[ p. 43 ]
WHAT reason does Jesus give for the ideal of righteousness he sets forth? In other words— and to use modern terminology—what is the basis of his ethic? The answer is best stated in his own words: “That ye may become [1] sons of your Father who is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust.” In one sense, no doubt, every human being may be said to be a child of God—and yet every human being should likewise endeavor to become a child of God. Mere natural relationship does not by itself contribute much to family life. Unless there is a real likeness of nature, a true identification of interests between children and their parents, family bonds tend to become meaningless and irksome. So Jesus’ ethical motive may be summed up in the phrase, “Imitation of God”; an imitation of a God whose activity is manifest in care of His creatures. [2] Consequently the two “Great Commandments,” love of God and love of neighbor, are in reality only one, because love [ p. 44 ] of such a God produces love of neighbor irresistibly.
It follows, likewise, that a Christian ethic is essentially an ethic of activity, for the righteousness that Jesus taught issues always in positive well-doing. There are two forms of the Golden Rule, one of them negative, reading: “Whatever is displeasing to thyself, do not to thy neighbor”; and the other positive, “Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them.” Only the latter was taught by Jesus. Superficially there may not seem to be much difference between the two forms, and yet they are based on utterly different outlooks. The negative Golden Rule can be perfectly fulfilled in solitude; the positive Golden Rule demands social contacts. A man who harms no one may be a respectable member of the community, but he is of no great help to the community. It is not until each neighbor is thought of as offering an opportunity for service that the Christian ideal is reached.
From this standpoint we see the real meaning of Jesus’ famous words: “Why callest thou me good? None is good save one, even God.” Goodness consists in activity, but only God is perfectly active, therefore, only God is perfectly good. So no human being can be “good” in the full sense of the word, for human activity—and hence human goodness—is limited at every turn. Consequently, even Jesus, speaking humanly, felt obliged to disclaim perfect and complete goodness, that he might make his questioner think of the divine standard in the only way possible for him to think of it.
[ p. 45 ]
In view of this, to ask whether or not Jesus’ ethic is a “social” ethic would show a singular lack of perception; his ethic finds its very essence in social relations. Yet we look to him in vain for any conceptions of a social outlook that runs parallel with some of today’s legislation. He cared little for law as law. One finds nothing in his teaching to indicate that he would be sympathetic to the idea that the paramount duty of the church is the formulating of programs, the engineering of particular schemes of reforms, the utilization of Christian organization as a political force, or the employment of his ministers as lobbyists and propagandist agents in legislative halls. The realm in which Jesus was interested—of this more fully later —and the sphere of the state are different; we must “render unto Csesar the things which are Caesar’s and unto God the things which are God’s.”
Indeed, instead of adjudicating in social matters, Jesus showed a singular dislike for interference in particular cases. When one man with a grievance came to him, desiring his help in compelling a division of family property—the rabbis were always willing to act in such instances—Jesus’ first words were an expression of searching insight into the man’s soul. It was not so much a matter of zeal for justice that brought the man in such a hurry; it was covetous anxiety to get all he could. “Man, who made me a judge or divider over you? Take heed and beware of covetousness!”
Nor was Jesus, in the strict sense of the word, a social reformer. Instead of preaching social revolution, [ p. 46 ] he urged upon all deep searching of the heart, to discover the near-at-hand sin. He did, indeed, speak in scathing denunciation of the sins of the wealthier classes, but he did not go to the opposite extreme of flattering the masses. Quite the contrary. “If any man would go to law with thee and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also”; desperate clinging to property rights is, no doubt, blind selfishness. But, just as truly, “Whosoever shall impress thee to cany a burden for one mile, go with him two”; labor in its own way may be as self-centered as capital. Nothing is more important for the Christian social worker to remember. Social partisanship in the church or among the clergy today does not really represent Christ, and in the end will not win the workers. The minister is in the best possible position to be a mediator between the rich and the poor. Not being overrich himself, and yet rarely falling below a “decent poverty,” he has an unusual opportunity to break down class prejudice and create a general and genuine social consciousness.
Nor did Jesus take the slightest interest in the social question from the standpoint of legislation. Such legislation in his day actually existed and in abundance, for the question of justice to the poor concerned the rabbis deeply; this is, in fact, a constant theme in the Old Testament, and the Jewish experts were perpetually enlarging and safeguarding what the Old Testament laws decreed. Jesus, however, here as everywhere else, went deeper than laws could possibly go, in order to arouse a new social conscience, because [ p. 47 ] he saw that this of itself would alone solve all problems.
Indeed, the strength of his influence lies, in large measure, in this very fact, that he declined to advocate specific reforms; he did something better, he set forth principles which made reform inevitable. Had he been a legislator dealing specifically with local conditions of his own day, his teaching would have been of little value when that day had passed. His method was different; it was to create the sense of individual responsibility.
And today the supreme social duty of the church and of churches is the same: the kindling of brotherly understanding and confidence and the spreading of it as by contagion. Men may conscientiously differ as to methods of social reform, though they are equally concerned about the evils which they seek to eradicate. Remembrance of this would save us many sorrows in our Christian crusading in America today! There is a clear distinction between moral teaching and the particular social, industrial, economic, or legislative methods by which the moral teaching may be applied to particular problems.
Christ’s method has one obvious advantage. The real cause of social disorder, economic evil, industrial injustice, intemperance, poverty, crime—the real cause is found in the passions and ambitions of individual men. We shall never find a system which can guarantee social betterment. No law can be framed which unscrupulous men cannot evade; no social organization [ p. 48 ] can be devised which they cannot in some way utilize to their own ends.
Christ, therefore, worked from within to change individuals. He showed that “the greatest contribution to the social movement is the contribution of a regenerated personality.” “What we need is not so much a change of method as a change of heart.” Therefore, out of all the disagreements and uncertainties today as to the duty of Christ’s church, this fundamental statement may be accepted: Wherever and whenever a moral question arises, it is the function of the church as a corporate society, the kingdom of organized righteousness, to establish the principles upon which the question shall be settled; but it must be left to individuals, acting singly in their capacity as citizens, or united in organizations, to see that right principles are duly expressed in specific reforms.
Perhaps, if he were speaking again today, Jesus would remind us—does he not, in fact, remind us?— that just as the problem of marriage is a matter of right attitude, so it is with social reform. In his teaching about marriage he came closer, apparently, to specific legislative interpretation than in any other moral decision, perhaps because it is of the essence of marriage that there should be reasonable certainty of its permanence; otherwise, at the first serious difference, a break-up would be inevitable. The fact that the life of the family is a life of moral training, a matter of “give and take,” a problem in readjustments, an education in unselfishness—all this must be understood. And this may best be practiced, when the injunction [ p. 49 ] is clear that we must try, as a family, to preserve family happiness at any cost. We must not be allowed to surrender to the first difficulty, with the thought in the back of our heads that there is always the opportunity of another chance.
The problems of social life and the industrial order can be solved only when the same spirit is carried into the larger relationship. “All ye are brethren” must be the motto of every effort. The world is a larger family—an immense organization for mutual help— and you must do your part in keeping the family together. This is what Jesus taught; and it was because, in the first centuries, the church of Christ appeared as a brotherly society, making the welfare of its members its first and controlling principle, that it made such tremendous strides in the Roman world.
It can make great progress now; but progress will come only as we go “back to Jesus” and seek to learn what his will really is, for his church, for men, for the world. Nowhere will the study be more fascinating and fruitful than in the effort to learn more about the Kingdom, especially in the larger problems of national and of social life. Must a nation be “as good as a good man”? How can a national enemy be forgiven after the same rule as that which commands the curbing of personal resentment? Can the same law hold, when the rights and safety of others must be considered, as well as our own freedom from injury? How can different loyalties be harmonized?
Answers are bound to be different, but truth will prevail when the real effort is to catch the spirit of [ p. 50 ] Christ, not merely to turn his precepts into laws or constitutions or treaties. We can hardly acquiesce, however, in anything other than the spirit of adventure. In England, the Foreign Minister of a Labor Cabinet was questioned as to his policy. “We shall try to follow the Golden Rule,” he said; whereupon a sturdy representative of the old order exclaimed, “Then God help us.” And the answer came back, in a flash, “We think He will.”
Not “be.” ↩︎
It may be said here, in passing, that Jesus was perfectly aware— no one more so—that nature is not simply benevolent, and that pain, destruction, and death are as familiar as happiness and health. But, in the wide sweep of his vision, he saw that even pain and death can be included in a beneficent purpose. Compare Chapter XI. ↩︎