Hitherto I have insisted on the danger of giving heed to all words that are spoken, LEST THOU HEAR THY SERVANT CURSE THEE; in other words, on the FOLLY of taking pains to make a discovery, which may prove unwelcome in itself, and dreadful in the consequent evils it may derive upon us.
II. It now remains that I say one word on the INJUSTICE, and want of equity, which appears in this practice. For oftentimes also thine own heart knoweth, that thou thyself, likewise, hast cursed others.
And as in the former case the preacher drew his remonstrance from his knowledge of the world; so in this, he reasons from his intimate knowledge of the human heart.
Let the friendliest, the best man living, explore his own conscience, and then let him tell us, or rather let him tell himself, if he can, that he has never offended in the instance here given. I suppose, on a strict inquiry, he will certainly call to mind some peevish sentiment, some negligent censure, some sharp reflection, which, at times, hath escaped him, even in regard to his second self, a bosom friend. Either he took something wrong, and some suspicious circumstance misled him; or, he was out of health and spirits; or, he was ruffled by some ungrateful accident; or, he had forgotten himself in an hour of levity; or a splenetic moment had surprised him. Some or other of these causes, he will find, had betrayed him into a sudden warmth and asperity of expression, which he is now ashamed and sorry for, and hath long since retracted and condemned.
Still further, at the very time when this infirmity overtook him, he had no purposed unfriendliness, no resolved disaffection towards the person he allowed himself to be thus free with. His tongue indeed had offended, but his heart had scarce consented to the offence. The next day, the next hour, perhaps, he would gladly have done all service, possibly he would not have declined to hazard his life, for this abused friend.
I appeal, as the wise author of the text does, to yourselves, to the inmost recollection of your own thoughts, if ye do not know and feel that this which I have described hath sometimes been your own case. And what then is the inference from this self-conviction? Certainly, that ye ought in common justice, to restrain your inclination of prying into the unguarded moments of other men. If your best friends have not escaped your flippancy, where is the equity of demanding more reserve and caution towards yourself from them? Without doubt the proper rule is to suppose, and to forgive, these mutual indiscretions, which we are all ready to commit towards each other. We should lay no stress on these casual discourtesies; we should not desire to be made acquainted with them; we should dismiss them, if some officious whisperer bring the information to us, with indifference and neglect. To do otherwise is not only to vex and disquiet ourselves for trifles: It is to be unfair, uncandid, and unjust, in our dealings with others; it is to convict ourselves of partiality and hypocrisy, For thine own heart knoweth, that thou thyself likewise hast done the same thing.
Ye have now, then, before you the substance of those considerations which the text offers, for the prevention of that idle and hurtful curiosity of looking into the secret dispositions and discourses of other men. Ye see how foolish, how dangerous, how iniquitous it is, to give heed to all words that are spoken.
It becomes a man indeed to lay a severe check and restraint on his own tongue. Far better would it be, if all men did so. But they who know themselves and others, will not much expect this degree of self-government, will not, if they be wise, be much scandalized at the want of it; since they know the observance of it is so difficult and sublime a virtue; since they know that nothing less than extraordinary wisdom can, at all times, prevent the tongue of man from running into excesses; since they are even told by an Apostle, That if any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man[187].
Let us then allow for what we cannot well help. And let this consideration come in aid of the others, employed in the text, to expell an inveterate folly, which prompts us to lay more stress upon words, than such frivolous and fugitive things deserve. Let us regard them, for the most part, but as the shaking of a leaf, or the murmur of the idle air: they rarely merit our notice, and attention, more: or, when they do, we should find it better to indulge our charity, than our curiosity; I mean, to believe well of others, as long as we can, rather than be at the pains of an anxious inquiry for a pretence to think ill of them.