CRITICAL NOTES.—
Proverbs 11:17. Or “He who doeth good to himself is a merciful man, but he who troubleth his own flesh is cruel.” So Stuart and Miller, Zöckler and Delitzsch read as the authorised version.
MAIN HOMILETICS OF Proverbs 11:17
MERCY AND CRUELTY
I. A blessed human character—“A merciful man.” The blessedness of any human existence depends upon the amount of mercifulness found in it. It will be blessed in itself, and a blessing to others in proportion as this Divine characteristic is found in the spirit. God, as a God of power, would be a wonderful and awe-inspiring Being, but He would not be the “the blessed God” (1 Timothy 1:11) if this were His only attribute. So far as men are concerned, He would only be a Person who added to the mysteries and miseries of human life. There is plenty of power in the world, but power is not the one thing needful for fallen and sorrowful humanity. A complex and mighty machine may, and does, excite our wonder and even our admiration, but it has no sympathy. God would be no more to us if He were not “The Lord God, merciful and gracious.” He could otherwise add nothing of blessedness to our existence—yea, His very existence would be a calamity for sinful men. So, no man is a real blessing to his fellow-creatures if he is not merciful. He may be a great genius, he may be a great intellectual power, he may be possessed of great influence from one source or another; but none of these things alone, or all of them put together, will add anything to the sum of human happiness if he is not merciful. He is simply a hard machine, and will never make any wilderness heart rejoice or any moral waste blossom as the rose. But mercy is a moral force, which works as subtilly and as certainly upon human hearts to bless them as do the mysterious influences of the spring-time upon the barren earth. The absence of mercifulness makes hell the barren world that it is, and fills heaven with moral light and joy. On earth, mercifulness is felt to be most needful. The scum of humanity are not insensible to its blessed influence, and there is no man, however exalted above his fellow-men, who does not sometimes stand in need of its exercise.
II. The region which is first blest by the exercise of mercy. The merciful man’s “own soul.” There are things which by the constitution of the material universe cannot be separated. Where there is flame, there is certain to be heat; where the sun’s rays come, there must be light. So mercifulness of disposition must bless a man’s own soul. The exercise of kindliness is in harmony with the law of self-love. A man is but obeying this law when he exercises mercy. “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” implies that a man is to love himself. Loving his neighbour is the surest way—the only way—of truly doing good to himself. God has ordained that all exercise of loving kindness shall have a reward in the doing and for the doing. “He that watereth others shall be watered himself” (Proverbs 11:25).
1. His own spirit will be filled with a sense of blessedness.
2. His character will be daily growing more and more like God.
3. He will have mercy extended to him when he stands in need of it. “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” “For with what measure you mete, it shall be measured unto you again” (Matthew 5:7; Matthew 7:2). And so it is that mercy—
“Is twice bless’d;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.”
We have now to consider the opposite character:—
III. A curse to human kind. “A cruel man.” He is an inflicter of pain upon others from a malicious disposition. Pain is the common lot of men. In the present constitution of things in this world it is a necessity, and will remain so while sin remains in human nature. Sometimes pain has to be inflicted upon human beings from the purest motives, and by the most benevolent of beings. The kindest physician in the world is obliged constantly to inflict severe physical pain. The moral teacher—the loving parent or master—must often be the means of inflicting mental pain. But in these cases the motive is not ill-will, but good-will. The pain is contrary to the disposition of the person who inflicts it. He would not give the pain if the end could be obtained without it. He intends by present pain to give future pleasure. But a cruel man inflicts pain from choice, for the purpose of making men miserable. His cruelty is the outcome of his malicious nature. Hence he is a curse to his race. To the unavoidable and necessary pain of the world he adds that which is worse than needless. He would often inflict more than he does, if he had the power. Did not experience teach the contrary, we should not believe it possible that there could be such monsters in the garb of men. They are, indeed, of “their father the devil” (John 8:44), who finds his only delight in the misery of others.
IV. That, in the end, the cruel man will inflict the most pain upon himself.
1. He will “trouble his own flesh,” or his whole being in the present. He will be tormented by his conscience which now and again will rise from its deathlike slumber and avenge the miseries of those upon whose rights he has trampled—whose lives he has taken, or worse, whose souls he has ruined. While he is still pursuing his course of cruelty he will have the sting of the serpent remorse poisoning the life-blood of his spirit—a prophecy of future retribution possibly in this world, certainly in the next.
2. He is laying up trouble for himself in the future. Men may return his cruelty with compound interest,—(see comments and illustrations on Proverbs 11:10), whether they do or not God certainly will. The Divine decree has gone forth, “He shall have judgment without mercy, that hath showed no mercy. (James 2:13). His experience will be that of the cruel tyrant of Bezek. “As I have done so God hath requited me,” (Judges 1:6-7), or that of Shakespere’s Richard
3.
O coward conscience, how thou dost afflict me!
The lights burn blue.—It is now dead midnight.
Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What; do I fear myself? there’s none else by:
Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.
Is there a murderer here? No;—yes, I am:
Then fly,—What, from myself? Great reason, why?
Lest I revenge. What? myself on myself?
I love myself. Wherefore? for any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
O no; alas, I rather hate myself,
For hateful deeds committed by myself.
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
And every tongue brings in a several tale.
And every tale convicts me for a villain
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all,—Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair.—There is no creature loves me:—
And, if I die, no soul will pity me:—
Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself.
ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE LATTER CLAUSE OF THE VERSE
Buchanan, the Scotch historian, relates that John Cameron, Bishop of Glasgow, was so given to extortion and oppression, especially upon his tenants and vassals, that he would scarcely afford them bread to eat, or clothes to wear. But one Christmas eve, as he lay in his bed in his house at Lockwood, he heard a voice summoning him to appear before the tribunal of Christ, and give an account of his actions. Being terrified with this notice, and the pangs of a guilty conscience, he called up his servants, and commanded them to stay in the room with him. He himself took a book in his hand, and began to read; but the voice, being heard a second time, struck all the servants with horror. The same voice repeating the summons a third time, and with a louder and more dreadful accent, the bishop, after a most lamentable and frightful groan, was found dead in his bed.
The Last Days of Nero. Nero had landed in Italy about the end of February, and now, at the beginning of June, his cause had already become hopeless. Galba, though stedfast in his resolution, had not yet set his troops in motion; nevertheless, Nero was no longer safe in the city.… Terrified by dreams, stung by ridicule or desertion, when his last hope of succour was announced to have deceived him, the wretched tyrant started from his couch at supper, upset the tables, and dashed his choicest vessels to the ground; then, taking poison from Locusta, and placing it in a golden casket, he crossed from the palace to the Servilian gardens, and sent his trustiest freedman to secure a galley at Ostia. He conjured some tribunes and centurions, with a handful of guards, to join his flight, but all refused; and one, blunter than the rest, exclaimed, tauntingly, “Is it, then, so hard to die?” At last, at midnight, finding that even the sentinels had left their posts, he sent, or rushed himself, to assemble his attendants. Every door was closed; he knocked, but no answer came. Returning to his chamber, he found the slaves fled, the furniture pillaged, the case of poison removed. Not a guard, not a gladiator, was at hand, to pierce his throat. I have neither friend nor foe, he exclaimed. He would have thrown himself into the Tiber but his courage failed him. He must have time, he said, and repose to collect his spirits for suicide, and his freedman Phaon at last offered him his villa in the suburbs, four miles from the city. In undress and barefooted, throwing a rough cloak over his shoulders and a kerchief across his face, he glided through the doors, mounted a horse and, attended by Sporus and three others, passed the city gates with the dawn of a summer morning. The Nomentane road led him beneath the wall of the prætorians, whom he might hear uttering curses against him and pledging vows to Galbo; and the early travellers from the country asked him as they met, What news of Nero? or remarked to one another, These men are pursuing the tyrant. Thunder and lightning, and a shock of earthquake, added terror to the moment. Nero’s horse started at a dead body on the roadside, the kerchief fell from his face, and a prætorian passing by recognised and saluted him. At the fourth milestone the party quitted the highway, alighted from their horses, and scrambled on foot through a canebrake, laying their own cloaks to tread on, to the rear of the promised villa. Phaon now desired Nero to crouch in a sand-pit hard by, while he contrived to open the drain of the bath-room, and so admit him unperceived; but he vowed that he would not go alive, as he said, underground, and remained trembling beneath the wall. At last a hole was made through which he crept on all fours into a narrow chamber of the house, and there threw himself on a pallet. The coarse bread that was offered him he could not eat, but swallowed a little tepid water.… Suddenly was heard the tramp of horsemen, sent to seize the culprit alive. Then at last he placed a weapon to his breast, and the slave Epaphroditus drove it home.… Nero perished at the age of thirty years and six months.—Merivale.
OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS
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 the other,—in exercising forgiveness or in relieving distress—effectually consults his own interests. He does so, even for present enjoyment. 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 “merciful man” participates in the blessedness of the Son of God.… He, 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 our fellow-men our names are associated with affection and blessing, and that when we “fail,” there will be some ready to receive 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 favour and blessing of God.… But the cruel stirs up resentment, instead of conciliating favour; so that on every hand, in every face, he sees an enemy, from whom 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.—Wardlaw.
We are to preserve, as much as in us lies, these two parts of our nature, our souls and our bodies.… He that may truly be called a kind man, is kind to his own soul, in comforting his own heart, and in granting there-unto the delight which may be received by sleep, by food, and the use of all things necessary and pleasant. Wherefore the counsel which the son of Sirach giveth is good and worthy to be followed: “Love thy soul, and comfort thine heart, and put heaviness far away from thee.” (Sir. 30:21, etc.) On the contrary side the cruel person, either for niggardliness, or travail, or sorrow, pincheth, consumeth, or pineth his body. He ceaseth not to labour, nor saith, For whom do I travail and deprive my soul of good things.—Muffet.
The merciful man will ever find a merciful God. (Psalms 41:1 Matthew 5:7). The widow of Sarepta and the woman of Shunem, each for their kindness to the Lord’s prophets received a prophet’s reward. (2 Kings 4:16; 2 Kings 8:1; 2 Kings 8:6). The alms of Cornelius brought good to his own soul. (Acts 10:2; Acts 10:4). Even now “God is not unrighteous to forget our work and labour of love.” (Hebrews 6:10; Matthew 10:42). At the great day He will honour it before the assembled universe. (Matthew 25:34).… Cain found his brother’s murder an intolerable “trouble to his flesh.” (Genesis 4:13-14). The doom of Ahab and Jezebel was the curse of their own cruelty. (1 Kings 22:38; 2 Kings 9:36-37). The treasures of selfishness will eat as a canker in our own flesh. (James 5:1; James 5:3).—Bridges.
Why did not the wise man say, “he that is cruel troubleth his own soul?” He knew that a cruel man cares nothing for his soul. If you would obtain a hearing from the merciless man, say nothing about his soul. He values it less than his dog. But if you could convince him that his want of mercy will be hurtful to his flesh, he would think a little about his ways. And it is evident from Scripture, that his flesh, no less than his soul, is under a fearful curse.—Lawson.
His chief business is with and for himself: how to set all to rights within, how to keep a continual sabbath of soul, a constant composedness. He will not purchase earth with his loss of heaven. And inasmuch as the body is the soul’s servant, and should therefore be fit for the soul’s business—it ought not to be pinched or pined with penury or overmuch abstinence, as those impostors (Colossians 2:23), and our Popish merit-mongers, that starve their genius, and are cruel to their own flesh. They shall one day hear, “Who required these things at your hand?”—Trapp.
In every act that mercy prompts there are two parties who obtain a benefit,—the person in need, who is the object of compassion, and the person not in need, who pities his suffering brother. Both get good, but the giver gets the larger share.… The good Samaritan who bathed the wounds and provided for the wants of a plundered Jew, obtained a greater profit on the transaction than the sufferer who was saved by his benevolence. It is like God to constitute His world so. Even Christ himself, in the act of showing mercy, has His reward.… And a man cannot hurt his neighbour without hurting himself. The rebound is heavier than the blow … Such is the fence which the Creator has set up to keep man off his fellows. This dividing line is useful now to keep off the ravages of sin; but when perfect love has come, that divider, no longer needed, will be no longer seen. It is like one of those black jagged ridges of rock that at low water stretch across the sand from the edge of the cultivated ground to the margin of the sea, an impassable, an unapproachable barrier: when the tide rises, all is level, and it is nowhere seen. This law of God, rising as a rampart between man and man, is confined to this narrow six thousand year strip of time. In the perfect state it will act no more, for want of material to act upon.—Arnot.
It is to his own soul that a merciful man doeth good. For it hath been well said, there is nothing so much a man’s own as that which is given to the poor. That which men do, they do as to a poor soul, of as noble birth, and by nature of as great excellency as their own soul is, and so they do it, as it were, to their own. That which God doth, He doth to a sinful soul, degenerate from the birth which He gave it, and turned to be a rebel against Him. So that God is more ready to be good to His enemies, than we are to be good to ourselves.—Jermin.