SECTION I. COUNSELS OF PERFECTION
Matt. 19:1-26; Mark 10:1-27; Luke 18:15-27.
After His final departure from Galilee, Jesus
found for Himself a new place of abode and scene of labor for the brief
remainder of His life, in the region lying to the eastward of the Jordan, at
the lower end of its course. "He departed from Galilee, and came into the
borders of Judea beyond Jordan."[16.1] We may say that He ended His ministry
where it began, healing the sick, and teaching the high doctrines of the
kingdom in the place which witnessed His consecration by baptism to His sacred
work, and where He gained His first disciples.[16.2
This visit of Jesus to Persia towards the close
of His career is a fact most interesting and significant in itself, apart
altogether from its accompanying incidents. It was evidently so regarded by
John, who not less carefully than the two first evangelists records the fact of
the visit, though, unlike them, he gives no details concerning it. The terms in
which he alludes to this event are peculiar. Having briefly explained how Jesus
had provoked the ill-will of the Jews in Jerusalem at the feast of dedication,
he goes on to say: "Therefore they sought again to take Him; but He escaped out
of their hands, and went away again beyond Jordan, into the place where John at
first baptized."[16.3] The word "again," and the reference to the Baptist, are
indicative of reflection and recollection--windows letting us see into John's
heart. He is thinking with emotion of his personal experiences connected with
the first visit of Jesus to those sacred regions, of his first meeting with his
beloved Master, and of the mystic name given to Him by the Baptist, "the Lamb
of God" then uncomprehended by the disciples, now on the eve of being expounded
by events; and to the evangelist writing his Gospel, clear as day in the bright
light of the cross.
It was hardly possible that the disciple whom
Jesus loved could do other than think of the first visit when speaking of the
second. Even the multitude, as he records, reverted mentally to the earlier
occasion while following Jesus in the later. They remembered what John, His
forerunner, had said of One among them whom they knew not, and who yet was far
greater than himself; and they remarked that his statements, however improbable
they might have appeared at the time, had been verified by events, and he
himself proved to be a true prophet by Christ's miracles, if not by his own.
"John," said they to each other, "did no miracle; but all things that John said
of this man were true."[16.4]
If John the disciple, and even the common people,
thought of the first visit of Jesus to Persia at the time of His second, we may
be sure that Jesus Himself did so also. He had His own reasons, doubt it not,
for going back to that hallowed neighborhood. His journey to the Jordan, we
believe, was a pilgrimage to holy ground, on which He could not set His foot
without profound emotion. For there lay His Bethel, where He had made a solemn
baptismal vow, not, as Jacob, to give a tithe of His substance, but to give
Himself, body and soul, a sacrifice to His Father, in life and in death; there
the Spirit had descended on Him like a dove; there He had heard a celestial
voice of approval and encouragement, the reward of His entire self-surrender to
His Father's holy will. All the recollections of the place were heart stirring,
recalling solemn obligations, inspiring holy hopes, urging Him on to the grand
consummation of His life-work; charging Him by His baptism, His vows, the
descent of the Spirit, and the voice from heaven, to crown His labors of love,
by drinking of the cup of suffering and death for man's redemption. To these
voices of the past He willingly opened His ear. He wished to hear them, that by
their hallowed tones His spirit might be braced and solemnized for the coming
agony.
While retiring to Persia for these private
reasons, that He might muse on the past and the future, and link sacred
memories to solemn anticipations, Jesus did not by any means live there a life
of seclusion and solitary meditation. On the contrary, during His sojourn in
that neighborhood, He was unusually busy healing the sick, teaching the
multitude "as He was wont" (so Mark states, with a mental reference to the past
ministry in Galilee), answering inquiries, receiving visits, granting favors.
"Many resorted unto Him" there on various errands. Pharisees came, asking
entangling questions about marriage and divorce, hoping to catch Him in a trap,
and commit Him to the expression of an opinion which would make Him unpopular
with some party or school, Hillel's or Shammai's,[16.5] it did not matter
which. A young ruler came with more honorable intent, to inquire how he might
obtain eternal life. Mothers came with their little ones, beseeching for them
His blessing, thinking it worth getting, and not fearing denial; and messengers
came with sorrowful tidings from friends, who looked to Him as their comfort in
the time of trouble.[16.6]
Though busily occupied among the thronging crowd,
Jesus contrived to have some leisure hours with His chosen disciples, during
which He taught them some new lessons on the doctrine of the divine kingdom.
The subject of these lessons was sacrifice for the sake of the kingdom--a theme
congenial to the place, the time, the situation, and the mood of the Teacher.
The external occasion suggesting that topic was supplied by the interviews
Jesus had had with the Pharisees and the young ruler. These interviews
naturally led Him to speak to His disciples on the subject of self-sacrifice
under two special forms,--abstinence from marriage and renunciation of
property,--though He did not confine His discourse to these points, but went on
to set forth the rewards of self-sacrifice in any form, and the spirit in which
all sacrifices must be performed, in order to possess value in God's sight.
The Pharisees, we read, "came unto Him, tempting
Him, and saying, Is it lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause?"
To this question Jesus replied, by laying down the primitive principle, that
divorce was justified only by conjugal infidelity, and by explaining, that any
thing to the contrary in the law of Moses was simply an accommodation to the
hardness of men's hearts. The disciples heard this reply, and they made their
own remarks on it. They said to Jesus: "If the case of the man be so with his
wife, it is not good to marry." The view enunciated by their Master, which took
no account of incompatibility of temper, involuntary dislike, uncongeniality of
habits, differences in religion, quarrels among relatives, as pleas for
separation, seemed very stringent even to them; and they thought that a man
would do well to consider what he was about before committing himself to a
life-long engagement with such possibilities before him, and to ask himself
whether it would not be better, on the whole, to steer clear of such a sea of
troubles, by abstaining from wedlock altogether.
The impromptu remark of the disciples, viewed in
connection with its probable motives, was not a very wise one; yet it is to be
observed that Jesus did not absolutely disapprove of it. He spoke as if He
rather sympathized with the feeling in favor of celibacy,--as if to abstain
from marriage were the better and wiser way, and only not to be required of men
because for the majority it was impracticable. "But he said unto them, All men
cannot receive this saying, save they to whom it is given." Then going on to
enumerate the cases in which, from any cause, men remained unmarried, He spoke
with apparent approbation of some who voluntarily, and from high and holy
motives, denied themselves the comfort of family relationships: "There be
eunuchs which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake."
Such, He finally gave His disciples to understand, were to be imitated by all
who felt called and able to do so. "He that is able to receive (this high
virtue), let him receive it," He said; hinting that, while many men could not
receive it, but could more easily endure all possible drawbacks of married
life, even on the strictest views of conjugal obligation, than preserve perfect
chastity in an unmarried state, it was well for him who could make himself a
eunuch for the kingdom of heaven, as he would not only escape much trouble, but
be free from carefulness, and be able to serve the kingdom without
distraction.
The other form of self-sacrifice--the
renunciation of property--became the subject of remark between Jesus and His
disciples, in consequence of the interview with the young man who came
inquiring about eternal life. Jesus, reading the heart of this anxious
inquirer, and perceiving that he loved this world's goods more than was
consistent with spiritual freedom and entire singleness of mind, had concluded
His directions to him by giving this counsel: "If thou wilt be perfect, go and
sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and then thou shalt have treasure in
heaven: and come, and follow me." The young man having thereon turned away
sorrowful, because, though desiring eternal life, he was unwilling to obtain it
at such a price, Jesus proceeded to make his case a subject of reflection for
the instruction of the twelve. In the observations He made He did not expressly
say that to part with property was necessary to salvation, but He did speak in
a manner which seemed to the disciples almost to imply that. Looking round
about, He remarked to them first, "How hardly shall they that have riches enter
into the kingdom of God!" The disciples being astonished at this hard saying,
He softened it somewhat by altering slightly the form of expression.
"Children," he said, "how hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter
into the kingdom of God!"[16.7] hinting that the thing to be renounced in order
to salvation was not money, but the inordinate love of it. But then He added a
third reflection, which, by its austerity, more than cancelled the mildness of
the second. "It is easier," He declared, "for a camel to go through the eye of
a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." That
assertion, literally interpreted, amounts to a declaration that the salvation
of a rich man is an impossibility, and seems to teach by plain implication,
that the only way for a rich man to get into heaven is to cease to be rich, and
become poor by a voluntary renunciation of property. Such seems to have been
the impression made thereby on the minds of the disciples: for we read that
they were astonished above measure, and said among themselves, "Who then can be
saved?"[16.8]
It is an inquiry of vital moment what our Lord
really meant to teach on the subjects of marriage and money. The question
concerns not merely the life to come, but the whole character of our present
life. For if man's life on earth doth not consist wholly in possessions and
family relations, these occupy a very prominent place therein. Family relations
are essential to the existence of society, and without wealth there could be no
civilization. Did Jesus, then, frown or look down on these things, as at least
unfavorable to, if not incompatible with, the interests of the divine kingdom
and the aspirations of its citizens?
This question up till the time of the Reformation
was for the most part answered by the visible church in the affirmative. From a
very early period the idea began to be entertained that Jesus meant to teach
the intrinsic superiority, in point of Christian virtue, of a life of celibacy
and voluntary poverty, over that of a married man possessing property.
Abstinence from marriage and renunciation of earthly possessions came, in
consequence, to be regarded as essential requisites for high Christian
attainments. They were steps of the ladder by which Christians rose to higher
grades of grace than were attainable by men involved in family cares and ties,
and in the entanglements of worldly substance. They were not, indeed, necessary
to salvation,--to obtain, that is, a simple admission into heaven,--but they
were necessary to obtain an abundant entrance. They were trials of virtue
appointed to be undergone by candidates for honors in the city of God. They
were indispensable conditions of the higher degrees of spiritual fruitfulness.
A married or rich Christian might produce thirty-fold, but only those who
denied themselves the enjoyments of wealth and wedlock could bring forth
sixty-fold or an hundred-fold. While, therefore, these virtues of abstinence
were not to be demanded of all, they were to be commended as "counsels of
perfection" to such as, not content to be commonplace Christians, would rise to
the heroic pitch of excellence, and, despising a simple admission into the
divine kingdom, wished to occupy first places there.
This style of thought is now so antiquated that
it is hard to believe it ever prevailed. As a proof, however, that it is no
invention of ours, take two brief extracts from a distinguished bishop and
martyr of the third century, Cyprian of Carthage, which are samples of much of
the same kind to be found in the early Fathers of the church. The one quotation
proclaims the superior virtue of voluntary virginity in these terms: "Strait
and narrow is the way which leads to life, hard and arduous is the path (limes,
narrower still than the narrow way) which tends to glory. Along this path of
the way go the martyrs, go virgins, go all the just. For the first (degree of
fruitfulness), the hundred-fold, is that of the martyrs; the second, the
sixty-fold, is yours (ye virgins)."[16.9] The second extract, while ascribing,
like the first, superior merit to virginity, indicates the optional character
of that high-class virtue. Referring to the words of Christ, "There be eunuchs
which have made themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake," Cyprian
says: "This the Lord commands not, but exhorts; He imposes not the yoke of
necessity, that the free choice of the will might remain. But whereas he says
(John xiv. 2), that there are many mansions with His Father, He here points out
the lodging quarters of the better mansion (melioris habitaculi hospitia). Seek
ye, O virgins, those better mansions. Crucifying (castrantes) the desires of
the flesh, obtain for yourselves the reward of greater grace in the celestial
abodes."[16.10]
Similar views were entertained in those early
ages respecting the meaning of Christ's words to the young man. The inevitable
results of such interpretations in due course were monastic institutions and
the celibacy of the clergy. The direct connection between an ascetic
interpretation of the counsel given by Jesus to the rich youth who inquired
after eternal life, and the rise of monasticism, is apparent in the history of
Antony, the father of the monastic system. It is related of him, that going
into the church on one occasion when the Gospel concerning the rich young man
was read before the assembly, he, then also young, took the words as addressed
by Heaven to himself. Going out of the church, he forthwith proceeded to
distribute to the inhabitants of his native village his large, fertile, and
beautiful landed estates which he inherited from his fathers, reserving only a
small portion of his property for the benefit of his sister. Not long after he
gave away that also, and placed his sister to be educated with a society of
pious virgins, and settling down near his paternal mansion, began a life of
rigid asceticism.[16.11]
The ascetic theory of Christian virtue, which so
soon began to prevail in the church, has been fully tested by time, and proved
to be a huge and mischievous mistake. The verdict of history is conclusive, and
to return to an exploded error, as some seem disposed to do, is utter folly. At
this time of day, the views of those who would find the beau-ideal of Christian
life in a monk's cell appear hardly worthy of serious refutation. It may,
however, be useful briefly to indicate the leading errors of the monkish theory
of morals; all the more that, in doing this, we shall at the same time be
explaining the true meaning of our Lord's words to His disciples.
This theory, then, is in the first place based on
an erroneous assumption--viz., that abstinence from things lawful is
intrinsically a higher sort of virtue than temperance in the use of them. This
is not true. Abstinence is the virtue of the weak, temperance is the virtue of
the strong. Abstinence is certainly the safer way for those who are prone to
inordinate affection, but it purchases safety at the expense of moral culture;
for it removes us from those temptations connected with family relationships
and earthly possessions, through which character, while it may be imperilled,
is at the same time developed and strengthened. Abstinence is also inferior to
temperance in healthiness of tone. It tends inevitably to morbidity,
distortion, exaggeration. The ascetic virtues were wont to be called by their
admirers angelic. They are certainly angelic in the negative sense of being
unnatural and inhuman. Ascetic abstinence is the ghost or disembodied spirit of
morality, while temperance is its soul, embodied in a genuine human life
transacted amid earthly relations, occupations, and enjoyments. Abstinence is
even inferior to temperance in respect to what seems its strong
point--self-sacrifice. There is something morally sublime, doubtless, in the
spectacle of a man of wealth, birth, high office, and happy domestic condition,
leaving rank, riches, office, wife, children, behind, and going away to the
deserts of Sinai and Egypt to spend his days as a monk or anchoret.[16.12] The
stern resolution, the absolute mastery of the will over the natural affections,
exhibited in such conduct, is very imposing. Yet how poor, after all, is such a
character compared with Abraham, the father of the faithful, and model of
temperance and singleness of mind; who could use the world, of which he had a
large portion, without abusing it; who kept his wealth and state, and yet never
became their slave, and was ready at God's command to part with his friends and
his native land, and even with an only son! So to live, serving ourselves heir
to all things, yet maintaining unimpaired our spiritual freedom; enjoying life,
yet ready at the call of duty to sacrifice life's dearest enjoyments: this is
true Christian virtue, the higher Christian life for those who would be
perfect. Let us have many Abrahams so living among our men of wealth, and there
is no fear of the church going back to the Middle Ages. Only when the rich, as
a class, are luxurious, vain, selfish, and proud, is there a danger of the
tenet gaining credence among the serious, that there is no possibility of
living a truly Christian life except by parting with property altogether.
The ascetic theory is also founded on an error in
the interpretation of Christ's sayings. These do not assert or necessarily
imply any intrinsic superiority of celibacy and voluntary poverty over the
conditions to which they are opposed. They only imply, that in certain
circumstances the unmarried dispossessed state affords peculiar facilities for
attending without distraction to the interests of the divine kingdom. This is
certainly true. It is less easy sometimes to be single-minded in the service of
Christ as a married person than as an unmarried, as a rich man than as a poor
man. This is especially true in times of hardship and danger, when men must
either not be on Christ's side at all, or be prepared to sacrifice all for His
sake. The less one has to sacrifice in such a case, the easier it is for him to
bear his cross and play the hero; and he may be pronounced happy at such a
crisis who has no family to forsake and no worldly concerns to distract him.
Personal character may suffer from such isolation: it may lose geniality,
tenderness, and grace, and contract something of inhuman sternness; but the
particular tasks required will be more likely to be thoroughly done. On this
account, it may be said with truth that "the forlorn hope in battle, as well as
in the cause of Christianity, must consist of men who have no domestic
relations to divide their devotion, who will leave no wife nor children to
mourn over their loss."[16.13] Yet this statement cannot be taken without
qualification. For it is not impossible for married and wealthy Christians to
take their place in the forlorn hope: many have done so, and those who do are
the greatest heroes of all. The advantage is not necessarily and invariably on
the side of those who are disengaged from all embarrassing relationships, even
in time of war; and in times of peace it is all on the other side. Monks, like
soldiers, are liable to frightful degeneracy and corruption when there are no
great tasks for them to do. Men who in emergencies are capable, in consequence
of their freedom from all domestic and secular embarrassments, of rising to an
almost superhuman pitch of self-denial, may at other seasons sink to a depth of
self-indulgence in sloth and sensuality which is rarely seen in those who enjoy
the protecting influence of family ties and business engagements.[16.1]
But not to insist further on this, and conceding
frankly all that can be said in favor of the unmarried and dispossessed state
in connection with the service of the kingdom in certain circumstances, what we
are concerned to maintain is, that nowhere in the Gospel do we find the
doctrine taught that such a state is in itself and essentially virtuous. It is
absurd to say, as Renan does,[16.15] that the monk is in a sense the only true
Christian. The natural type of the Christian is not the monk, but the soldier,
both of whom are often placed in the same position in relation to marriage and
property ties, but for altogether different reasons. The watchword of Christian
ethics is not devoteeism, but devotion. Consuming devotion to the kingdom is
the one cardinal virtue required of all citizens, and every stern word
enjoining self-sacrifice is to be interpreted in relation thereto. "Let the
dead bury their dead;" "No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking
back, is fit for the kingdom of God;" "If any man hate not father and mother,
he cannot be my disciple;" "Sell all that thou hast, and come follow me"--these
and many other sayings of kindred import all mean one thing: the kingdom first,
every thing else second, and when the interest of the holy state demands it,
military promptitude in leaving all and repairing to the standards. Essentially
the same idea is the key to the meaning of a difficult parable spoken to "the
apostles," and recorded in Luke's Gospel, which we may call the parable of
extra service.[16.16] The thought intended is that the service of the kingdom
is very exacting, involving not only hard toil in the field through the day,
but extra duties in the evening when the weary laborer would gladly rest,
having no fixed hours of labor, eight, ten, or twelve, but claiming the right
to summon to work at any hour of all the twenty-four, as in the case of
soldiers in time of war, or of farm-laborers in time of harvest. And the extra
service, or overtime duty, is not monkish asceticism, but extraordinary demands
in unusual emergencies, calling men weary from age or from over-exertion to
still further efforts and sacrifices.
The theory under consideration is guilty, in the
third place, of an error in logic. On the assumption that abstinence is
necessarily and intrinsically a higher virtue than temperance, it is illogical
to speak of it as optional. In that case, our Lord should have given not
counsels, but commands. For no man is at liberty to choose whether he shall be
a good Christian or an indifferent one, or is excused from practicing certain
virtues merely because they are difficult. It is absolutely incumbent on all to
press on towards perfection; and if celibacy and poverty be necessary to
perfection, then all who profess godliness should renounce wedlock and
property. The church of Rome, consistently with her theory of morals, forbids
her priests to marry. But why stop there? Surely what is good for priests is
good for people as well.
The reason why the prohibition is not carried
further, is of course that the laws of nature and the requirements of society
render it impracticable. And this brings us to the last objection to the
ascetic theory, viz. that, consistently carried out, it lands in absurdity, by
involving the destruction of society and the human race. A theory which
involves such consequences cannot be true. For the kingdom of grace and the
kingdom of nature are not mutually destructive. One God is the sovereign of
both; and all things belonging to the lower kingdom--every relation of life,
every faculty, passion, and appetite of our nature, all material
possessions--are capable of being made subservient to the interests of the
higher kingdom, and of contributing to our growth in grace and holiness.
The grand practical difficulty is to give the
kingdom of God and His righteousness their due place of supremacy, and to keep
all other things in strict subordination. The object of those hard sayings
uttered by Jesus in Persia was to fix the attention of the disciples and of all
on that difficulty. He spoke so strongly, that men compassed by the cares of
family and the comforts of wealth might duly lay to heart their danger; and,
conscious of their own helplessness, might seek grace from God, to do that
which, though difficult, is not impossible, viz. while married, to be as if
unmarried, caring for the things of the Lord; and while rich, to be humble in
mind, free in spirit, and devoted in heart to the service of Christ.
One word may here aptly be said on the beautiful
incident of the little children brought to Jesus to get His blessing. Who can
believe that it was His intention to teach a monkish theory of morals after
reading that story? How opportunely those mothers came to Him seeking a
blessing for their little ones, just after He had uttered words which might be
interpreted, and were actually interpreted in after ages, as a disparagement of
family relations. Their visit gave Him an opportunity of entering His protest
by anticipation against such a misconstruction of His teaching. And the
officious interference of the twelve to keep away the mothers and their
offspring from their Master's person only made that protest all the more
emphatic. The disciples seem to have taken from the words Jesus had just spoken
concerning abstaining from marriage for the sake of the kingdom, the very
impression out of which monasticism sprang. "What does He care," thought they,
"for you mothers and your children? His whole thoughts are of the kingdom of
heaven, where they neither marry nor are given in marriage: go away, and don't
trouble Him at this time." The Lord did not thank His disciples for thus
guarding His person from intrusion like a band of over-zealous policemen. "He
was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come
unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God."[16.17]