The Polemics of Christianity

Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good.—Romans 12:21This description of Christian warfare, of what may be called the Apostle’s rule of “polemics” or “doing battle,” is well worthy of its place at the close of his great summary of Christian duties. “Be not overcome of evil”—“be not conquered by evil” (so we might more faithfully render it)—“be not conquered by evil, but conquer evil by good.” The Apostle here, as so often elsewhere, has before his mind the image of the Christian soldier. Nothing shows more completely how in his time, peaceful as it was, the military character of the Roman Empire filled the whole horizon of the ordinary thoughts and topics of men than the Apostle’s constant allusions to the armour—the sword, the shield, the helmet—the battle, the conquest, the triumph. They show this, and they show that he did not shrink from using these images, even for the most peaceful, for the most solemn, for the most sacred purposes; they show that he was not in his Epistles a different man from what he was in common life; that the sights and sounds which filled his eyes and ears in the world around him were not forgotten when he took the parchment scroll, and bade his companion write down at his dictation the words which were to comfort and strengthen, not the Roman Christians of his own time only, but the whole Church of God for ever.

We shall deal with the subject in two parts. Let us take them in the order of the text.

  I.  The Power of Evil.

  II.  The Power of Good.

I

The Power of Evil

i. What is Evil?

1. We should observe in the first place the immediate object of St. Paul’s prohibition. What is the particular form of evil against which he directs this warning? It is the evil of giving way to a spirit of revenge. This prohibition does not mean that no power of correction is committed to man. In the opening verses of the very next chapter we are told that an earthly ruler is “the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil.” Distinguish between administration of punishment for offences against the law of God or man and infliction of chastisement through personal anger or some personal offence. The Son of Man, who never avenged Himself, by word or deed, upon those who injured or insulted Him, yet, on occasion, took upon Himself the office of avenger, visiting with His severest condemnation the profaners of His Father’s Temple, and upbraiding with the bitterest censure the hypocrisy and essential worldliness of the religious leaders of His day. As is the Master, such must the servants be. Let us reserve our indignation (a gift of God) for the condemnation of sin. Let us bear with meekness whatever slights or insults are aimed at ourselves.

Christianity is reproached because it has brought little that is new into the sphere of morals. That is quite a gratuitous impeachment. Our Lord’s method of dealing with evil, for instance, is startlingly new. Before He came the world knew no other way of treating evil than by reprisal and retribution; pains and penalties were the only remedies known to the rulers and judges of the earth. The Incarnation disclosed to the world a new and an amazing thought: for the mailed fist it substituted the pierced hand. Henceforth error and unrighteousness were to be antagonized by knowledge, long-suffering, sympathy, and forgiveness. On these lines our Lord taught, and thus personally He dealt with the provocations of His contemporaries. His disciples drank in His spirit, imitated His example, and taught His doctrine. The contrast between the truculent systems of the ancient world and the mild programme of the Gospel is complete. “Ye have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” The originality of this ethic is incomparable.1 [Note: W. L. Watkinson.]

2. But there is an extended application to the words of the text. The inspired maxim includes all forms of evil, and there is no form of evil by which we are to allow ourselves to be overcome. What, then, is evil? How can we define it? Evil, like good, is one of those very wide and comprehensive words which, when we want to put our ideas into shape and order, urgently require definition, and which, nevertheless, by reason of their very width and comprehensiveness, almost refuse to be defined. But let us go to the root of the matter. What is evil in its root? Simply this. It is unregulated desire. Desire is that quality in men which corresponds to gravitation in the physical bodies, which, while all is well with us, keeps us moving around our true centre, the Being of beings—God. Sin is the free concentration of desire upon some other centre than God, that is, upon some created being; and just as if, in the heavenly spheres, a planet could get detached from its true orbit—from loyal revolutions around its proper sun—and could thus come within the range of other and counteracting attractions, the effect would be vast and irretrievable disaster, so is it in the moral world. Sin is this disorder in the governing desires of the soul, followed by a corresponding disorder in its outward action.

3. Evil is the work not of God but of the creature. God could not directly have created evil without denying Himself. Evil is a result of the abuse of God’s highest gift to created beings—their free will. Evil is the creature repudiating the law of its being by turning away its desire from Him who is the source, the centre, the end of its existence. If it be urged that God, in making man free, must have foreseen that man would thus abuse his freedom, it must be replied that God’s horizons are wider than ours, and that we may not unreasonably believe that He foresaw, in the very cure of evil, a good which would more than compensate for its existence—that, as the Apostle puts it, if sin abounded grace would much more abound.

Every one knows that microbes are a cause of disease. It is a great wonder, seeing that there are so many microbes about, that we keep as well as we do. But the reason why we keep well has been explained. In Pasteur’s laboratory in Paris a Russian physiologist named Metschnikoff has found out the secret, and he tells us how it is they are not so deadly as otherwise they might be. He has proved that certain cells contained in the blood, now called phagocytes, commonly known as the white corpuscles of the blood, have the power of independent motion. That is to say, they not only travel with the blood as it flows through the arteries and veins, but they can go anywhere in the body if they so choose. These phagocytes wander about in the blood, even make their way inside the tissue, and, wonderful to relate, they pursue, devour, and digest these deadly disease-producing microbes. They are like guardian angels of the body. Now there is something very similar going on in our spiritual life. St. Paul said: “When I would do good, evil is present with me.” We have all felt like that, and we all have the same war going on in our inmost being. When we disobey God, we always know what we ought to do—there is the good voice struggling to warn and crush the bad tendency. Conscience is a fine phagocyte. Listen to it always, and the deadly microbe of wrong-doing will soon be overtaken and slain. Your soul’s life will thus become healthy, strong, and noble.1 [Note: J. Learmount.]

ii. The warning

“Be not overcome of evil.” Those words contain at once a warning of danger and an encouragement to resistance. They assume, as all Scripture does, that there is such a thing as evil, that it is around us, that contact with it is inevitable, that defeat and ruin by it are not impossible. It would be a shallow and a false philosophy, it would be a treacherous and apostate religion which should attempt to conceal this from us, or to tell us that the hard, narrow, up-hill path to heaven is smooth, and easy and strewn with roses. To our first parents the school of evil was Paradise itself. Esau was bred in the noble simplicity of the patriarch’s tent; the sons of Eli within the curtains of God’s bright sanctuary; Manasses in the pure palace of a royal saint; Judas among the chosen ones of the heavenly Kingdom, and in daily intercourse with the Son of God Himself. Yet what became of them? Esau grew into a coarse, sensual hunter; the sons of Eli were sons of Belial; Manasses was a foul apostate; and for Judas, the thief, the traitor, the son of perdition, it were better that he had not been born. So it is God’s will that man should be liable everywhere to the possibilities of evil. But—“resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”

1. Now, with regard to the particular case in point, St. Paul meant that we are overcome by evil whenever we yield to revenge, or become indifferent to the good and the welfare of those who do us wrong. If we say (or even think), “It’s no concern of mine. Let him reap as he has sown, let him look after himself, for to his own master he stands or falls,” we forget that, in a real sense, we are all our brothers’ keepers; not the keepers of their consciences—and we may not presume to dictate to them what they should believe, or what they should do—but we are their keepers in the sense that we are bound to help them, and “as we have opportunity,” to “work that which is good” toward them; and above all things to aid them in the conquest of their faults, whatever they may do to us.

What is it to be overcome of evil? Generally speaking it is just to suffer evil to lead us into evil. Evil for evil, we say; that is, revenge wrong by wrong. We have an example of this in the history of Tamerlane the Great, king of the Tartars, who reigned over the greater part of Western Asia some six hundred years ago. In the battle of Angora, which was fought in the year 1402, he defeated and took captive Bajazet, the king of the Turks. At first he treated the fallen monarch with great consideration and showed him much kindness. One day, however, entering into conversation with him, he asked, “Now, king, tell me freely and truly what thou wouldst have done to me had I fallen into thy power.” Bajazet, who had a most fierce and implacable disposition, answered, “Had God given unto me the victory I would have enclosed thee in an iron cage and carried thee about with me as a spectacle of derision to the world.” Then Tamerlane, in a flame of passion, said, “Thou proud man, as thou wouldst have done with me, even so shall I do with thee.” And he was as good—or should I say as bad?—as his word. A strong iron cage was made, and Bajazet was for three years carried about in the train of his conqueror, until at last, hearing that he was to be borne into Tartary, he struck his head violently against the iron bars and so put an end to his miserable existence. Now we see in this story how the conqueror became the conquered; the victor was changed into the vanquished. For Tamerlane was overcome of evil. His character would have appeared much nobler had he said to Bajazet, “I will treat thee much better than thou wouldst treat me: thou wouldst expose me to shame, but I will advance thee to honour.”1 [Note: J. Aitchison.]

2. There are, however, other evils to which this maxim applies. We are not to be overcome of evil as we see it in society, in the tendencies at work around us; neither are we to be overcome by it as it exists within ourselves, in the habits we may have formed. Are we not all at times the victims of these? It may be the outbreak of a fiery temper, or the querulousness of a discontented soul, the suspiciousness of an uncharitable heart, the jealousy of a selfish spirit, the rashness of ungenerous judgment, or the sordidness of a worldly nature.

3. Now who of us will not admit that he has at some time or other been overcome by such things? Yes, this is part of the warfare. We may have been “overcome,” but we are never to be beaten by them, or to despair of the conquest of such faults. St. Paul says nothing about the length of the contest, but in the ultimate issue we must be the victors, not the vanquished. Sin gets into our lives, and it is a blessed thing for us that, even after sin has conquered us, it is possible for us by God’s mercy to conquer it in the end. We may lose a battle but need not lose the war, for we can repent. What is repentance? Being sorry for sin? No, not exactly. It means thinking again. “Second thoughts are best,” says the proverb. And repentance means “second thoughts.” Whenever we sin we think foolishly and wickedly; we deceive ourselves. When we repent we think better of it; we think wisely and rightly. And when by a foolish, wicked thought we allow sin to conquer us, we still can by means of repentance—the second wise thoughts that God always gives to those who will take them—drive out sin again.

Some time ago a little girl went into a room where a table was laid for dinner. Among other things there was a plate of oranges. The little girl felt tempted to take one of these, and she let herself be conquered by the wicked thought. She walked up to the table and took one, and then, not knowing that she was being watched all the time, went out of the room. But in a few minutes the one who was watching saw her come back. She walked quickly to the table and put the orange she had stolen back in its place, saying as she did so “Sold again, Satan!”2 [Note: J. M. Gibbon.]

II

The Power of Good

“Overcome evil with good”—is this possible and practicable? Certainly. And no other method of overcoming evil is either possible or practicable. We may suppress it by force, but it remains evil still; it is not overcome. We may deprive it of its power of action, but it still exists; it is not overcome. We may frighten or flatter it into submission, but we do not thereby conquer it. We may shut our eyes to its presence, and imagine that it has ceased to be, but for all that it is powerful still, as we may soon find to our cost. Evil is overcome only when he who has been overcome by it renounces it and allies himself with good.

i. Good must win

1. God is the perfect goodness, and every good influence comes from God, therefore, however great the force of evil, good is always stronger than evil. But this is not all. The idea of God as the embodiment of abstract goodness will not materially help us in the battle of life. Sin is evil, and we feel its presence; and we need more than a mere ideal of abstract goodness to overcome the evil. But God has not left us thus blindly to feel after the good. “Where sin abounded, grace did abound more exceedingly.” We shall be able to lay hold of the power of goodness by recognizing that the peculiar self-utterance of God is Jesus Christ, and that Jesus Christ is the embodiment of a universal sonship, and therefore that the overcoming principle is in us and in all men, and, being Divine, is ultimately irresistible.

2. It is not enough to rely on the good within ourselves; we must look to the good without ourselves. What that highest good is, we all know. But do we sufficiently remember how in the thought of that highest good, in the communion with God in Christ, lies not only our peace and safety, but our victory over evil? In earthly warfare, we know well that, however courageous may be the host, they must have a leader in whom to trust. And so it is in our spiritual warfare; we must have the example and the encouragement of the just and good who have gone before us. But, above all, we must look to Him who is called “Jesus”—that is, our “Joshua,” our Conqueror, our victorious Leader, the Captain of our salvation, the Lion of the tribe of Judah.

It is told of the Emperor Constantine, that he, the founder of the first Christian Empire, the first of Christian sovereigns, was converted to the faith of Christ by a vision which appeared to him at the head of his armies—a vision of a flaming cross, in the centre of which was written, in almost the very same Greek words as the Apostle here uses: “In this conquer,” or “By this conquer.” The story itself is encompassed with doubt, but in a figure it conveys to us a true lesson. “In this conquer” should still be our motto. “In this,” in the Cross of Christ, the highest “good” which God has revealed to man, “in this conquer.” Conquer, because the Cross of Christ shows us what is God’s love to His creatures. Conquer, because it shows us what is the highest call of man. Conquer, because it shows us the strength and the firmness, the gentleness and mercy, the suffering and the victory in which, and through which, we too are to be victorious.1 [Note: A. P. Stanley.]

Rise, O my soul, with thy desires to heaven,

And with divinest contemplation use

Thy time where time’s eternity is given,

And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;

But down in darkness let them lie:

So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die!

And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,

View and review with most regardful eye

That holy cross, whence thy salvation came,

On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die!

For in that sacred object is much pleasure,

And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.

To thee, O Jesu! I direct mine eyes,

To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees;

To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,

To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees.

To thee my self, my self and all I give;

To thee I die, to thee I only live!2 [Note: Sir Walter Raleigh.]

3. The greatest force in the world is good influence. It is encouraging to the weak and erring to know that they may overcome their weaknesses, that there is a power which may be instilled into their lives, giving them strength to resist all the overtures of the Evil One, and to battle against all his assaults. To all those who will let good influence be their guardian angel victory is secured. Right always wins—first, last, and always right is victorious.

Blessed influence of one true loving human soul on another! Not calculable by algebra, not deducible by logic, but mysterious, effectual, mighty as the hidden process by which the tiny seed is quickened, and bursts forth into tall stem and broad leaf, and glowing tasseled flower. Ideas are often poor ghosts; our sun-filled eyes cannot discern them; they pass athwart us in thin vapour, and cannot make themselves felt. But sometimes they are made flesh; they breathe upon us with warm breath, they touch us with soft responsive hands, they look at us with sad sincere eyes, and speak to us in appealing tones; they are clothed in a living human soul, with all its conflicts, its faith, and its love. Then their presence is a power, then they shake us like a passion, and we are drawn after them with gentle compulsion, as flame is drawn to flame.1 [Note: George Eliot, Janet’s Repentance.]

Thou must be true thyself,

If thou the true wouldst teach;

Thy soul must overflow, if thou

Another’s soul wouldst reach.

The overflow of heart it needs

To give the lips full speech.

Think truly, and thy thoughts

Shall the world’s famine feed;

Speak truly, and each word of thine

Shall be a fruitful seed;

Live truly, and thy life shall be

A great and noble creed.2 [Note: Horatius Bonar.]

ii. How Good overcomes Evil

We may divide the evil which we have to combat into three classes. (1) There is personal evil, that is evil in ourselves. (2) Then there is the evil of which the text particularly speaks, evil in our neighbour—we might call it domestic evil. (3) And, lastly, there is the evil in the world at large. We may characterize it as public evil. All these forms of evil are to be overcome with good.

1. Personal evil.—How shall I overcome evil in myself? I shall overcome it by emphasizing, predicting, calling into operation the good. I will overcome the natural with the spiritual, the temporal with the eternal, the phenomenal with the real; where I find an evil tendency in myself I will instantly call upon the opposite tendency in the Christ nature within me and accentuate it.

(1) Now all personal evil begins in thought, therefore evil thoughts will be overcome by good thoughts. “Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honourable, 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.” “These things”—is this our way? Is it not rather our unhappy habit to revolve in our thought and imagination whatsoever things are painful, humiliating, ugly, and discouraging? We shall never overcome evil by this fellowship with sin and sadness. We overcome the evil in the good. The cardinal matter is to fix our thoughts and affections on things above, not on things on the earth; we cannot even think of these things without being blessed. The thought of beauty leaves a stain of sweet colour on the soul; to think of greatness is to grow; to muse on purity is to suffer a sea change into the whiteness and preciousness of the pearl.

That useless thoughts spoil all; that the mischief began there; but that we ought to be diligent to reject them as soon as we perceived their impertinence to the matter in hand, or to our salvation; and return to our communion with God.1 [Note: Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God, 13.]

You remember that terrible touch in one of our Lord’s sternest parables, about the evil spirit returning to the house whence he came out, and finding it “empty, swept, and garnished”—then goeth he and taketh to 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. What does that “empty, swept, and garnished” mean? It means that if the heart is not pre-occupied with good, it will be invaded by evil. The labourer who stands idle in the market-place is ever ready to be hired in the devil’s service. The worm of sin gnaws deepest into the idle heart. But preoccupy your heart with good; preoccupy your time with honest industry, and you are safe.2 [Note: F. W. Farrar.]

She walks—the lady of my delight—

A shepherdess of sheep.

Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;

She guards them from the steep.

She feeds them on the fragrant height

And folds them in for sleep.

She roams maternal hills and bright,

Dark valleys safe and deep.

Into that tender breast at night

The chastest stars may peep.

She walks—the lady of my delight—

A shepherdess of sheep.

She holds her little thoughts in sight,

Though gay they run and leap.

She is so circumspect and right;

She has her soul to keep.

She walks—the lady of my delight—

A shepherdess of sheep.1 [Note: Alice Meynell.]

(2) Let us concentrate our efforts on the good. We overcome the evil in the good. We shall not overcome our personal defects by dwelling upon them, tormenting ourselves on account of them, dealing directly with them, or by attempting singly to uproot them. To overcome this or that failing, we must think of it as little as possible, and as much as we can about the corresponding virtue; weaken the bad side by strengthening the good. Let us frankly recognize whatever grace has done for us, and by fostering it drive out the evil. Cherish the good thought, forward the generous impulse, follow out the upward-seeking desire; starve the roots of bitterness, smother them, choke them, drive them out by flowers of grace, fruits of light, and plants of God’s right-hand planting.

Mr. Kay Robinson, the naturalist, describes a competition witnessed by him in the fields. Owing to a peculiarity of weather, the poppies had managed to get a start of an inch or so in the matter of height over the wheat and barley, and the obnoxious flowers were just beginning to burst into bloom that would have converted the stunted grain into lakes of scarlet, when down came the rain; in a single day and night the wheat shot up above the poppies, and for the rest of the season the poisonous things were overwhelmed in a wavy sea of prosperous green and yellow gold. A similar competition is going on between our good and our bad qualities; it is a rivalry between the wheat and the tares as to which shall get on top and smother the other. What is the true course to adopt whilst this struggle proceeds? It is to concentrate ourselves on the corn.1 [Note: W. L. Watkinson.]

2. In dealing with domestic evil—that which we see and deplore in our immediate neighbourhood—the text must furnish guidance. The faults and follies of husband, wife, children, companions, servants, neighbours occasion frequent and sincere distress. How are these lapses to be effectually combated? Not by good advice even, much less by scorn and contempt. Verbal censure and social penalty do not largely avail against the evils which trouble our environment; the effectual remedy is unspeakably more costly. Our guilty neighbours must see in us the virtues they lack. Embodied excellence is to do the whole work of rebuking and charming, dispensing with eloquence, whether sacred or profane.

On the walls of a chamber of great beauty in the Alhambra this sentence is inscribed: “Look attentively at my elegance, and thou wilt reap the advantage of a commentary on decoration.” The variety, loveliness, and harmony of the architecture of that chamber are themselves a commentary on decoration and render literary criticism and description superfluous. In like manner the fine character and blameless doing of the Christian are a commentary on nobleness, rendering argument and expostulation unnecessary. Offending neighbours see “how awful goodness is, and virtue in her shape how lovely,” and words can add nothing to this incarnation of the true and beautiful.1 [Note: W. L. Watkinson.]

On his first entry upon the field of responsible life, he had formed a serious and solemn engagement with a friend—I suppose it was Hope-Scott—that each would devote himself to active service in some branch of religious work. He could not, without treason to his gifts, go forth like Selwyn or Patteson to Melanesia to convert the savages. He sought a missionary-field at home, and he found it among the unfortunate ministers to “the great sin of great cities.” In these humane efforts at reclamation he persevered all through his life, fearless of misconstruction, fearless of the levity or baseness of men’s tongues, regardless almost of the possible mischiefs to the public policies that depended on him. Greville tells the story how in 1853 a man made an attempt one night to extort money from Mr. Gladstone, then in office as Chancellor of the Exchequer, by threats of exposure; and how he instantly gave the offender into custody, and met the case at the police office. Greville could not complete the story. The man was committed for trial. Mr. Gladstone directed his solicitors to see the accused was properly defended. He was convicted and sent to prison. By and by Mr. Gladstone inquired from the governor of the prison how the delinquent was conducting himself. The report being satisfactory, he next wrote to Lord Palmerston, then at the Home Office, asking that the prisoner should be let out. There was no worldly wisdom in it, we all know. But then, what are people Christians for?1 [Note: Morley, Life of Gladstone, iii. 419.]

Nothing more entices charity than to be first in the exercise of it. Dost thou desire to be loved? Love then.2 [Note: Augustine, De Catech. Rud.]

I have read a story of a certain Chinese Emperor, that he was informed that his enemies had raised an insurrection in one of his distant provinces. On hearing this he said to his officers, “Come, follow me, and we will quickly destroy them.” He marched forward, and the rebels submitted upon his approach. All now thought that he would take his revenge, but were surprised to see the captives treated with mildness and humanity. “How,” cried the first minister, “is this the manner in which you fulfil your promise? Your royal word was given that your enemies should be destroyed; and, behold! you have pardoned them all, and even caressed some of them.” “I promised,” replied the Emperor, “to destroy my enemies. I have fulfilled my word; for see, they are enemies no longer; I have made friends of them.”3 [Note: F. H. Robarts.]

There is a power for victory in the simple might of goodness. It was with this power that Dr. Arnold overcame lying at Rugby. “It is no use,” they said, “telling a lie to the Doctor, he always believes you.”

Old books tell us of a place in Arabia where roses grow so thickly that when the wind blows over them it gets so full of the sweet smells as to kill the lions in the desert beyond. Of course that is not true as a fact. There is no such place in Arabia. But it is true as a parable. You can kill lions with roses.4 [Note: J. M. Gibbon.]

Be good at the depths of you, and you will discover that those who surround you will be good even to the same depths. Nothing responds more infallibly to the secret cry of goodness than the secret cry of goodness that is near. While you are actively good in the invisible, all those who approach you will unconsciously do things that they could not do by the side of any other man. Therein lies a force that has no name; a spiritual rivalry that knows no resistance. It is as though this were the actual place where is the sensitive spot of our soul; for there are souls that seem to have forgotten their existence, and to have renounced everything that enables them to rise; but, once touched here, they all draw themselves erect; and in the Divine plains of the secret goodness the most humble souls cannot endure defeat.1 [Note: Maurice Maeterlinck.]

3. The effectual way to subdue public evil is the strategy of the text.

(1) We do not really overcome evil by substituting one evil for another, or by setting one evil to drive out another. Scientists neutralize one kind of microbe by introducing another, and sometimes, it would seem, they introduce one disease to expel another; but manœuvres have little place in the moral world. Statesmen will attempt to end an evil practice or institution by introducing it in a different shape, as the Siamese are said to domesticate spiders to drive out cockroaches; the profit of such devices, however, is generally dubious. Whatever the endless shifts and compromises of politics may be worth, they do not belong to the invincible strategy whenever they propose to vanquish evil by evil. Christianity implies a profounder process.

Your fire will not put out your companion’s fire; rather will they combine, and make a bigger and hotter blaze. Good arguments are best pressed home by soft words, and a righteous cause will be better pleaded with meekness than with passion. You remember how Jephthah’s roughness to the Ephraimites, who were angry because they were not asked to help in the battle against their country’s enemies, exasperated them further, and led to a terrible strife between brethren, in which thousands of lives were lost. And, on the other hand, you remember how the wise Gideon treated the same Ephraimites on a similar occasion; how he spoke gently to them, and made flattering excuses, and so pacified them that they gladly gave their help against the common foe.2 [Note: H. Macmillan.]

The African is now appreciating the fact that there is industrial work for him to do, that he is needed for the work, and able to do it. The missionaries had lately to refuse over one hundred and twenty who wished to be trained as carpenters. We are told that in Ngoniland education is to-day as much prized as in Great Britain. The Ngoni lived as wolves among sheep till they were tamed by the messengers of Jesus Christ. “Give me a Gospel for an assegai,” one of them said to the missionary, “as the love of war has been taken out of my heart.”1 [Note: James Wells, Stewart of Lovedale, 145.]

(2) We shall not overcome evil by the representation of it. Ghastly things are represented in art on the plea that they will disgust. The stark expression of naturalism in literature is excused on the ground that its loathsomeness is discredited by being described. And the drama pictures vice and violence with moral design. No mistake can be greater. Wickedness at once repels and fascinates, too often in the end proving contagious and destructive. It is infectious to represent evil, often dangerous to talk of it, and even an injustice to ourselves to figure it in fancy. The morbid element in life must be dealt with in art and literature; but it ought to be described, delineated, and dramatized with utmost reticence.

To make our idea of morality centre on forbidden acts is to defile the imagination and to introduce into our judgments of our fellow-men a secret element of gusto. If a thing is wrong for us, we should not dwell upon the thought of it; or we shall soon dwell upon it with inverted pleasure.2 [Note: R. L. Stevenson, A Christmas Sermon.]

The fabled basilisk was said to perish if it saw itself in a mirror; it could not survive the sight of its own hideousness. Evil is not killed in this way. It feeds on the vision. With regard to the spirit of terrible cruelty which marked the Renaissance in Italy, Symonds traces it to the influence of the fiendish atrocities of the tyrant Ezzelino. “In vain was the humanity of the race revolted by the hideous spectacle.… It laid a deep hold upon the Italian imagination, and by the glamour of loathing that has strength to fascinate, proved in the end contagious.”3 [Note: W. L. Watkinson.]

An artist one day visited a friend of his, an undergraduate at Oxford. As he looked round upon the walls of his young friend’s rooms, and saw the gross and sordid prints and photographs, the artist’s heart went out in eager longing to purify the thought and sanctify the passion of his young friend. A day or so afterwards, a beautiful picture came addressed to the Oxford undergraduate with a little note enclosed from his artist friend: “Hang this up in your room, it will banish the chorus girls and the jockeys.” And it did!1 [Note: W. S. Kelynack, in The Young Man, March 1911.]

(3) Evil is not overcome by denunciation. It is surprising how much efficacy is supposed to go with denunciation. Real, constructive, aggressive good is of far greater significance than eloquent invective; such invective has its place, but it must be accompanied by active practical effort, or it effects little more than summer lightning.

Carlyle, in his review of Elliott, the Corn-Law Rhymer, has a most instructive passage. “We could truly wish to see such a mind as his engaged rather in considering what, in his own sphere, could be done, than what, in his own or other spheres, ought to be destroyed; rather in producing or preserving the True, than in mangling and slashing asunder the False.” But denunciatory rhetoric is so much easier and cheaper than good works, and proves a popular temptation. Yet it is far better to light the candle than to curse the darkness.2 [Note: W. L. Watkinson.]

The Polemics of Christianity

Literature

Aitchison (J.), The Children’s Own, 154.

Cronshaw (H. P.), in Sermons for the People, New Ser., ii. 59.

Farrar (F. W.), In the Days of thy Youth, 139.

Gibbon (J. M.), In the Days of Youth, 82.

Greer (D. H.), From Things to God, 82.

Knight (W.), Things New and Old, 183.

Learmount (J.), Fifty-Two Sundays with the Children, 230.

Liddon (H. P.), Christmastide in St. Paul’s, 387.

Liddon (H. P.), Forty Sermons Selected from the Penny Pulpit, i. 504.

Maclaren (A.), Expositions: Romans, 300.

Macmillan (H.), The Daisies of Nazareth, 170.

Robarts (F. H.), Sunday Morning Talks, 70.

Sauter (B.), The Sunday Epistles, 70.

Stanley (A. P.), Canterbury Sermons, 275.

Watkinson (W. L.), The Supreme Conquest, 218.

West (R. A.), The Greatest Things in the World, 18.

Wilberforce (B.), Following on to Know the Lord, 99.

Christian World Pulpit, liv. 116 (Welldon); lxx. 86 (Watkinson); lxxvii. 28 (Scholes).

Contemporary Pulpit, 1st Ser., v. 50 (Hutton).