Where no oxen are, the crib is clean: but much increase is by the strength of the ox.
The law of increase
The illustration is drawn from husbandry, and in a country like Palestine, where the ox had such an important place in agricultural operations, it was peculiarly intelligible and peculiarly fit. “Where is the farmer,” says the wise man, “who, in order to preserve tidiness in his stalls, would forego the assistance of oxen in his fields?” Something he might secure, no doubt; a rack unsoiled by the oxen’s fodder, a floor unmarked by the oxen’s hoofs, the absence of disorder that offends the eye, the freedom from task-work that tires the arm, with whatsoever satisfaction such immunity affords. Yes, but what does he lose? Almost all that makes his property profitable, almost all that makes his stackyard full. What of the ploughing of the land? What of the carrying home of the sheaves? What of the treading out of the corn? “Where no cattle are, the crib is clean.” True. But what of that? Is the cleanness worth considering, in comparison with the increase that comes by the strength of the ox? And now, I think, we have hold of the principle. There is no good to be got without its accompanying drawbacks; let the drawbacks and the good be weighed carefully together, and if the good outbalance the drawbacks, then let the good be chosen and the drawbacks faced with resolution, intelligence, and cheerfulness. Sentiment is right in its place, fastidiousness is proper in its season; but sentiment is worse than idle, fastidiousness is worse than false, when we permit them to stand between us and a substantial good, the good that Providence intends us to get or the good that Providence commands us to do.
I. We might begin with an illustration from the industrial sphere, the relation, namely, between manufacture and natural scenery. Where no manufacture is, the scenery is intact; but much increase comes by the processes of manufacture. Take, for example, the midland counties of England, and especially those parts of them we know as the Black Country. No region of England is more picturesque in itself, marked by the outlines and stored with the elements of natural and original beauty. Yet how man has overlaid and defaced things! Look at the country as it is now, ploughed with railway tracks, torn with excavations, encumbered with heaps of rubbish. And those to whom beauty is all may object to this. “What barbarism,” they say, “what vandalism, what wanton and wilful desecration of the sanctities of nature! Better, surely, was the country in its virgin luxuriance, when the slopes were clothed with woodland.” Well, the change means loss, no doubt, loss from the standpoint of the beauty-lover. But it means gain from the standpoint of the utilitarian, and gain, too, in the eye of those who look higher than what is merely utilitarian. For not only does black smoke, according to the proverb, make white silver, but it is a witness to facts, a testimony to realities, of which silver is only a single embodiment, and that, too, by no means the highest. The sight was a symbol of several things, all noble and honourable in their way. It is a symbol of man’s power over nature, his diligence in extracting and his ingenuity in moulding the substance which nature conceals in her heart. It is a symbol of the clothing that covers shivering forms, a symbol of the bread that feeds hungry mouths. It is a symbol of England’s greatness, industry, and world-wide trade.
II. Passing from the industrial to the domestic sphere, we might select an illustration of a different character, which a poet-preacher of the time has happily associated with this text, and speak of the relation between children and home. We remark, then, that where there are no children, the house may be trim; but much profit comes through the presence and companionship of children. Neatness in a house may be good. But there is a neatness that tells of emptiness. There is a neatness that betokens loneliness. There is a neatness that is not half so attractive as the wear and tear, the disturbance and disorder, that denote the presence of busy little inmates, with their restless hands and roving feet. The loss is a small one compared with the gain. Children are God’s heritage. How much they teach! How much they bestow! Not only does the parent train and develop the child, but the child may train and develop the parent. Our children should be leaders to all of us, leaders from faithlessness into faith, from restlessness into rest, from selfishness into sacrifice, from frivolity into earnestness, thoughtfulness, and the sense of responsibility. Does not the pure eye of an innocent child restrain the foul or the cruel act? Are not its needs a discipline in sympathy, its questionings a training in reflection? Where the children are absent, the home may be neat, the mind unperplexed; but much increase--increase of happiness, increase of affection, increase of prosperity--comes through association with little children.
III. Or we might pass to the ecclesiastical sphere, and select as an instance of the same principle the relation between controversy and the Church. We note, then, at this point, that where no discussion is, the Church may be at rest; but much benefit comes through freedom of discussion, in the case of the Church as well as of the State. Some people are all for peace. But there is a peace of stagnation. There is a peace of indifference. There is a peace that is based upon lack of conviction. Do not judge of Church enterprises nor of Church proceedings, as some do, and condemn them simply because they create dispeace. Peace may be bought too dearly. Purity is better. Truth is better. Undoubtedly in discussion the crib may be soiled. Controversy often awakens temper, evokes party spirit, causes hard words to be said, unkind acts to be done, selfish rivalries to spring up Yet these may be a blessing in the end, in comparison of which the temporary soiling of the crib is a matter of smaller importance after all. There is the down-breaking of prejudice. There is the removing of misunderstandings. There is the formulating of principle. There is the discovering of character. It will be best for the spread of righteousness; it will be safest in the interests of belief.
IV. Pass next to the sphere of Practical Beneficence, and apply the principle of the text to the relation between philanthropy and experience. We remark, then, that where no philanthropy is, the experience may be easy, free from much that is unpleasant to look at, unpleasant to think of, and unpleasant to do; but much increase comes through the exercise of philanthropy. What have we here but the plain, simple lesson, which has to be learnt by every social benefactor, every Christian worker, that they who will live helpfully, as the saviours and the succourers of their fellow-men, must be prepared to forego fastidiousness. To do any real good amidst the poor, the sunken, and the vicious, men must come into contact with many things that are neither pleasant nor pure. Now, take any such labourer as these, in the great unselfishness, the overflowing charity, the fearlessness of mind and of heart, which the labour engaged in always demands. And take another, to whom labour of the time is unknown, one who, with the same possibilities and the same call, says, “No, the task you propose is distasteful, the experiences you prescribe are rough; I prefer to have my sight unoffended, my feelings unharrowed, my imagination unhaunted. Let me see to myself--the purity of my own character, the health and prosperity of my own soul, in the circle of my personal friendships, the seclusion of my private home.” Put the two side by side. Which leads the richer existence? Each has its own reward. How shall we best explain these rewards, their distinctive nature, their relative value? Just in the terms of the text. For the one, the “clean crib”--a certain ignorance, a certain immunity, certain security; not only a sensibility unwrung by the spectacles of sorrow, but a mind kept closed to the pictures of sin: that, and perhaps little more than that. For the other, the “much increase,” in the enriching of his personal character, the widening of his personal sympathies, together with the privilege of ministering to his brethren’s welfare and the joy of being blessed to his brethren’s souls. Clean garments, clean hands, who set a value upon these, as the continuous, the indispensable prerequisite of life? I will tell you who do not. Not the surgeon, as he walks the battlefield with the sponge that wipes the blood and the linen that binds the wounds. Not the rescue party, as they enter the mine, amidst the heat, the soot, and the smoke of a recent explosion, with which the caverns still echo, and the earth still smokes. Not the sailor, as he pulls to the wreck, through a troubled sea that casts up mire and dirt, till his arms are twined with the seaweed and his coat is drenched with the ooze. Clean hands and clean garments, you must be content now and then to forego them, if the world you live in is to be cleansed.
V. Akin to the last thought is another one, drawn this time from the mental sphere. Take the relation between force of character and life. We remark, then, in the last place, that where there is no force of character, the life may be inoffensive, harmless in itself, pleasing to others; but much increase, increase to the world and the Church, comes through force of character. Most men have the defects of their qualities. This is especially true of those whoso distinguishing quality is vigour, a certain superabounding energy and strength. The vigour is apt to be domineering, the energy rude, the strength unaccompanied with suavity, fine feeling, good taste. If you are to reap the advantage of such characters, you take them as you find them, and pardon and tolerate their coarseness that you may be helped and benefited by their zeal. Luther was earnest but rough. But we remember the work. We remember the time. Neither the period nor the task admitted of treatment by rosewater. What though the crib was untidy? Be thankful for the well-ploughed field; be thankful for the gathered sheaves of religious truth and religious liberty, which still remain in our storehouses, to give seed to the Christian sower and bread to the Christian eater, as the outcome of Luther’s labours, the memorial of Luther’s name. Take God’s blessing as it comes to you, and be very tolerant towards the instruments. Polish is a less thing than enthusiasm, courtliness than sincerity. It may be well to have both things combined. But if we are shut up to the alternative, and feel tempted to pronounce for the softer qualities, as less likely to irritate, less apt to excite, let us fall back on the principle of the text, and while remembering that where no force of character is the life may be inoffensive, much increase comes by the vigour we fear. (W. A. Gray.)
Where no oxen are, the crib is clean
I. Taken in its primary sense, it conveys a lesson of no small importance to the mere cultivator of land. You pride yourself upon the exquisite neatness and order of your farm. The spade, the plough, the fork, the cart, are almost as pure and delicate as when they came from the hands of the maker. But if the work is left undone, and you purchase neatness and order at the expense of having no sheep in the fold, then you pay too dear for your nicety; you have the clean crib, but you will have also an empty barn.
II. The same maxim applies to the management of a house. You pride yourself on the exquisite neatness of every corner in your dwelling-place. Not a cobweb is on the ceiling, and not a grain of dust on the staircase. The delighted mistress has the daily satisfaction of seeing her own fair face reflected in the polished table below her. The crib is clean; but you may here also buy the cleanliness at too high a price. Perhaps cleanliness is not merely your taste but your idol. You forget that usefulness is the true object of household economy, and that neatness is a mere means to this end. You, like Mr. Burke’s man of honour, “feel a stain like a wound,” and esteem a hole in a carpet as tantamount to a hole in your character. You forget that your house was not designed by the great Giver for yourself alone, but for your neighbours and friends, for brothers and sisters, and nephews and nieces, who want a little country air or London shopping, and who naturally look to you, as to a richer relation and friend, to give them the convenience they need. Surely you had better have a soiled “crib” than a narrow heart; and spotted tables than not a single loving, grateful, happy guest to sit at a clean one.
III. This rule is also applicable, I think, to literature. The correctness of some writers is perfectly unimpeachable. The grammarian searches in vain for a false concord or quantity, or the rhetorician for a false ornament. There is no confusion of metaphor; no redundancy of expression which disfigures the pages of less cautious writers. Now here the “crib” is clean; but then, in such cases, it is often equally true that there are no “oxen.” The style is as “dull, cold, fiat, and unprofitable,” as it is pure and correct. It is the judgment of a no less critic than Quintilian, that the writer who, in his youth, is never redundant, will usually in his old age be poverty stricken. Where the heart, the imagination, and the passions have free play, the critic may find something to correct; but very often also consciences will be touched and hearts be edified.
IV. But I now turn to some higher topics, to which the rule appears to me equally to apply. Lenis is a most unexceptionable person; of the very calmest temper and the most placid manners. He is always to be found in the right place at the very right moment. He speaks little, and never offensively; he belongs to no party, and is a determined enemy to all excess. He is perhaps constant at church, though a little drowsy there; has a decided preference for vague, calm, general sermons. He gives decently to all popular or uncriticised charities. And the result of all this is, that he gets into no scrapes, incurs no reproach, is claimed as a friend by men of all opinions, simply because he was never known to express an opinion of his own. Now here “the crib “is unusually “clean.” But at what expense is it purchased? I should say at the cost of most of the feelings, tastes, principles, rules, habits, and sympathies which constitute the substance and essence of the Christian character. The “crib is clean” because there are “no oxen.” Lenis is as much like a statue as a man. All the higher and nobler passions of our nature have no place in him. His life is, possibly, harmless, but it is altogether unprofitable. And this because the one essential quality is wanting, the love of God, and the love of His family upon earth. He might be nearly all he is if there were no such Being as the Redeemer of the world, who had felt for him, and expected him to feel for others. The same thought may be extended to different classes of the ministers of religion. I remember to have seen, some years since, in a review of high authority, a comparison drawn between Bishop as a parochial minister, and Thomas Scott as the minister of Olney. The bishop, on quitting his parish for another sphere of duty, finds little but subjects of self-complacency, commendation, and thankfulness. The whole population might seem to have received the whole word of truth into their souls. Every plan had prospered. “The crib is clean.” Mr. Scott, on the contrary, in quitting his parish, speaks strongly of the immorality of one part of the population, of the stubbornness and self-will of another, and of the abuse of the doctrines of grace in a third party. And whilst he dwells strongly, and gratefully, on the zeal, love, and fidelity of some, his language is certainly, on the whole, such as might be expected from the mourning prophet, when “rivers of water ran down his eyes because men kept not the word” of the Lord. Here, therefore, “the crib” was, to appearance, not equally “clean.” But then I am disposed to think that the “oxen “ were far more diligently at work in the one case than in the other. The object of the one minister was mainly to secure order, regularity, decency, harmony, with a decent regard for morals and religion. The object of the other was to “lay the axe to the root of the tree”--to convince, to alarm, to convert, to sanctify, to lead his hearers as contrite sinners to the foot of the Cross, and to qualify them under God for the highest seats in the kingdom of heaven. And the result was that, in the one case, few consciences were touched, few fears were awakened, few hearts were moved. In the other case, if there were some who were offended at plain truths announced in the somewhat homely language of the minister, there were also many awakened consciences.
V. The last case to which I shall refer the proverb is that of controversy. Eirenos is a man of peace. He can quote to you maxims without number from the Scriptures and from the writings of great theologians on the duty of gentleness, forbearance, charity. If you wish to enlist him on the side of those who are doing battle for some vital truth, he comes down upon you with a deluge of authorities which it is almost impossible to resist; tells you that Fenelon wrote a whole treatise upon “Charity”; that Bishop Hall was the author of a treatise expressly denominated “The Olive Branch “; that Hooker said the time would come when “a few words written in charity” would be worth all the angry disputation in the world. Now all this is true; and is, indeed, never to be forgotten by the disciples of a compassionate Saviour. A higher authority than any of these uninspired writers says: “If I give my body to be burned and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.” But it may be well to remind Eirenos that, notwithstanding the peaceful spirit and language of all these authorities, Fenelon barely escaped burning for the honesty and explicitness with which he spoke his mind; Bishop Hall was for the same offence driven out of his diocese; Hooker was charged with all sorts of enormities before the Privy Council; and St. Paul himself was hunted down like a wild beast by all classes of the community. But Eirenos has no taste for such extravagances. Now here is the “clean crib,” but where are the “oxen”? Here is Erasmus; but where is Luther, or Cranmer, or Ridley, or Latimer? Where are the zeal, the “indignation” at error, the “vehemence” of holy love, the devotion to God and to truth, which consumed the soul of the meek and lowly Saviour; which exiled St. John to Patmos; and which has lighted up the funeral pile of the whole army of saints and martyrs? (Christian Observer.)