"The kingdom of God," said St. Paul, "is not self-indulgence, not eating and drinking, but righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost."
It is not any one of these isolated from the rest.
Righteousness, for instance, means conformity to rule; a sceptre of righteousness is the same thing as a straight sceptre.
But can you not imagine a life of conformity to rule, a life perfectly righteous, being hideous?
Think, for instance, of a slave in a plantation, rising early, toiling until absolute exhaustion arrested his incessant labours, perfectly temperate, sober, and obedient. But all this was because the sound of the lash was in his ears, and the scars of it on his flesh; and all the while his soul was either stupefied or frenzied.
Well, it is not practically possible, but it is conceivable in theory—and Christ conceived it—that, even thus, in the fear which has torment, one should thoroughly obey God, remembering the pangs of remorse, and foreboding those of hell. And I repeat it: such a righteousness, pressed on the reluctant soul by external forces, would be hideous. It is the righteousness of the prodigal's brother: "I never transgressed.... Thou never gavest me a kid."
But the kingdom of God is righteousness combined with peace; it is obedience to an inner law—to a law written in the heart and mind.
"Righteousness, and peace, and joy." How little of real penetrating joy comes into an average human life! "Happy," says Thackeray, who knew men so well, "happy! who is happy?" And even the calm and tranquil Wordsworth, most blameless of the children of his time, complained that—
"We are pressed by heavy laws,
And often, glad no more,
We wear a face of mirth, because
We have been glad before."