John v. 44.
How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seek not the honour that cometh of God only?
It has been thought unfair to charge unbelief, simply and indiscriminately, on the grosser passions. The observation, I believe, is just: and yet it may be true, notwithstanding, that unbelief is always owing to some or other of the passions. The evidences of revealed religion are so numerous, and upon the whole so convincing, that one cannot easily conceive how a reasonable man should reject them all, without the intervention of some secret prejudice, or predominant affection.
Of these prejudices and affections, one of the commonest, and the most seducing of any to the better sort of unbelievers, is that irregular love of praise and reputation, which our Lord condemns in the text—How can ye believe, which receive honour one of another, and seek not the honour that cometh from God only?
The question, we may observe, is so expressed, as if we could not receive honour from one another, and believe, at the same time; as if there was a physical, at least a moral impossibility, that these two things should subsist together. And we shall find, perhaps, the expression no stronger than the occasion required, if, besides other considerations, we attend to the following; which shew how inconsistent a true practical faith in the Gospel is with the sollicitous and undistinguishing pursuit of human glory.
For, I. The Gospel delivers many of its doctrines as inscrutable, and silences the busy curiosity of our understandings about them: but the honour of men is frequently obtained by indulging this curiosity, and pushing the researches of reason into those forbidden quarters.
II. The Gospel demands an humble and reverential awe in the discussion of all its doctrines; such of them, I mean, as it leaves most free to human inquiry: but this turn of mind is contrary to that high courage and daring intrepidity, which the world expects in those who are candidates for its honour.
III. The Gospel prescribes an uniform and unqualified assent to whatever it declares of divine things, whether we can or cannot apprehend the reason of such declaration: but this submission to authority, the world is ready to call ill-faith, and to consider the defiance of it, as a mark of superior honesty and virtue.
Thus we see, that WIT, COURAGE, and PROBITY, the three great qualities we most respect in ourselves, and for which we receive the highest honour from each other, appear many times to the world with less advantage in the Christian, than the unbeliever. Not, that Christianity strips us of these virtues: on the other hand, it requires and promotes them all, in the proper sense of the words; and they may really subsist in a higher degree in the believer, than any other: but they will often seem to be more triumphantly displayed by those who give themselves leave to disbelieve; and the prospect of honour, which that opinion opens to such men, is one of the commonest sources from which they derive their infidelity.
But to make good this charge against the unbelieving world, and to lay open the mysteries of that insidious self-love, which prompts them to aspire to fame, by the means of infidelity, it will be necessary to resume the THREE TOPICS before mentioned, and to enlarge something upon each of them.
I. First, then, I say, That He, who at all adventures resolves to obtain the honour of men, cannot believe, because the unrestrained exercise of his WIT, by which he would acquire that honour, is inconsistent with the genius and principles of our religion.
The fundamental articles of the Gospel are proposed to us, as objects of faith, not as subjects of inquiry. As they proceed from the source of light and truth, they are founded, no doubt, in the highest reason; but they are for the most part, at least in many respects, inscrutable to our reason. It is enough that we see cause to admit the revelation itself, upon the evidences given of it: it is not necessary that we should carry our researches any farther. It is not safe, or decent, or practicable, in many cases, to do it. The just and sober reasoner is careful to proceed on clear and distinct ideas, and to stop where these fail him. But how soon does he arrive at this point? For the sublime genius of Christianity reminds him, at almost every step, how impossible it is, with the scanty line of human reason, to fathom the deep things of God; and represses the sallies of his wit and fancy, with this reflexion—how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out! In a word, where he finds the subject too obscure for his understanding to penetrate, or too vast for his ideas to comprehend (and he presently finds this, when he attempts to reason on the mysteries of the Christian faith) he checks his inquiries, he believes, and adores in silence.
But now this silence, this adoration, is ill suited to the restless ambition of the human mind, when it aspires to the reputation of profound and extensive knowledge. The vain reasoner would signalize himself on all subjects, the most abstruse and mysterious, in preference to others; and fears not to carry his presumptuous inquiries to the seat and throne of God. He questions the revealed truths of the Gospel as freely as any other; and finding them many times inexplicable by the principles of human science, he triumphs in the discovery, applauds his own reach of thought, and dazzles the world into a high opinion of his wit and parts. The truth is, he decides on subjects, which he does not, and cannot understand: but the world sees, he decides upon them; and that is generally enough to attract its admiration and esteem.
Again: In such parts of revealed Religion, as lie more within the cognizance of human reason, an inquirer may find difficulties, and start objections, which the best instructed believer either does not attempt, or is not able to resolve. Here, the triumph of wit over faith is thought conspicuous, and is indeed seducing. For, while the believer has only to confess his own ignorance, the infidel shines in exposing and inforcing those difficulties and objections: And, when the ingenuity is all on one side, it is rarely suspected, that reason and good sense may be, with modesty, on the other.
Nay, where the point in question can be effectually cleared up, still their will generally seem to be more acuteness in discovering a difficulty, than in removing it: And thus the subtle caviller in religious controversy shall have the fortune to pass for a shrewder man, than the ablest apologist.
And that this advantage of reputation is, indeed, that which free and libertine reasoners propose to themselves, you will see by calling to mind the sort of subjects, which they are fondest to treat, and the sort of character, which they are most proud to assume.
In natural religion, the origin of evil, and God’s moral government, are their favourite topics: in revealed religion, the fall of human nature, its restoration by the death and sufferings of Christ, the incarnation of the Son of God, and the adorable Trinity. But why are these high subjects picked out to exercise their speculations upon? subjects, in which the sublimest understanding is absorbed and lost; subjects, which they well know (for I speak of the abler men in that party) we have no faculties to comprehend. Why, then, are these subjects preferred to all others? For an obvious cause: to shew how ingenious they can be in perplexing human reason, if any believer should be indiscreet enough to subject these mysterious truths to that test.
But the character, they assume, declares their purpose no less than the arguments they delight to treat. For their pride is to affect a sort of pyrrhonism, or universal doubt and hesitation, even on the plainest points of morals; to controvert the most received principles and opinions; and, as the sophists of old, to make the worse appear the better reason, in all questions which they undertake to discuss. Would you desire a stronger proof of the principle which actuates such men?
II. It appears, then, how the ostentation of wit leads to infidelity. The affectation of COURAGE is another snare to those, who lie in wait for the honour of men.
The believer, it has been observed, presumes not to reason at all on some points of his Religion. In others, he is left at liberty; yet on these, he reasons, always with great reverence and circumspection. Now, though this conduct be highly fit and proper, it is not so likely to strike the observation of men, as a more forward and enterprizing behaviour. Not only his understanding is restrained, but his spirit, they say, is cramped and broken. The inconsiderate world, on the other hand, is taken with bold assertions, and hazardous positions; which it easily construes into a mark of high courage, as well as capacity. A fearless turn of mind is a dazzling quality, and we do not always distinguish between intrepidity and temerity. Thus it comes to pass, that as the Christian’s love of peace and charity in common life, so his cautious respect in religious matters, has been treated by libertine men, as pusillanimity. He is considered, in the fashionable world, as a tame and spiritless man; and in the learned world, as a tame and spiritless reasoner.
Hence, when we are bent, at any rate, upon receiving honour one of another, we are tempted to make a display, not of our wit only, but our courage: And, as nothing is thought a surer indication of this quality, than to make light of that which the rest of the world hold sacred, we easily see how a passion for this sort of fame betrays the unbalanced mind into all the extravagancies of infidelity.
The instances are frequent, and well-known. When the Philosopher of Malmsbury, in the last century, took upon him to resolve all morality and all religion into the will of the magistrate, whatever other end he might have in view, the bold singularity of this paradox was, no doubt, that which chiefly recommended it to himself, as well as surprized the world into an opinion of his bravery: though we know, from his story, that, in fact, he had no more of this virtue, than might well have consisted with faith, and the fear of God. But vain man oft affects to make a shew of that which he does not possess: and thus his defect in true courage, may be the true account of his pretending to so much of it.
Still, the heart of man is more deceitful, than we have hitherto seen, or can easily believe: For who,
III. In the last place, would suspect, that an admiration of INTEGRITY itself, as well as of wit and courage, should seduce the unwary mind into irreligion? Yet so it is, that men, intoxicated with the love of fame, will sacrifice any virtue, the best quality they have, to the reputation of it.
The true believer admits, with a full and perfect assent, whatever he takes to be clearly revealed in the Gospel; the most impenetrable article of his creed, as well as the simplest proposition in morals. All stands with him on the same equal footing of divine authority: no matter, whether he can, or cannot, perceive the grounds of reason, on which the Revelation is founded.
But now this facility of belief, this entire resignation of the understanding to the dictates of Heaven, the world is ready to suspect, of disingenuity. And they who live only in the opinion of that world, would not be exposed to so dishonourable a suspicion.
The process of their vanity may be traced in this manner. They have observed, that some persons (of their acquaintance, it may be) pretend to more faith than they have. They suppose the same thing of many others; and they suppose too, the rest of the world, the more intelligent part of it at least, are in the same opinion. But they pique themselves on their honesty: they will give no man leave to call in question their good faith; the ornament of their lives, and the idol of their hearts. And thus, as many men are ill-bred, for fear of passing in the world for flatterers; so these men are unbelievers, that they may not be accounted hypocrites.
As extravagant as this turn of mind appears, it cannot be thought incredible; especially when united, as it may be, with that pride of understanding, and courage, before mentioned. “It is not for me, (says a presuming inquirer to himself) who am distinguished by a reach of thought and penetration from the vulgar, to admit, without scruple, so extraordinary a system, as that of Revelation. I must doubt and disbelieve, where others see nothing to stop at. Nor is it for a man of my spirit to endure those shackles of reserve and respect, which oppress the timid and servile believer. Above all, it becomes the honesty, I profess, to take no part of my religion upon trust; an easy submission to what is called authority, is, with discerning men, but another name for insincerity. As I tender, then, the reputation of my wit, my courage, and my integrity, it concerns me to take heed how I entertain a belief; which may, at once, shake the credit of all these virtues.”
This train of sophistry, you see, is not ill laid; and one conceives how a mind, transported with the love of false honour, may be caught by it.
At first, perhaps, the disbelief is pretended, only. But pretences[127], continued for any time, become realities. And thus, what was assumed, to give us the credit of certain virtues with the world, or with that part of it to which we desire to recommend ourselves, is at length embraced with a sort of good faith; and we are, what we have seemed to be, at the instance indeed of our vanity, but, as we flatter ourselves, for the sake of those very virtues.
Something like this, which I have here described, may have been the case of a well-known philosopher, who would be thought to crown his other parts of ingenuity and courage, with the purest probity[128]. This unhappy man, having published to the world an offensive system of infidelity, and being called to account for it, replies to his censurer in these words—The world may calumniate me, as it sees fit; but it shall never take from me the honour of being the only author of this age, and of many others, who hath written with good faith[129].
What shall we say of this strange boast? Was it enthusiasm, or the pride of virtue, that drew it from him? This honest man, we will say, might believe himself, when he talked at this rate: but then we must conclude, that nothing but the most intemperate love of praise could have wrought him up to so frantic a persuasion.
I suppose, it may now appear how easily we become the dupes of any favourite passion; and how perfect an insight our Lord had into the nature of man, when he asserted in the text—that we cannot believe, if we will receive honour one of another. We cannot, you see, believe; because, if that honour be the ultimate end and scope of our ambition, the best faculties we possess, the fairest virtues of our hearts, will pervert, and, in a manner, force us into infidelity.
Let this humiliating consideration have its full effect upon us. Above all, let it check, or rather regulate that ardent desire of fame, which is so predominant in young and ingenuous minds. Let such learn from it to mistrust their passions, even the most refined and generous, when they would inquire into the evidences of their religion. Let them remember that reason, pure impartial reason, is to direct them in this search; that the passion for honour is in all cases, but particularly in this (where it is so seducing) an unsafe and treacherous guide; and that, to escape the illusions of infidelity and a thousand other illusions, to which they will otherwise be exposed in common life, one certain method will be, To controul their love of fame, by the love of truth; which is, in other words, to seek the honour, that cometh of God, only.