The written Word endures forever.
There is always a permanency about written, that does not belong to uttered, speech. "Liters scripts manet," said one Roman poet; "Exegi monumentum osre perennius," said another, when he had completed a book of his odes. It was to secure continuance to human utterances that the act of writing was invented at the first; and it was probably long employed for no other purpose. The permanency, however, that attaches to ordinary writings is a limited permanency. They are not intended to "endure forever." For the most part they are on a frail and perishable material, which cannot be expected to last a century, and there is no expectation of their being copied and so prolonged in existence. But it is otherwise with the Divine Word. The Divine Word is enshrined in writing, that it may continue as long as the world continues. It is too precious to be lost. When the material on which it is written shows signs of decay, there always have been, and there always will be, pious persons, who will take care that the words are reproduced exactly on some fresh material, and so handed on unchanged. Since the invention of printing, it has become practically impossible that any work held in esteem by any considerable number of persons should perish. The written Word could only pass away by all interest in i[ being lost among all sections of human-kind. Against such a miserable result the promise of God to be with his Church "always, even unto the end of the world" (Matthew 28:20), furnishes an absolute security. Hence we may be sure that "the Word of the Lord will endure forever" (1 Peter 1:25).
Smooth things wore acceptable to man than the truth.
In connection with this subject there would seem to be three things to be specially set forth.
I. THE FACT OF THE PREFERENCE. Man has no natural aversion to truth. On the contrary, truth is congenial to his nature and acceptable to his intellect. Scientific truth, historic truth, is readily received when offered to him, and, if not very eagerly desired or very carefully sought out, is at any rate, when put before him, generally to some extent appreciated. The truth that is disliked is moral truth. Even when set before him in an abstract form, moral teaching frets him, vexes him; and moralists have been always unpopular from the days of Socrates to those of Samuel Johnson. Especially disliked are the teachers who do not stop at abstract morality, but point their moral teaching by applying it to the life and conduct of those to whom they address themselves. On the other hand, there is no surer way of pleasing men than by flattering them, provided it is done skillfully and with a delicate hand. We like to have our conduct praised, our characters admired, our example held up as a model to be imitated. We detest being found fault with, criticized, told that we have done wrong. We do not perhaps ask men to "prophesy unto us smooth things," but we make it very plain to all with whom we come into contact that "smooth things" alone are agreeable to us.
II. THE GROUND OF THE PREFERENCE. Moral truth is disliked because it is felt as a reproach. We are conscious to ourselves of our own moral imperfection; and every exhibition of a high moral standard, every inculcation of high moral principles, seems to us a reflection on our own shortcomings, not far short of actual personal censure. The smooth voice of flattery pleases us, partly, through its contrast with the rough tones of the unwelcome moralist, but further through its persuading us that we really have some of the good qualities which the flatterer imputes, and thus calling into play our self-respect and self-esteem. Moral warnings awaken fear for the future; flattery awakens hope. Moral warnings disturb; flattery soothes. Even when we perceive that the flatterer is cozening us, we let ourselves be cozened; our vanity is pleased at being tickled, and asks for nothing but a prolongation of the pleasurable excitement.
III. THE ILL RESULTS THAT FLOW FROM THE PREFERENCE. Character, which would naturally improve under the bracing discipline of a stern and strict inculcation of moral truth, continually deteriorates, if flattery takes the place of honest plain-speaking. Men believe themselves better than they are, and take less pains to become better. They grow vain and self-satisfied, thinking themselves in need of nothing, when truly they are "wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked" (Revelation 3:17). Spiritual teachers should beware of encouraging men's self-indulgent desire for spiritual ease; and, while careful not to "quench the smoking flax," or "break the bruised reed," should constantly sound in the ears of all denunciations of vice, warnings, rebukes, admonishments. In no other way can they be either faithful to their calling or truly serviceable to their fellow-men.