ON GENTLENESS.*

To be wise in our own eyes, to be wise in the opinion of the world, and to be wise in the sight of God, are three things so very different, as rarely to coincide. One may often be wise in his own eyes, who is far from being so in the judgment of the world; and to be reputed a prudent man by the world is no security for being accounted wise by God. As there is a worldly happiness, which God perceives to be no other than disguised misery; as there are worldly honours, which, in His estimation, are reproach; so there is a worldly wisdom, which in His sight is foolishness. Of this worldly wisdom the characters are given in the context, and placed in contrast with those of the wisdom which is from above. The one is the wisdom of the crafty, the other that of the upright. The one terminates in selfishness, the other in charity. The one is full of strife and bitter envyings, the other of mercy and of good fruits. One of the chief characters by which the wisdom from above is distinguished is gentleness, of which I am now to discourse. Of this there is the greater occasion to discourse, because it is too seldom viewed in a religious light, and is more readily considered by the bulk of men as a mere felicity of nature, or an exterior accomplishment of manners, than as a Christian virtue, which they are bound to cultivate. I shall first explain the nature of this virtue, and shall then offer some arguments to recommend, and some directions to facilitate, the practice of it.

I begin with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of others. That passive tameness which submits without struggle to every encroachment of the violent and assuming forms no part of Christian duty; but, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and order. That unlimited complacence which, on every occasion, falls in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. It overthrows all steadiness of principle, and produces that sinful conformity with the world which taints the whole character. In the present corrupted state of human manners, always to assent and to comply is the very worst maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals without opposing the world on

various occasions, even though we should stand alone. That gentleness, therefore, which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards and the fawning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just right from fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. It is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly spirit and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only the polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced.

It stands opposed not to the most determined regard for virtue and truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and arrogance, to violence and oppression. It is, properly, that part of the great virtue of charity which makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren. Compassion prompts us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us from retaliating their injuries. Meekness restrains our angry passions; candour, our severe judgments. Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners; and, by a constant train of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office, therefore, is extensive. It is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on peculiar emergencies, but it is continually in action when we are engaged in intercourse with men. ought to form our address, to regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour.

It

I must warn you, however, not to confound this gentle wisdom, which is from above, with that artificial courtesy, that studied smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the world. Such accomplishments the most frivolous and empty may possess. Too often they are employed by the artful as a snare, too often affected by the hard and unfeeling as a cover to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid observing the homage which, even in such instances, the world is constrained to pay to virtue. In order to render society agreeable, it is found necessary to assume somewhat, that may at least carry its appearance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form has been reduced into an art; and, in the commerce of life, the first study of all who would either gain the esteem or win the hearts of others is to learn the speech and to adopt the manners of candour, gentleness, and humanity. But that gentleness which is the characteristic of a good man has, like every

add, nothing, except what flows from the heart,

can render even external manners truly pleasing. For no assumed behaviour can at all times hide the real character. In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the studied manners of the most finished courtier.

True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to Him who made us, and to the common nature of which we all share. It arises from reflection on our own failings and wants, and from just views of the condition and the duty of man. It is native feeling, heightened and improved by principle. It is the heart which easily relents, which feels for everything that is human, and is backward and slow to inflict the least wound. It is affable in its address, and mild in its demeanour; ever ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others; breathing habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers, long-suffering to enemies. It exercises authority with moderation, administers reproof with tenderness, confers favours with ease and modesty. It is unassuming in opinion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame; but prompt to allay dissension and to restore peace. It neither intermeddles unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets of others. It delights above all things to alleviate distress, and if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to soothe at least the grieving heart. Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome. It seeks to please rather than to shine and dazzle, and conceals with care that superiority, either of talents or of rank, which is oppressive to those who are beneath it. In a word, it is that spirit and that tenor of manners which the Gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands us to bear one another's burdens; to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep; to please every one his neighbour for his good, to be kind and tender-hearted, to be pitiful and courteous, to support the weak, and to be patient towards all men.

Having now sufficiently explained the nature of this amiable virtue, I proceed to recommend it to your practice. Let me, for this end, desire you to consider the duty which you owe to God; to consider the relation which you bear to one another; to consider your own interest.

I. Consider the duty which you owe to God. When you survey His works, nothing is so conspicuous, as His greatness and majesty. When you consult His Word, nothing is more remarkable, than His attention to soften that greatness, and to place it in the mildest and least oppressive light. He not only characterises Himself as the "God of consolation," but, with condescending gentleness, He particularly accommodates Himself to the situation of the unfortunate. "He dwelleth with the humble and contrite. He hideth not His face when the afflicted cry.

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds." When His Son came to be the Saviour of the world, He was eminent for the same attribute of mild and gentle goodness. Long before His birth, it was prophesied of Him, that He should "not strive, nor cry, nor cause His voice to be heard in the streets; that the bruised reed He should not break, nor quench the smoking flax" (Matt. xii. 19, 20). And after His death, this distinguishing feature in His character was so universally remembered, that the Apostle Paul, on occasion of a request which he makes to the Corinthians, uses those remarkable expressions, "I beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ" (2 Cor. x. 1). During all His intercourse with men, no harshness, or pride, or stately distance, appeared in His demeanour. In His access, He was easy; in His manner, simple; in His answers mild; in His whole behaviour, humble and obliging. "Learn of me," said He, "for I am meek and lowly in heart." As the Son of God is the pattern, so the Holy Ghost is the inspirer of gentleness. His name is the Comforter, the Spirit of grace and peace. His fruits, or operations on the human mind, are "love, meekness, gentleness, and long-suffering" (Gal. v. 22). Thus, by every discovery of the Godhead, honour is put upon gentleness: it is held up to our view, as peculiarly connected with celestial nature. And suitable to such discoveries, is the whole strain of the Gospel. It were unnecessary to appeal to any single precept. You need only open the New Testament, to find this virtue perpetually inculcated. Charity, or love, is the capital figure ever presented to our view; and gentleness, forbearance, and forgiveness, are the sounds ever recurring on our ear.

So predominant, indeed, is this spirit throughout the Christian dispensation, that even the vices and corruptions of men have not been able altogether to defeat its tendency. Though that dispensation is far from having hitherto produced its full effect upon the world, yet we can clearly trace its influence in humanising the manners of men. Remarkable, in this respect, is the victory which it has gained over those powers of violence and cruelty, which belong to the infernal kingdom. Wherever Christianity prevails, it has discouraged, and, in some degree, abolished slavery. It has rescued human nature from that ignominious yoke, under which, in former ages, the one-half of mankind groaned. It has introduced more equality between the two sexes, and rendered the conjugal union more rational and happy. It has abated the ferociousness of war. It has mitigated the rigour of despotism, mitigated the cruelty of punishments; in a word, it has reduced mankind, from their ancient barbarity, into a more humane and gentle state. Do we pretend respect and zeal for this religion, and at the same time allow ourselves in that harshness and severity, which are so con

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tradictory to its genius? Too plainly we show that it has no power over our hearts. We may retain the Christian name; but we have abandoned the Christian spirit.

man.

II. Consider the relation which you bear to one another. Man, as a solitary individual, is a very wretched being. As long as he stands detached from his kind, he is possessed neither of happiness nor of strength. We are formed by Nature to unite; we are impelled towards each other by the compassionate instincts in our frame; we are linked by a thousand connections, founded on common wants. Gentleness, therefore, or, as it is very properly termed, humanity, is what man, as such, in every station, owes to To be inaccessible, contemptuous, and hard of heart, is to revolt against our own nature; is, in the language of Scripture, to "hide ourselves from our own flesh." Accordingly, as all feel the claim which they have to mildness and humanity, so all are sensibly hurt by the want of it in others. On no side are we more vulnerable. No complaint is more feelingly made, than that of the harsh and rugged manners of persons with whom we have intercourse. But how seldom do we transfer the case to ourselves, or examine how far we are guilty of inflicting on others, whose sensibility is the same with ours, those very wounds of which we so loudly complain?

But, perhaps, it will be pleaded by some, that this gentleness, on which we now insist, regards only those smaller offices of life, which in their eye are not essential to religion and goodness. Negligent, they confess, of the government of their temper, or the regulation of their behaviour, on slight occasions; they are attentive, as they pretend, to the great duties of beneficence; and ready, whenever the opportunity presents, to perform important services to their fellow-creatures. But let such persons reflect, that the occasions of performing those important good deeds very rarely occur. Perhaps their situation in life, or the nature of their connections, may in a great measure exclude them from such opportunities. Great events give scope for great virtues; but the main tenor of human life is composed of small occurrences. Within the sound of these lie the materials of the happiness of most men; the subjects of their duty, and the trials of their virtue. Virtue must be formed and supported, not by unfrequent acts, but by daily and repeated exertions. In order to its becoming either vigorous or useful, it must be habitually active; not breaking forth occasionally with a transient lustre, like the blaze of the comet; but regular in its returns, like the light of day: not like the aromatic gale, which sometimes feasts the sense; but like the ordinary breeze, which fans the air, and renders it healthful.

Years may pass over our heads, without affording any opportunity for acts of high beneficence

or extensive utility. Whereas not a day passes, but, in the common transactions of life, and especially in the intercourse of domestic society, gentleness finds place for promoting the happiness of others, and strengthening in ourselves the habit of virtue. Nay, by seasonable discoveries of a humane spirit, we sometimes contribute more materially to the advancement of happiness, than by actions which are seemingly more important. There are situations, not a few, in human life, where the encouraging reception, the condescending behaviour, and the look of sympathy, bring greater relief to the heart, than the most liberal supplies of bounty. While, on the other side, when the hand of liberality is extended to bestow, the want of gentleness is sufficient to frustrate the intention of the benefit. We sour those whom we meant to oblige; and, by conferring favours with ostentation and harshness, we convert them into injuries. Can any disposition then be held to possess a low place in the scale of virtue, whose influence is so considerable on the happiness of the world?

Gentleness is in truth the great avenue to mutual enjoyment. Amidst the strife of interfering interests, it tempers the violence of contention, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony, It softens animosities, renews endearments, and renders the countenance of man a refreshment to man. Banish gentleness from the earth; suppose the world to be filled with none but harsh and contentious spirits; and what sort of society would remain? The solitude of the desert were preferable to it. The conflict of jarring elements in chaos; the cave, where subterraneous winds contend and roar; the den, where serpents hiss, and beasts of the forest howl, would be the only proper representations of such assemblies of men. "Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then I would fly away, and be at rest. Lo! then I would wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest. For I have seen violence and strife in the city. Mischief and sorrow are in the midst of it. Deceit and guile depart not from the street" (Psalm lv. 6, 7, 8). Strange! that where men have all one common interest, they should so often absurdly concur in defeating it! Has not Nature already provided a sufficient quantity of unavoidable evils for the state of man? As if we did not suffer enough from the storm which beats upon us without, must we conspire also, in those societies where we assemble, to find a retreat from that storm, to harass one another? But if the sense of duty, and of common happiness, be insufficient to recommend the virtue of which we treat, then let me desire you

III. To consider your own interest. Whatever ends a good man can be supposed to pursue, gentleness will be found to favour them. It prepossesses and wins every heart. It persuades,

when every other argument fails; often disarms the fierce, and melts the stubborn: whereas harshness confirms the opposition it would subdue; and of an indifferent person creates an enemy. He who could overlook an injury committed in the collision of interests will long and severely resent the slights of a contemptuous behaviour. To the man of gentleness, the world is generally disposed to ascribe every other good quality. The higher endowments of the mind we admire at a distance; and when any impropriety of behaviour accompanies them, we admire without love. They are like some of the distant stars, whose beneficial influence reaches not to us. Whereas, of the influence of gentleness, all in some degree partake, and therefore all love it. The man of this character rises in the world without struggle, and flourishes without envy. His misfortunes are universally lamented; and his failings are easily forgiven.

But whatever may be the effect of this virtue on our external condition, its influence on our internal enjoyment is certain and powerful. That inward tranquillity which it promotes is the first requisite to every pleasurable feeling. It is the calm and clear atmosphere, the serenity and sunshine of the mind. When benignity and gentleness reign within, we are always least in hazard of being ruffled from without; every person, and every occurrence, are beheld in the most favourable light. But let some clouds of disgust and ill-humour gather on the mind, and immediately the scene changes; Nature seems transformed, and the appearance of all things is blackened to our view. The gentle mind is like the smooth stream, which reflects every object in its just proportion, and in its fairest colours. The violent spirit, like troubled waters, renders back the images of things distorted and broken; and communicates to them all that disordered motion which arises solely from its own agitation.

Offences must come. As soon may the waves of the sea cease to roll, as provocations to arise from human corruption and frailty. Attacked by great injuries, the man of mild and gentle spirit will feel what human nature feels; and will defend and resent as his duty allows him. But to those slight provocations, and frivolous offences, which are the most frequent causes of disquiet, he is happily superior. Hence his days flow in a far more placid tenor than those of others; exempted from the numberless discomposures which agitate vulgar minds. Inspired with higher sentiments; taught to regard, with indulgent eye, the frailties of men, the omissions of the careless, the follies of the imprudent, and the levity of the fickle, he retreats into the calmness of his spirit, as into an undisturbed sanctuary; and quietly allows the usual current of life to hold its course.

This virtue has another, and still more important connection with our interest, by means

of that relation which our present behaviour bears to our eternal state. Heaven is the region of gentleness and friendship: hell, of fierceness and animosity. If then, as the Scripture instructs us, "according to what we now sow, we must hereafter reap," it follows that the cultivation of a gentle temper is necessary to prepare us for future felicity; and that the indulgence of harsh dispositions is the introduction to future misery. Men, I am afraid, too often separate those articles of their belief which relate to eternity from the ordinary affairs of the world. They connect them with the seasons of seriousness and gravity. They leave them, with much respect, as in a high region, to which, only on great occasions, they resort; and, when they descend into common life, consider themselves as at liberty to give free scope to their humours and passions. Whereas, in fact, it is their behaviour in the daily train of social intercourse, which, more than any other cause, fixes and determines their spiritual character; gradually instilling those dispositions, and forming those habits, which affect their everlasting condition. With regard to trifles, perhaps, their malignant dispositions may chiefly be indulged. But let them remember well, that those trifles, by increasing the growth of peevishness and passion, become pregnant with the most serious mischiefs; and may fit them, before they are aware, for being the future companions of infernal spirits only.

I mean not to say, that in order to our preparation for heaven, it is enough to be mild and gentle; or that this virtue alone will cover all our sins. Through the felicity of natural constitution, a certain degree of this benignity may be possessed by some whose hearts are in other respects corrupt, and their lives irregular. But what I mean to assert is, that where no attention is given to the government of temper, meetness for heaven is not yet acquired, and the regenerating power of religion is as yet unknown. One of the first works of the Spirit of God is, to infuse into every heart which it inhabits that "gentle wisdom which is from above." "They who are Christ's have crucified the flesh with its affections and lusts;" but let it not be forgotten, that among the works of the flesh, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, and envyings, are as expressly enumerated, as uncleanness, murders, drunkenness, and revelling. They who continue either in the one or the other, "shall not inherit," indeed cannot inherit, "the kingdom of God."

Having thus shown the importance of gentleness, both as a moral virtue and as a Christian grace, I shall conclude the subject with briefly suggesting some considerations which may be of use to facilitate the practice of it.

For this end, let me advise you to view your character with an impartial eye; and to learn from your own failings to give that indulgence

which in your turn you claim. It is pride which fills the world with so much harshness and severity. In the fulness of self-estimation, we forget what we are. We claim attentions to which we are not entitled. We are rigorous to offences, as if we had never offended; unfeeling to distress, as if we knew not what it was to suffer. From those airy regions of pride and folly, let us descend to our proper level. Let us survey the natural equality on which Providence has placed man with man, and reflect on the infirmities common to all. If the reflection on natural equality and mutual offences be insufficient to prompt humanity, let us at least remember what we are in the sight of God. Have we none of that forbearance to give to one another, which we all so earnestly entreat from Heaven? Can we look for clemency or gentleness from our Judge, when we are so backward to show it to our own brethren ?

Accustom yourselves also to reflect on the small moment of those things which are the usual incentives to violence and contention. In the ruffled and angry hour, we view every appearance through a false medium. The most inconsiderable point of interest or honour swells into a momentous object, and the slightest attack seems to threaten immediate ruin. But after passion or pride has subsided, we look round in vain for the mighty mischiefs we dreaded. The fabric which our disturbed imagination had reared totally disappears. But, though the cause of contention has dwindled away, its consequences remain. We have alienated a friend, we have embittered an enemy, we have sown the seeds of future suspicion, malevolence, or disgust. Suspend your violence, I beseech you, for a moment, when causes of discord occur. Anticipate that period of coolness, which of itself will soon arrive. Allow your selves to think how little you have any prospect of gaining by fierce contention; but how much of the true happiness of life you are certain of throwing away. Easily, and from the smallest chink, the bitter waters of strife are let forth; but their course cannot be foreseen; and he seldom fails of suffering most from their poisonous effect, who first allowed them to flow.

But gentleness will, most of all, be promoted by frequent views of those great objects which

our holy religion presents. Let the prospects of immortality fill your minds. Look upon this world as a state of passage. Consider yourselves as engaged in the pursuit of higher interests; as acting now, under the eye of God, an introductory part to a more important scene. Elevated by such sentiments, your mind will become calm and sedate. You will look down, as from a superior station, on the petty disturbances of the world. They are the selfish, the sensual, and the vain, who are most subject to the impotence of passion. They are linked so closely to the world; by so many sides they touch every object, and every person around them, that they are perpetually hurt, and perpetually hurting others. But the spirit of true religion removes us to a proper distance from the grating objects of worldly contention. It leaves us sufficiently connected with the world, for acting our part in it with propriety; but disengages us from it so far as to weaken its power of disturbing our tranquillity. It inspires magnanimity, and magnanimity always breathes gentleness. It leads us to view the follies of men with pity, not with rancour; and to treat, with the mildness of a superior nature, what in little minds would call forth all the bitterness of passion.

Aided by such considerations, let us cultivate that gentle wisdom which is, in so many respects, important both to our duty and our happiness. Let us assume it as the ornament of every age, and of every station. Let it temper the petulance of youth, and soften the moroseness of old age. Let it mitigate authority in those who rule, and promote deference among those who obey. I conclude with repeating the caution, not to mistake for true gentleness that flimsy intimation of it called polished manners, which often among men of the world, under a smooth appearance, conceals much asperity. Let yours be native gentleness of heart, flowing from the love of God, and the love of man. Unite this amiable spirit with a proper zeal for all that is right, and just, and true. Let piety be combined in your character with humanity. Let determined integrity dwell in a mild and gentle breast. A character thus supported will command more real respect than can be procured by the most shining accomplishments when separated from virtue.