[ p. 31 ]
WHAT did Jesus teach? The best way to answer this question is to examine concrete examples of the teaching itself. As a starting-point there is nothing better than what we call the “Sermon on the Mount,” which fills the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of our First Gospel.
To be sure, this is a compend of Jesus’ most important sayings on the nature of righteousness rather than a “sermon” in our sense of the word. We know this for at least one reason—and a very obvious one—it is too closely packed to be easily followed. Even for us, who are familiar with its contents, to read it through with careful attention is a serious task. If such an address were delivered to persons who had never heard the teaching before, we can hardly imagine their taking in its meaning; the very effort at concentration of thought would have led to imperfect apprehension. Rather, this “sermon” is made up entirely of “texts” or “seed thoughts,” each of which must have been amplified and illustrated at length when first spoken.
This does not mean that addresses [1] were not delivered to hearers who gathered around Jesus on a hillside; there may have been a hundred such addresses [ p. 32 ] in many different places. Portions of the so-called “Sermon on the Mount” were doubtless explained and discussed over and over again on such occasions. It may even be that when Jesus finally selected the Twelve, he delivered to them a formal recapitulation of his teaching in a form not unlike our passage. Such questions, while interesting, are not really important; as a compend or recapitulation, the “Sermon” is much more significant to us than a verbatim record of any single discourse.
We should notice, in the first place, that our passage has a very definite structure. A theme [2] is balanced by a summary; [3] the statement, “Think not I am come to destroy the law or the prophets: I came not to destroy but to fulfil,” is summed up in the words, “All things, therefore, whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them: for this is the law and the prophets.” All that stands in between these two passages is a development of the theme in one special aspect after another; teaching about sin, murder, adultery, perjury, retaliation, and so on. Before the statement of the theme we have a prologue—the Beatitudes—which describes the conditions of blessedness. And after the summary comes an epilogue, which contrasts the results of true teaching and of false; no religion will endure that is not founded on a solid foundation of righteousness.
When we realize that the whole “Sermon” is built up on a single theme, we can understand its general [ p. 33 ] purpose much more readily. “I came not to destroy the law or the prophets; I came to fulfil them—to bring out the true fullness of their meaning.” Consequently, the “Sermon on the Mount” is not at all a contrast between “the old law and the new,” if by the “old” law we mean the law of the Old Testament. The purpose of the Sermon is explicitly stated to be an affirming of the Old Testament law in its deepest sense. For instance, when God said, “Thou shalt not kill,” he did not mean to prohibit only the murderous act and to permit murderous thoughts and words; God may judge some exhibitions of anger as severely as men may judge some murders. Nor did God mean that a murderer can be absolved of his guilt merely by paying the legal penalty; to say, “Whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment” [4] is entirely inadequate. In other words, the current Jewish teachers, by treating God’s law as lawyers treat human laws, had perverted it; by fixing their attention microscopically on the letter they had missed the spirit. So the contrast drawn in the Sermon on the Mount is between the traditional false interpretation of the law and the true meaning of the law; “Except your righteousness exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no wise enter into the Kin gdom of Heaven.”
To take another example, one special aspect of the theme is given in the precept, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate thy enemy.” But there is no such precept in the Old Testament. “Love thy neighbor” [ p. 34 ] is most assuredly there, but the second part of the proposition is a lawyer’s deduction from the first, [5] and the combination is the form in which the Old Testament was currently taught. Moreover, once converted into a lawyer’s statement, every phrase in the sentence was subjected to further legal analysis. “Thou shalt love thy neighbor” was read as “Thou shalt love thy neighbor with the resulting conclusion, “If a man is not your neighbor, you are not legally bound to love him; in fact, under some circumstances your duty may be to hate him.” So, “Who is my neighbor?” became a problem for the learned experts to solve. In fact, on one momentous occasion, one of these experts put this question to Jesus, possibly hoping for more definite light himself. Jesus’ reply was the parable of the Good Samaritan, with the moral, “My neighbor is the man who is near me.” [6]
The phrase, “the contrast between the old law and the new,” is false from another angle. To call Jesus’ teaching “the new law” gives at once a wrong impression of the way in which he taught. He does not lay down “laws” at all; the legalistic principle is the very principle he condemned in his exploration of the Old Testament precepts for their vital truth. Jesus gives principles of conduct. He does not prescribe rules, he describes a character; he is interested in showing his [ p. 35 ] disciples what they must be, rather than what they must do. The official teachers of the law laid emphasis on outward observances; he puts the emphasis on inner motives. They were content with obedience to statutory enactments, and asked nothing better than a severely strict acquiescence in the standards laid down by the traditionalists of the time; he asks a willingness to go over and beyond the most that men may demand. The official teachers could be content if persuaded that they had fulfilled the rules; he asks for that “divine discontent” which strives for perfection and can never be satisfied until it has been attained. “Be ye therefore perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
To take, now, the special aspects of the theme of righteousness as they occur in the Sermon on the Mount. On the first, anger, something has been said already: God may judge anger as seriously as men judge murder. Similarly, angry words may bear the guilt which men attached to such grievous crimes as false prophecy, which were reserved for the “council” or Great Sanhedrin; reckless abuse [7] may be as sinful as men deemed the abhorrent sins that were punished by burning in the Valley of Hinnom. [8] Since anger could be so culpable, even the most sacred acts of worship give way to the duty of reconciliation.
Again, the Seventh Commandment, “Thou shalt not commit adultery, does not merely forbid an impure [ p. 36 ] act; it condemns impure thoughts just as truly. Consequently, if anyone think his nature is one that condones self-indulgence, he should undeceive himself. Such a nature must be reformed at any cost. “If thy right eye causeth thee to stumble, pluck it out and cast it from thee.”
When a man marries he assumes a permanent responsibility, which is not voided if he finds himself disappointed in his wife. Nothing will excuse failure of his patience or forbearance. She, too, owes him the same duty. So, if he puts her away and she marries again, [9] he becomes guilty of her sin in addition to his own: “he causes her to commit adultery.”
Failure to speak the truth cannot be excused by a casuistry that teaches that some formulas are truthcompelling while others are not. If a man’s simple “yes” or “no” is untrustworthy, then something is wrong somewhere.
The Old Testament law provided certain punishments for criminal offenses; in some quarters this was interpreted to mean that an injured man had a moral right to demand the infliction of these penalties; a doctrine that taught that revenge up to a certain point was permissible. On the contrary, Jesus declares, revengeful desire is wrong under every circumstance. In so far as the individual by himself is concerned, all selfish insistence on personal or property rights is sinful.
The command to love is utterly unrestricted; in fact, obedience to this command is meritorious only when [ p. 37 ] love is not prompted by any natural interest. God scatters His benefits on evil and good alike, and the true child of God takes his Father as his pattern.
In the strictly religious sense of the word, the Jews divided righteousness” into three acts— almsgiving, prayer, and fasting. All three should be regarded purely as matters between the individual soul and God. When used for any other purpose—such as to win men’s praise—they lose all their inner value. And what is true of these observances is equally true of the use of wealth—when used solely for the purposes of this present age it may, at the best, be merely futile, consumed by moth and rust; when used to serve God’s cause, it becomes a permanent and enduring possession. So man’s chief need in spiritual things is a singleness of purpose that sees its aim clearly and unwaveringly; otherwise he will be like a servant at" tempting the impossible task of serving two masters at once.
After a digression on freedom from present care, the Sermon returns to the concrete illustration of its theme with the words, “Judge not.” For in carping criticism of others there is a fatal likelihood of sinking into unabashed selfishness; the contemplation of other people’s shortcomings is the most comforting method of distracting attention from our own, and there is no greater sin against love. Hence this fault is a “beam” compared to which most other errors are merely motes.
And so [10] the Sermon passes to its summary, which [ p. 38 ] condenses all the special application into a perfect formula: “All things, therefore, whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye unto them. This is the true meaning of the law and the prophets.”
To use a modern phrase, the Sermon on the Mount is the most comprehensive summary of Jesus’ “ethics.” Consequently, it may be well to note, once more, the manner in which the ethical teaching is given. We have no enunciation of legalistic commands, we have the setting forth of principles; if we take Jesus’ words and try to turn them into humdrum legalities, they may become absurd. For example: “When thou prayest, enter into thine inner chamber, and, having shut the door, pray to thy Father who is in secret.” If this were interpreted legalistically and literally, it would prohibit public worship completely. But in that case it would condemn first of all Jesus himself, for he was constant in his attendance at the synagogues and he reverenced the temple deeply.
We should note, moreover—and this is very important—that in every concrete instance each single principle is analyzed by itself, that for the moment each such principle is considered in complete isolation. What is the true nature of gentleness? Of purity? Of truthfulness? Each virtue is taken singly, as if for the purposes of the analysis it were the only virtue in the world. In precisely the same way, individuals, too, are considered in entire independence of other individuals. When Jesus said, “If a man smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also,” the individual [ p. 39 ] addressed is isolated from the rest of the race; the only effect considered is the effect on him. If he willingly turn the other cheek, he may be certain that he cherishes no revenge; this is the sole point directly at issue.
Now, it may be urged very truly, life is not like that. Life almost never offers a problem into which only a single motive can enter, and perhaps never offers a problem that concerns exclusively a single agent. The moment we attempt to act, complications occur. If I am struck on the cheek, I must free myself from all desire of revenge; yes, but I also owe a duty of love to the offender; I must do him all the good in my power. So I am bound to ask myself, Shall I in every instance do him the most good by letting him believe that he may injure others recklessly and with impunity? It may be that my gentleness may be the best corrective I can offer him, but Jesus does not say so. All Jesus does in stating this principle is to consider the injured person, and to consider the injured person only as a man who may think he has a claim to revenge.
Or perhaps a third party is injured while I am a bystander; what then? Here, again, we must mark attentively what Jesus does not say. He does not say, “If a man smite a child on its right cheek, let him smite the child on the other cheek also!” Nor does he say, “If a man take the widow’s bread, let him take the orphan’s also!” When we try to word his principle legalistically in such forms as these, we [ p. 40 ] realize instantly the absurdity of our interpretation of the teaching as precepts.
In other words, while life’s problems are usually concerned with a conflict of motives and duties, the Sermon on the Mount is concerned with the final principles from which action arises. The simple problem must precede the more complex; before we can deal with conflicting elements, we must first be clear as to the elements taken separately. The purpose of the Sermon is to make the simple problem clear in each case; to secure the singleness of the spiritual “eye,” without which the whole body will be full of darkness. The individual must learn to examine and analyze his own basic motives. When he is assured of their purity—and only then—he may truly feel that he is beginning to act as a moral being. Then, when the single motives have been purified, the task of combining motives will be vastly easier. But for the various combinations there can be no rigid rules; each instance must be examined on its own merits.
That is why Jesus does not give precise, definite, specific laws of life. He leaves us to do something for ourselves. He would have us do hard work in the way of character-building. In each of his sayings there is a principle to be discovered and applied: to cultivate the spirit of abounding generosity; to control acquisitiveness; to show magnanimity and large-heartedness; to curb personal resentment. The language used is Oriental, vivid, paradoxical, aphoristic, epigrammatic, parabolic. It is for us to discover the [ p. 41 ] kernel of truth in the parable or paradox and apply it in the varying circumstances of life. Is not that the way in which truth is best made vivid? The ideal teacher is the one who makes you see the idea, not the one who loses the thought in a maze of detail, much less in a cautious catalogue of exceptions.
It is a splendid and inspiring task, in the world in which we live and with the tasks we have to do and the temptations we must overcome, to try to read “the mind of the Master” in the effort to discover what Jesus Christ would expect of us. Only a weakling would wish a map of duty, with all the directions plainly printed. Christ’s call is to live unselfishly, to give gladly and generously, to break through the tyranny of class, and reverse the usual order of life, and think more of others than of self. It is our part to ask, “When?” and “Where?” and “Why?”
It is this that makes the teaching of Jesus universal. No new generation has improved upon it and no new civilization will supplant it. Conditions change and the application varies, but the principles abide. Every age has found its highest ideal embodied in Christ. He has been the perfect truth to ages of philosophic thought; the highest example to an age of discipline; the quickener of the dead letter to an age of ecclesiastical reform; the example of service to our own practical age; the awakener of conscience to a generation which faces the social problem; the hope of those who seek peace for the world.
And, then, marvel of marvels: he was all that he taught. Will his teaching work? Look at him and [ p. 42 ] we see that it has worked. Other teachers have had beautiful thoughts; the higher their ideals, the sharper the contrast with their actions and the more evident the difference between what men say and what they are. Jesus Christ has always been the living embodiment of every word of his teaching.
Hardly “sermons” as we know “sermons.” ↩︎
St. Matthew v: 17. ↩︎
St. Matthew vii: 12. ↩︎
i.e., of the human judges who tried such cases. ↩︎
Aided, perhaps, by some of the cruder Old Testament denunciations of Israel’s foes. ↩︎
It should be stated explicitly, however, that in the Judaism of later centuries many crudities of the early first century were discarded by the sound sense of the Jewish scholars. ↩︎
We do not know the exact force of either “Raca” or “Thou fool,” but the general sense must be about as here assumed. ↩︎
Near Jerusalem to the southwest. “The hell of fire” is an inappropriate translation in this passage. ↩︎
Under Jewish conditions assumed as inevitable. ↩︎
After another short digression. ↩︎