous  that  it 
well  might  serve  for  a  perpetual  warning  against  the 
attractions  of  completeness.  And  as  the  resolute 
faithfulness  of  his  appeal  to  history  made  Andrewes 
content  to  do  without  the  luxury  of  theoretic  neat 
ness — a  luxury  which  we  can  hardly  hope  to  have 
in  this  fragmentary  world  save  at  some  expense  of 
truth — so  also  did  it  strengthen  him  against  all 
hankering  for  peace  where  it  involved  the  blurring 
of  principles  or  the  forgetting  of  facts.  "  We  wish 
not,"  he  writes  to  Du  Moulin,  "  we  wish  not  a  concord 
that  is  but  pieced  and  patched  up,  but  an  entire, 
absolute  agreement  without  piecing  and  patching ; " 
and  while  he  prays  for  the  union  of  all  reformed 
Churches,  it  is,  he  is  careful  to  tell  Du  Moulin,  that 
they  may  be  united  in  that  form  of  government,  that 
bond  of  polity  which  traces  its  origin  from  the  very 
cradle  of  the  Church ;  against  which  he  who  sets  him 
self  sets  himself  against  all  antiquity — that  govern 
ment  which  (with  whatever  considerateness  he  may 
speak  of  defects  which  he  is  willing  to  attribute 
to  the  iniquity  of  the  times)  he  never  hesitates  to 
uphold  as  of  Divine  right.1 

So  he  laboured  and  contended;    so  he  preached, 
1  Vide  "  Responsiones  ad  Petri  Molinsei  Epistolaa  Tree,"  ed.  1629. 


326  A   GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

ever  striving  to  uplift  and  quicken  men  by  the  power 
of  a  religion  in  which  the  communion  of  saints  was 
felt  as  a  reality — a  religion  "  which  claimed  kindred 
with  all  that  was  ancient  and  all  that  was  universal 
in  Christianity ;  which  looked  above  the  controversies 
and  misunderstandings  of  the  hour  to  the  larger 
thought  and  livelier  faith  and  sanctified  genius  of 
those  in  whom  the  Church  of  Christ  has  recognized 
her  most  venerated  teachers." l  And  so,  above  all  else, 
he  prayed  ;  and  it  may  be  doubted  whether  any  unin 
spired  words  have  done  more  to  teach  men  how  to 
pray  in  truth,  and  purity,  and  generosity,  and  self- 
abasement  than  that  manuscript  on  which  he  never 
thought  that  other  eyes  than  his  would  fall :  "  the 
manuscript  that  was  scarce  ever  out  of  his  hands, 
and  that  was  found  worn  by  his  fingers  and  blotted 
with  his  tears." 2 — The  distinctive  lesson  of  such  a 
life  as  his  is  neither  hard  to  find  nor  easy  to  fulfil. 
For  it  never  has  been  and  it  never  will  be  easy  to 
forego  the  power,  the  readiness,  the  security,  the 
certainty,  which  seem  to  be  promised  us  by  any 
system  that  is  complete  and  rounded-off  and  logical. 
There  is  a  true  instinct  in  us  which  desires  perfect- 
ness  ;  but  it  is  a  false,  impatient  craving  which  would 

1  E.  W.  Church,  ubi  supra,  pp.  97,  98. 

•  Bishop  Home,  in  Preface  to  *'  Private  Devotions,"  p.  8. 


A   GOOD  EXAMPLE.  327 

demand  it  in  this  world.  Nor,  again,  will  the  thought 
of  concord  and  reunion  ever  lose  its  rightful  beauty, 
ever  cease  to  command  our  aspiration.  It  is  a  true 
instinct  in  us  which  desires  peace;  we  cannot  doubt 
it  when  we  remember  Who  is  the  Author  of  peace 
and  Lover  of  concord.  But  here,  again,  it  is  a  faith 
less  haste  that  for  the  sake  of  agreement  and  co-opera 
tion  disregards  the  witness  of  history  and  imperils 
the  strength  of  an  inviolate  consistency  by  surrender 
ing  or  obscuring  in  some  popular  compromise,  some 
pleasant  semblance  of  generosity,  principles  by  which 
the  Church,  in  spite  of  all  the  sins  and  perils  of  the 
past,  has  still  maintained  her  continuity  and  renewed 
her  strength. 

It  would  be  a  true  and  fitting  thought  to  take 
from  Bishop  Andrewes's  work  that  there  is  no  such 
strength  as  that  of  patience ;  the  patience  that  prefers 
truth  to  symmetry,  and  facts  to  logic ;  the  patience 
that  makes  men  brave  to  say  that  there  is  much 
which  they  do  not  know,  that  there  are  many 
questions  which  will  never  be  answered  in  this  life, 
many  wants  and  blemishes  and  troubles  that  the 
Church  may  have  to  bear  so  long  as  she  is  militant ; 
the  patience  with  which  great  men  have  been  con 
tent  to  live  on  even  to  the  end  in  seeming  weakness, 


828  A    GOOD  EXAMPLE. 

in  weary  conflict,  if  only  they  might  so  hand  down 
to  their  successors  an  undiminished  heritage  of  light 
and  hope  and  opportunity ;  the  patience  which  Bishop 
Andrewes  learnt,  perhaps,  in  no  other  way  so  surely 
as  in  prayer. 


KU   BY  WILLIAM   CLOWES  AND   SONS,   LIMITED,   LONDON   AND   BECCLES. 


BX 

5133 

P35 

1906 


•et,    Francis 

The  spirit  of  discipline 


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