Nevin on Second Commandment

THE SECOND COMMANDMENT.

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Mixed up with the historical view of the question we find some metaphysico-theological discussion, and certain fine-spun distinctions, which require to be noticed, if we would have a full, clear, and proper apprehension of the argument as connected with Old Testament Scripture. The first of these respects the proper interpretation and application of the Second Commandment of the Decalogue, and in relation to this the distinction sought to be made between the arts of painting and statuary on the one hand and music on the other. Professor Wallace says, p. 7, “But it may be that Scripture, by positive law, imposes restrictions on the use of instrumental music which are not suggested by the light of nature, as it does in many other instances—as, for instance, in relation to the appetites and desires.” As if nature itself suggested no restrictions whatever on any appetite or desire! and as if there were no such thing as a natural appetite or desire for music—a pretty strong one, too; witness the present controversy! The Professor proceeds—“We find no such restriction recorded in the Old Testament. And yet God, in His jealousy for His own honour, has not merely restricted, but prohibited the use of the arts of statuary and painting in the exercise of His worship [see the Second Commandment]. This is a noteworthy distinction. We are warned that pictures and graven images, employed even as aids to devotion, lead on to idolatry,” &c. The distinction as thus presented cannot be borne out. It proceeds upon what we deem a mistaken view of the tenor of the Second Commandment. The first clause of that precept must not be taken separately from what follows, and construed in an absolute sense. If we are to understand that men are prohibited, without reservation or qualification, from making the likeness of anything in heaven, earth, or sea, not only will the arts of statuary and painting be rendered sinful in every case, but all the arts and business of life will be brought to a stand still. The second clause—“Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them”—brings out the real meaning. It is the making of the likeness of anything with the design of setting it up as an object of worship that is clearly intended. No one imagines that the Second Commandment forbids the employment of painting and statuary for

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merely decorative purposes. But there was more than this under the Mosaic dispensation. Can the fact be overlooked that, in the most holy place, both of the Tabernacle and Temple, there were two cherubim of solid gold, of one piece with the mercy-seat or lid of the ark, with which such ideas of dread solemnity were connected? This peculiar sacredness shows that they were not merely for ornament. That could not be the purpose, when only the high priest was permitted to see them, and that only once a year. When Solomon built the Temple he had two other cherubim, of much larger dimensions, their outstretched wings extending from wall to wall, formed of olive wood, and overlaid with gold, fixed in the most holy place.—1 Ki. vi. 23–28. These were in addition to the cherubim on the mercy-seat. The wainscotting of the Temple and the doors were covered all over with carvings of cherubim, palm trees, and flowers, overlaid with gold fitted on to the carvings—ver. 29, 32, 35. The two great pillars in the porch, Jachin and Boaz, had their chapters covered with lily work and pomegranates—ch. vii. 15–22. In the court was the molten sea of brass, resting on twelve oxen, its brim wrought with flowers of lilies—ver. 23–26. There were also ten lavers of brass, resting on bases, and these had on them figures of cherubim, lions, oxen, and palm trees—ver. 27–36. Doubtless Solomon was either inspired himself to design all these things, or he had them made after the design of some other inspired person, as Moses was charged of God, in the construction of the Tabernacle, to see to it that he make all things according to the pattern shown to him in the mount.—Heb. viii. 5. There may be difference of opinion as to the precise symbolic import of some of these things, but that they were designed to be more than merely ornamental—to be significant, emblematic, suggestive of spiritual ideas—that it was a method of teaching by symbol—is generally agreed. In regard to some of them this is undeniable. Professor Wallace is clearly in error, then, when he asserts, without qualification, that “all religious use of pictures or images is strictly prohibited” by the Second Commandment, so far, at least, as regards the former dispensation. The religious use was not prohibited so long as the worshipper kept strictly within the limits of divine prescription and adhered to the divine pattern. Nor can we assent to the opinion of some that the figures in the Tabernacle and Temple were in any sense a violation of the Second Commandment, whether in letter or in spirit. The Author of the precept could not so contradict Himself. The brazen serpent that Moses made by command of God in the wilderness had been carefully preserved till the days of Hezekiah—rightly and properly so, for it was a most instructive and impressive memorial of events in the ancient history of the people that were full of warning to all succeeding generations, and it was, besides, a most remarkable type of the Saviour, recog-

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nised as such by Christ Himself.—John iii. 14. But, when the people had begun to make an idol of it, and to burn incense to it, Hezekiah broke it in pieces, and called it Nehushtan, a piece of brass.—2 Ki. xviii. 4.

It will be seen from the foregoing that the distinction, as sought to be established, between the arts of painting and statuary on the one hand and music on the other, does not hold. They come under one category in relation to the Second Commandment. Both must be kept within the limits of divine prescription. The Westminster Divines have interpreted the precept, in its bearing on the Gospel dispensation, with their usual perspicuity, brevity, and precision, when they say that it forbids the worshipping of God by images, or in any other way not APPOINTED in His Word. In one point, and in only one point, is there any seeming ground for the distinction. There is no restriction or limitation of any kind, anywhere expressed in the Old Testament, with special reference to the use of instruments in worship. That is easily accounted for, and need present no difficulty. One might account for it partially on the ground that such a thing was not thought of or practised, in the worship of the true God, before the time of David. But the simple and sufficient explanation is, that, even supposing it to have been practised from the earliest times—although that has not been shown, and cannot be—it was, in its nature, quite in keeping with the distinctive character of the dispensation or dispensations that preceded the Christian. It does not follow, however, that it is consistent or in keeping with the distinctive character of the latter. Though it unquestionably had a divine sanction under the one, it does not follow that it has any divine sanction under the other. We hold that it has not.

All unauthorized aids to devotion are very apt to degenerate into aids to idolatry. It is as an aid to devotion that instrumental music is pleaded for. “The music of an instrument,” says Professor Wallace, p. 82, “has a higher office than that of a mere aid to the human voice. Like the voice in singing, it is designed to act upon the emotions to excite and strengthen them. Is this to be deprecated? Can the religious emotions be raised to a pitch too great, too intense, so as to be out of proportion to the claims of their object?” Certainly not, we reply, provided they be really religious emotions that are excited or raised. But that is precisely what we not only doubt but disbelieve the use of instruments in Christian worship is calculated to do. While we are in the present state and under the present conditions of existence, our highest, holiest, most spiritual thoughts and feelings require to be embodied in forms and external modes of expression. It is a necessity of our nature, as now constituted. But there is a lamentable tendency on the part of human nature, as fallen and depraved, to rest and ter-

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minate in the form, the bodily service, the merely external. When this is the case, it is so far spiritual idolatry, as we may describe it. Here is the danger, and the only way in which we can guard against it is by adhering rigidly to what has the sanction of God’s revealed will, neither falling short nor going beyond. Now, is not this danger rather wilfully encountered when instruments are introduced in Christian worship? Is there no danger of the service degenerating into the idolatry of sweet sounds—idolatry of a very refined species, no doubt, but still idolatry? We think decidedly there is, and that to introduce the instrument is, not to avoid the danger, but to court it, nay, we venture to say, to ensure it, at least as regards some of the ostensible worshippers. It has been plausibly argued, that the instrumental accompaniment bears the same relation to singing in sacred music as in secular, and whatever improvement it may be to the one, it is the same to the other.* Granted, at once. But what is the relation, and what is the improvement? That is the point which is overlooked in the argument, and thus is it rendered pointless indeed. The instrumental accompaniment can be an improvement on good singing, only in one way—it gratifies the ear. That is the relation, and that is the whole amount of the improvement. That may be all very well in secular music, for that is its very design, but when brought into the sanctuary, again we ask, is that worship rendered to God? Professor Wallace descants eloquently, at page 33 of his pamphlet, on the “much sin to be repented of” in the slovenly and tasteless manner in which the service of praise is sometimes rendered, not having the music adapted to the sentiment of the psalm, thereby paining and offending the mind and ear of the cultivated Christian, hindering his worship, and doing positive injury to the religious feeling of earnest worshippers. No doubt there is some truth in this indictment, though we cannot but think that more than enough is made of it, and that it is more of a theoretical argument than one that has a very serious foundation in fact. But surely we can have the tune chosen in adaptation to the sentiment (not a superlatively grave matter after all), and the whole service performed in such a manner as not to pain or offend the mind or ear of the most fastidious, without the aid or intervention of an instrument. The taste that is not satisfied with this, but insists on having the instrument besides, we have no hesitation in saying, is a perverted and vitiated taste, and the sin lies in pandering to it, not in withholding its morbidly chosen pabulum. The thing is most seductive. It is only natural and non-religious feeling that can be raised or excited by the strains of the instrument, considered apart from the words of the psalm. This is readily and unconsciously mistaken

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* Rev. J. Robson, in Evangelical Witness for August, page 201.

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for really devotional feeling, more especially as the performance is in the sanctuary, and while men are engaged in exercises that on the whole are regarded as worship. True worship is more than “hindered” by this. There is, to an extent, a base counterfeit of it. There is a positive withdrawal of the mind from it in a measure, and a pre-occupation of “the mind and ear” with what is not spiritual worship rendered to Him who is a Spirit, in spirit and in truth, with the spirit and with the understanding also. The danger, as already said, is not sought to be avoided, but actually, if not wilfully, courted, in the introduction of instruments. The mind and ear of the cultivated Christian are not pained, it may be. Oh, no, quite the reverse. But that is far from being the chief thing to be considered. David’s great anxiety, when he composed the 51st Psalm, was certainly not as to how he could get rid of all painful feeling. A very comfortable religion that would be, which would enable us to come to the conclusion that we were doing what was pleasing to God, while busily occupied in pleasing ourselves.

We think it is the poet Young who, in one of his prose works, has expressed a sentiment to the effect that, Forms are the clothing of realities, which must always suffer when it is laid aside. Very true; but then, in matters of religion, the clothing must be after a divine pattern, and not according to any human fashion. The man who would divest himself of all clothing must be a sufferer in consequence, both physically and otherwise. But he will be a sufferer also, if he overload himself with a superfluity of clothing, more especially if it be such as has a plague virus lurking in its folds. And, if one make it the sole, or even the chief business of his life, to decorate his person, even the world will set him down as a fop: we would feel warranted in applying a stronger epithet, and calling him an idolater, self constituting the god of his idolatry.

We are familiar with pleadings for aids to devotion, even in the “strictly prohibited” region of pictures and images, and we cannot see that, in some instances at least, these are one whit less cogent and conclusive than are the similar pleas for instrumental music. A pious and devout Romanist—and who will say that there have not been and are many such?—kneels before a picture of the Saviour, or a crucifix. We do not say a picture or image of Mary or any other Saint, because, in this case, the avowed object of worship is only a creature, to whom worship cannot be scripturally and rationally rendered. If he is an intelligent person, he will tell you that it is not to the picture or the image that he renders worship, but to the Saviour Himself, and he only employs these outward emblems, under a dictate of the “light of nature,” as “designed to act upon the emotions to excite and strengthen them.” He may ask, too, “Is this to be deprecated? Can the religious emotions be raised to a pitch too great, too intense, so as to be out of proportion to the claims of their object?” As regards the mass

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of illiterate worshippers, we know how the case stands, and it is not different in respect to the music of instruments. But we speak of an intelligent person. It is difficult for one trained as a Protestant to comprehend how there can be any real or proper devotional feeling in the worship of one who kneels before a picture or a crucifix, the training leads him to entertain a holy horror of such things, and justly, although the good old Protestant apprehension in respect to such things seems fast wearing away in the presence of the false charity and spurious, often self-interested, liberalism of these days in which our lot is cast. Yet, in the exercise of a true charity, making due allowance for his very different training, we can surely conceive of a pious and devout Romanist having his religious emotions, such as they are, greatly excited and strengthened by such external aids. There may be more or less of the superstitious and the idolatrous mingling in the state of his mind, and yet there may be, and, we have no doubt, there often is, a residuum of true and real devotional feeling. Where is the difference, then, between this case and that of instrumental music? Simply in the avenue through which the access to emotion makes its approach—in the outward sense primarily affected, acted and operated on. In the one case it is the eye, in the other it is the ear—that is all. In both, were it possible for us to apply any process of exact spiritual weighing and measuring, we are persuaded that a much larger proportion of the emotion is expended upon, rests and terminates in, the external aid, than what is the result of the alleged process of elevation, excitation, strengthening, or intensification. Enough, however, has been said to show that the objection to the use of instruments in worship, on the ground that it is calculated to pave the way for the introduction of pictures and images, is by no means so “ill-considered” as Professor Wallace would have his readers to believe, since precisely the same line of argument by which it is sought to justify the one would have equal relevancy and cogency—that is, if it had any at all—in justifying the other.

Another distinction, incidentally alluded to, is that between moral and positive precepts, or, as some, designing to be more exact, put it, between the moral-natural and the moral-positive. It may surprise some of our readers, when we say that this a distinction in which we have no great faith. We know that it has been made by theologians the most eminent, and the most orthodox, perhaps without an exception. But if we stand alone, we cannot help it. The more we reflect upon it—and we have done so long before this controversy came up—the more confirmed are we in the conviction that it is one on which very little stress should be laid. We never could see any good purpose to be served by it, while, on the other hand, we are persuaded it has done incalculable injury to the cause of pure religion and morality, in connection with views of the law of the weekly

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Sabbath, a connection in which it is most frequently brought up. One brief and popular way of stating it is this—Positive precepts are those which are right because God wills them, moral precepts are those which He wills, because they are right. Professor Wallace seems to endorse this definition, when he says, p. 9, “Positive institutions, institutions originating in the will of the Lawgiver, require minute detail; but exercises founded in nature carry their obligation within them, and they are placed under the law of conscience and the felt necessities of the religious life.” And, again, “Praise was a service which transcended all positive institutions, and spurned the restriction of any.” To the distinction as thus presented we must demur altogether. We hold that nothing is right, merely because God wills it; but that whatever God wills, He wills it because it is antecedently right, all the circumstances being duly considered, of which only infinite wisdom can be an unerring judge. We cannot pursue the subject here, nor is it necessary that we should. One thing is plain, and is admitted—there was Divine prescription, there was a law, for the use of instruments in worship revealed in David’s time, if not earlier, call it positive, ceremonial, moral, or what you will.