"When it goeth well with the righteous, the city rejoiceth: and when the wicked perish, there is shouting. By the blessing of the upright the city is exalted: but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked. He that is void of wisdom despiseth his neighbour: but a man of understanding holdeth his peace. A talebearer revealeth secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter. Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety. He that is surety for a stranger shall smart for it: and he that hateth suretiship is sure. A gracious woman retaineth honour: and strong men retain riches. The merciful man doeth good to his own soul: but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh."
The first of these verses states a fact. The fact is, that the life, the safety, the well-being of righteous rulers,-of men in high station and of extensive influence, actuated by the principles of justice and goodness,-are much set by on the part of the members of a community; that the general wish is for their preservation in life and office; and that their deliverance from any danger occasions congratulation and joy; while, on the contrary, "when the wicked perish"-when unprincipled men, selfish, unjust, and cruel oppressors, are cast down from their "high estate,"-even though it should be by sudden and violent death,-instead of grief, there is gladness; instead of wailing, "there is shouting." He "departs without being desired;" and the people, when the fear that before restrained them is removed, speak out their feelings. Delivered from the malaria of despotic oppression, they breathe freely, and quickly discover in each other's minds at once the unanimity of hatred, and the unanimity of satisfaction.
For this fact the reason is assigned in next verse-"By the blessing of the upright the city is exalted: but it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked."
Upright men-men of sound principle, alive to the rights and solicitous for the happiness of all over whom their power or influence extends, and above all, men animated by the highest of all principles, the fear of God,-are an eminent blessing to a community. By their means "the city is exalted;"-the commonwealth advanced and elevated in character, in honour, and in general prosperity; and especially in the "righteousness that exalteth a nation." The rule of such men is in itself an inestimable benefit. Their prayers, their example, their pious efforts, their self-denying devotedness to the public good, all bring down the blessing of Heaven. They are men for whom, on principles of personal attachment and of public-spirited patriotism, not a few might even "dare to die."
On the contrary, "by their mouth"-that is, by their unsound counsels, their pernicious maxims, their false sentiments, and, it may be, their lewd, irreligious, blasphemous talk,-"the wicked" corrupt the public mind and morals, and subvert the true glory and the true prosperity of a country. This accords with the anticipations of reason, and with the general recorded experience of mankind. The decline and fall of states have to be traced, in most instances, to the misgovernment of unprincipled men.
Let it be our constant and earnest prayer for our country, that right principle may direct her councils, supreme and subordinate, as the surest means, under the blessing of God, of elevating her character, prolonging her existence, and augmenting her prosperity!
Verse Pro_11:12. "He that is void of wisdom despiseth his neighbour: but a man of understanding holdeth his peace." From the antithesis in the verse it is evident, that the word "despiseth" is not to be understood of secret and silent contempt, but of contempt expressed, whether in words, in actions, or in looks. The man who is destitute of wisdom, or sound discretion, ridicules and exposes his neighbour, for every little failing he happens to discover in him. In this he not only violates "the royal law," but acts unwisely on his own account. The man of prudence-the wise man, "holdeth his peace." He considers, in the first place, that every one has his failings, of which, from the power of custom, he may not be sensible; and that he, therefore, may have his,-notorious enough to others, though unperceived by himself: and under this impression, he is tender toward others from a sense of his own defects and his liability to more. He is further aware, that by the expression or manifestation of scorn, he may bring upon himself odium and resentment, and even serious mischief; or at any rate, were he indulging in this satirical and contemptuous disposition, render himself universally disagreeable, and reap, as his merited reward, a studied exclusion from the social circle. No man can be a more unpleasant member of society, in the private walks of life especially, (of which free and confidential familiarity is the very zest) than he who makes it his business to spy out failings, to detect and fasten upon every thing that is ridiculous or ludicrous in the appearance, the motions, the character, or the manners of all with whom he comes into contact, and to expose it. "The man of understanding"-the man who has a proper regard for his own comfort and enjoyment, who duly appreciates the principle of "the golden rule," and considers how large an amount of the social happiness of mankind arises from things that are in themselves of minor importance,-even when the failings of others do not escape his notice, but may be such as strongly to tempt the propensity to exposure-will lay a restraint upon himself, and "hold his peace."
This is one case, then, in which silence is wisdom. It does not stand alone. There follows another:-verse Pro_11:13. "A talebearer revealeth secrets: but he that is of a faithful spirit concealeth the matter."
But, while in this case there is wisdom, there is more. There is the principle of fidelity. The "talebearer" is at once one of the most odious and most mischievous of characters;-the man with whom no secret is safe; who cannot be at ease, till he has it out; who goes from one to another, and from party to party, big with it, and watching his opportunity to introduce it appropriately; and when no such opportunity offers, unable to contain himself any longer, and forcing it in, "in season or out of season."
The propensity to reveal secrets-to a certain degree common to all, though in some discovering its unsubdued power by an unrestrained indulgence-is imputable to different causes. In the first place, we are ever apt to be vain of knowing what others are ignorant of;-but this of course cannot be known to others, and can procure no gratification to this vanity, without disclosure. Then, further, we are equally apt to be vain of the confidence reposed in us-of our having been made the confidants of others,-and especially when these are persons of any name and notoriety. This is a very self-contradictory vanity; for it is impossible to give indulgence to the propensity inspired by it, without, in the very act of doing so, showing that the confidence placed in us, and on which we are pluming ourselves, has been misplaced. The very revealing of the secret is an avowal that we should not have been trusted, and a warning against trusting us again.
There are various ways of acting the "talebearer." There is that of open blabbing. And this, as it is the simplest, is, in truth, the least dangerous. The character becomes immediately known; and all who have secrets which they really wish kept will take care to withhold them from him.
There is next that of confidential communication. The secret-holder affects to look this way and that, to ascertain that no one is within hearing; and then, with many whispered doubts whether he is doing right, and whispered no-doubts that he is perfectly safe with the dear friend to whom he speaks, imparts it in a breath that enters only his solitary ear, as a thing received in the profoundest secrecy, and not, on any account whatever, to go further, to be kept still as the grave;--thus setting the example of broken confidence as the encouragement and inducement to keep it! Then he goes, and finds out some other dear friend, with whom the same scene is repeated.
There is that also of sly insinuation. The person who has the secret neither openly blabs it, nor confidently whispers it, but throws out hints of his having it-allusions more or less remote to its nature,-by which curiosity is awakened, inquiry stimulated, and the thing ultimately brought to light; while he who threw out the leading notices plumes himself on his having escaped the imputation of being a talebearer. The story was not of his telling! Now these, and whatever others there may be, are all bad; and the greater the amount of pretension and hypocrisy, so much the worse.
A "faithful spirit" is what all should cultivate, and maintain at whatever risk or cost. But all should be cautious. It is very wrong, generally speaking, to come under an obligation to secrecy, without knowing what it is that is about to be imparted.* We may thus bring ourselves into a snare, entrammelling our consciences; for the secret may be something which ought not to be concealed. It may involve the interests of others; it may involve the cause of religion and the honour of God. Beware, then, of rashly receiving secrets. It cannot be the duty of any man to keep a secret which he has thus ignorantly and indiscreetly pledged himself to keep, on his discovering what it is, and what are its bearings and results. Yet it may cost him a severe struggle to bring himself to break his word. To keep a secret of the description in question, however, would evidently be to add a greater sin to a less;-to add to the sin of rashly committing ourselves, the further and heavier sin of allowing others to suffer undeservedly by our silence, or the interests and honour of religion to be compromised and injured. And again, if a man is sensible of the strength either of his propensity to reveal what he knows, or of the temptations to discovery to which he has the prospect of being exposed, let him at once decline being the confidential depositary of any secrets. As for the known "talebearer," the hunter after secrets, of which he immediately, and of previous purpose, manifests his unworthiness of having intrusted to him-his desert is to be shunned and detested, to be hissed and hooted out of society.
* Hence one strong objection on the part of Christians to the system of Free-masonry, which withholds its secrets till those who seek initiation take solemn oath never to reveal them.
Many things in this Book-as from Solomon's own official station might have been anticipated-have an immediate relation to Rulers. Generally, however, the principles of what is said relative to them, are capable of easy transference, and sufficiently pointed application to ordinary life. Thus-
Verse Pro_11:14. "Where no counsel is, the people fall: but in the multitude of counsellors there is safety." It is obvious enough that there is something here to be understood. The counsel that keeps the people from ruin must be wise and good; and when given, it must be taken and followed. There may be no lack of counsel; but it may be counsel that "causeth to err from the way of understanding;" and both ruler and people would have been better without it. But the case supposed, appears to be that of a self-willed, self-sufficient, head-strong ruler, who glories in his power; who determines to wield the rod of that power in his own way, and who plays the hasty, jealous, resolute, sensitive, and vindictive tyrant; who disdains to call in counsel, or who does it only for the pleasure of showing his superiority to it by setting it at nought. I conceive the phrase "where no counsel is" to be intended to convey not a little of the character of him by whom it is declined or disregarded. He is a character under whose rule "the people fall." We have an example of such a character-foolish, high-minded, insolent-in Solomon's own successor Rehoboam.
And yet, at the same time, in his case we are taught the necessity of understanding all such maxims as maxims that admit of exceptions. Rehoboam did take counsel;-and his counsellors were not few. Had they been fewer, there would, in that instance, have been more safety. Had he stopped with the "old men who had stood before David his father," all would have been well.-But in the verse before us-"the multitude of counsellors" stands contrasted with "no counsel;" and the sentiment is in accordance with reason and with experience. The character intended is that of one who, instead of, in his own, self-sufficiency, refusing counsel, betakes himself, especially in cases of difficulty, to different judgments; compares their respective decisions, and adopts, after due deliberation, what appears to recommend itself as the best, or frames a measure from the hints and dictates of the whole. Still it is implied that the counsellors be selected, as men of understanding, prudence, and principle. "In the multitude of counsellors," unless they are suitable characters,-not a multitude taken capriciously and at random, or under the influence of any improper disposition,-there might be distraction and hazard rather than guidance and security.-How much better would it have been for Ahab, had he taken for his sole counsellor Micaiah the son of Imlah,
________________ "faithful found
Among the faithless-faithful only he,"
-than it was when he preferred the four hundred prophets of Baal! "The multitude of counsellors" was, in that case, his destruction.
The maxim, therefore, is general. It affirms the danger of solitary self-sufficiency, and the safety of deliberate and, in proportion to the complexity and difficulty of each case, and the nature and amount of its consequences, of extensive and diversified consultation. And the principle applies to all as well as to rulers. Consultation is right in regard to what may materially affect our own interests. It is specially incumbent when the interests of others, whether as to character, or property, or personal and domestic comfort, are implicated. These are never to be sported with-never to be treated with hasty indifference; and a truly right-hearted man will be anxious to avoid having on his conscience the painful reflection, that others should have suffered through any over-confidence on his part in his own judgment.
The fifteenth verse we had occasion to take in formerly, in connexion with a previous passage, on which the general principles regarding suretiship were discussed;-the desirableness and even duty of shunning it; the impropriety and cruelty of urging it; and the special instances in which it might, and even ought, to be complied with.*
* See Lecture on Pro_6:1-5.
In verse sixteenth (Pro_11:16), agreeably to a Hebrew idiom far from uncommon, a comparison is manifestly designed:-"As strong men retain riches, so doth a gracious woman retain honour." The immediate allusion probably is to spoil taken in battle. The valiant and powerful, by whose prowess and might it has been gained, defend their booty-their wealth-against all aggressors and plunderers. They will not suffer it to be touched. They watch it with an eye of fire and an arm of strength. And thus is it as to the honour of a virtuous and pious woman. She holds it dearer than the riches of the wealthy; dearer than the prey of the warrior, which not its own value merely but the point of honour renders precious in his eyes, and the object of vigilant sensitiveness; dearer than life itself. She holds it as a jewel of inestimable value, maintaining it in unsullied purity; repels, with dignified and indignant determination-with the appalling firmness of sensitive and offended principle, indicated by an eye that flashes with the quickness of lightning, and a cheek that flushes with the vehemence of unutterable scorn-every act, or word, or look, that presumes on a freedom, or dares a reflection on her untainted fame.
True religion has ever been associated with assigning to the female portion of the community their due estimation, and rank, and influence in society. It was so under Judaism; it is so still more under Christianity. If Christian women would but contrast their situation, as daughters, wives, and mothers, with that of females under any of the forms of idolatry and false religion, they could not but be thankful for the amount of "honour" they have of which to be jealous; and thankful for the religion to which they are indebted for the treasure. And as the character of human society depends to so very great a degree on the illumination, the dignity, the purity, and the influence of the female mind,-I cannot avoid again, in "words that burn," or at least that utter the indignation of a burning heart, denounce that brutal and brutifying system, which has presumed of late, with an unblushing effrontery, to offer itself to the acceptance of an enlightened and civilized and Christian community, and which, by degrading the dignity, tainting the purity, and quenching the vestal flame of womanhood, would more than annihilate its salutary influence; and, inflicting on human society a corresponding degradation, assimilate it, in the extinction of all its holiest and happiest ties, to the promiscuous herding of the beasts that perish. The subject is one on which, I freely own, I cannot speak with patience. When I think of the feature of the system of Socialism to which I have just adverted, independently of its atheism, its fatalism, and its anarchy, I again denounce it as meriting alike the contempt of every person of understanding, and the abhorrence of every person of principle.
Verse Pro_11:17. "The merciful man doeth good to his own soul: but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh." There are two descriptions of mercy. There is mercy to sufferers, and mercy to offenders. Mercy to sufferers is the disposition to relieve; mercy to offenders is the disposition to forgive. The two are infinitely united in God. Under his government all sufferers are offenders. It is only as offenders that they are sufferers; and when he pardons the offence, he cancels the sentence to suffering. And in every good man the two are united. They should, indeed, be regarded as one principle, operating in different departments.
Now, "the merciful man," whether considered in the one light or in the other,-in exercising forgiveness or in relieving distress-"doeth good to his own soul:" he effectually consults his own interests. He does so, even for present enjoyment; for in the exercise of the generous and kindly affections there is a genuine and exquisite happiness. The divine sentiment of the Saviour,-"It is more blessed to give than to receive," has its full application here. Jesus himself, above all that ever lived on earth, experienced its truth. He "delighted in mercy." He came from above on an errand of mercy. The divine authority of that errand of mercy he proved by innumerable works of mercy, diffusing around him an incalculable amount of blessing. His heart melted over human suffering; and ho "went about doing good." "The merciful man" participates in this blessedness of the Son of God!
"The merciful man," moreover, procures favour with his fellow-men;-he "makes himself friends of the mammon of unrighteousness;" he causes society to feel an interest in him,-to regard and treat him as its friend and benefactor. This is eminently gratifying and pleasing;-to know that in the hearts of fellow-men our names are associated with affection and blessing, and that when we "fail," there will be some ready to welcome us into "everlasting habitations," who had been made friends by our kindness during their sojourn in the wilderness.
But above all, the mercy of the merciful is associated with the enjoyment of the favour and blessing of God.-"Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." Thus in the most emphatic sense, "the merciful man doeth good to his own soul." With regard to the unmerciful it is in every way the reverse: "The cruel troubleth his own flesh." He ensures his own wretchedness. He stirs up resentment, instead of conciliating favour; so that on every hand, in every face, he sees an enemy, from whom, on his own account or on account of others, he dreads the fulfilment of the Saviour's maxim-"With what measure ye mete it shall be measured to you again." How can he be happy? There is unhappiness in his very passions. The opposite of the character of God, they cannot but be associated with misery. They are the counterpart of his who was "a murderer from the beginning." And as likeness to God in mercy is joined with likeness to God in blessedness; so likeness to the devil in malignity is joined with likeness to the devil in misery and ruin. "He shall have judgment without mercy who hath showed no mercy."*
