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SERMON XIV.

THE FOLLY AND SIN OF UNCHARITABLE

JUDGMENT.

ROMANS XIV. 10.

But why dost thou judge thy brother? or why dost thou set at nought thy brother? For we shall all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.

CENSORIOUSNESS, or the habit of forming a rash judgment concerning our neighbour's character on the unfavourable side, is one of the sad symptoms of a depraved and unsanctified heart. It is a proud and uncharitable temper, which clearly indicates the loss of the divine image on the soul, and is inconsistent with the restoration of God's favour and the enjoyment of his blessing.

It cannot be necessary to describe what is meant by censorious or uncharitable judgment. Say not that when Scripture forbids this evil habit, it

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forbids us to exercise our reason, to discriminate character, or to arm ourselves against the fraudulent and the vile. Men sometimes attempt, indeed, to palliate their faults by darkening the counsels of Scripture, and by charging its dictates with impertinence or folly. But their effort is equally wicked and vain. They know, in their inmost souls, that the commandment is holy, just, and good; and they are only plunging themselves into the depths of ungodliness while they presume for a moment to revile it. A disposition to judge and set at nought our brother, in the manner which Scripture so pointedly condemns, is precisely what man's heart every be a base and unholy thing. It is a proud, selfcomplacent frame of mind, engaging in a task to which it never has been called, and for which it is utterly unqualified; a foul temper, rejoicing in evils over which it ought properly to weep, and pleased with what ought to be a source of pity or of grief; a malignant and contemptuous spirit, which forgets its own vices in inventing or exposing the sins or follies of other men, and which dares to assume, with regard to its kindred beings, the place and prerogative of God, while itself ought rather to be imploring forgiveness at the footstool of its offended Creator.

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I. Let us look at the folly of this temper, before we consider that wickedness and presumption which form its most striking and awful fea

tures.

It is plainly a folly for any man to undertake a task which he is really unable to perform. And this, in its highest degree, is the folly of rash and censorious judgment. Let us take a view of its history, as it may not unfrequently be traced.You have witnessed some action, or you have heard some language, of an imperfect or dubious character. The fact we will suppose to be evident and certain; but we will suppose also that you have not had means of ascertaining the real quality of the action. You do not know all the bearings of what your brother was doing; you do not know, thoroughly, the drift, or the occasions, of what he was saying. But this matters not. You dare say that the act, or the language, was as bad as you please to imagine. This is indeed the safest part of your judgment. But do you not discover that it has already involved much that is wrong and unbecoming? Do you not perceive that truth has possibly been violated, and that charity has certainly been stifled?—But you go on. You dare say that all, or, at least, that a great portion, of that mar.'s actions or sayings are of the same character as this, all too imper

fect to bear the scrutiny of your penetrating glance, and all meriting the chastisement of your magisterial reproof. Now, why do you assert this? Are you acquainted with the general tenor of that man's actions or discourses? No. But you take this one,-one, be it remembered, not really bad, but which you choose to interpret as such,--for a sample of the whole. And now consider how the chances are multiplied against the truth of your surmises. surmises. It is more than possible that the general course of your brother's behaviour is different from what you are condemning, and is, perhaps, the very picture of what you are applauding in the way of contrast. And thus you are, in fact, casting mockery on yourself and your imaginings.-But, you proceed to still further discoveries. The man whom you are censuring has departed from your sight, but now you dive into his thoughts. You dare say that he thought thus or thus,-as vainly or as wickedly as you please to suppose. You can imagine his self-complacency, his stubbornness, or the ungodliness of his heart, and greatly do you pity him. In the meantime, perhaps, not one thought of such a nature has entered into that man's soul; but he was occupied, on the contrary, with a train of ideas as different from your mean apprehensions as light is from darkness. To whom, then,

does attach all that was vile and unworthy in your gratuitous assumption? Surely, to yourself. And can you not perceive how much ignorance and trifling, as well as how much uncharitableness, belong to your rash insinuations ?-But, yet once more you possess a still greater degree of sagacity than has been hitherto described. Not only do you pronounce upon the general tenor of a man's life, but, having once gained a clue to his thoughts, you can describe the particular action, the very conversation, of your victim, at some given time, when you were at a distance! You dare say that, at this time, or at that, he did so or so, or he was talking on such or such a subject, as trifling, as mischievous, as sinful, as you please to represent it. His actual engagements, at that moment, were, however, of a character entirely the reverse. And can you

not perceive the disgraceful folly of the situation in which you have chosen thus wantonly to place yourself? The man, perhaps, was employed in acts of duty or benevolence, while you were depicting in your thoughts a scene of vanity or sin. The man was mourning in humility over his infirmities and unworthiness, while you were creating for him thoughts of self-righteousness and pride. The man was studying and praying over the lively oracles of his God, while you were tax