THE GROWTH AND POWER OF SIN
by
Alexander Maclaren
'And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of
the ground an offering unto the Lord. And Abel, he also brought of the
firstlings of his flock, and of the fat thereof. And the Lord had respect
unto Abel, and to his offering: But unto Cain, and to his offering, he had
not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. And the Lord
said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen? If
thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin
lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule
over him. And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when
they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew
him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I
know not. Am I my brother's keeper? And He said, What hast thou done? the
voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto Me from the ground. And now art
thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy
brother's blood from thy hand. When thou tillest the ground, it shall not
henceforth yield unto thee her strength. A fugitive and a vagabond shalt
thou be in the earth. And Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater
than I can bear. Behold, Thou hast driven me out this day from the face of
the earth; and from Thy face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a
vagabond in the earth: and it shall come to pass, that every one that
findeth me shall slay me. And the Lord said unto him, Therefore, whosoever
slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.
And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him. And
Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod,
on the east of Eden.' GENESIS iv. 3-16.
Many lessons crowd on us from this section. Its general purport is
to show the growth of sin, and its power to part man from man even
as it has parted man from God. We may call the whole 'The beginning of the
fatal operations of sin on human society.'
1. The first recorded act of worship occasions the first murder. Is
not that only too correct a forecast of the oceans of blood which
have been shed in the name of religion, and a striking proof of the
subtle power of sin to corrupt even the best, and out of it to make
the worst? What a lesson against the bitter hatred which has too
often sprung up on so-called religious grounds! No malice is so
venomous, no hate so fierce, no cruelty so fiendish, as those which
are fed and fanned by religion. Here is the first triumph of sin, that it
poisons the very springs of worship, and makes what should be the great
uniter of men in sweet and holy bonds their great separator.
2. Sin here appears as having power to bar men's way to God. Much ingenuity
has been spent on the question why Abel's offering was accepted and Cain's
rejected. But the narrative itself shows in the words of Jehovah, 'If thou
doest well, is there not acceptance?'
that the reason lay in Cain's evil deeds. So, in 1 John iii. 12, the
fratricide is put down to the fact that 'his works were evil, and his
brother's righteous'; and Hebrews xi. 4 differs from this view only in
making the ground of righteousness prominent, when it ascribes the
acceptableness of Abel's offering to faith. Both these passages are founded
on the narrative, and we need not seek farther for the reason of the
different reception of the two offerings. Character, then, or, more truly,
faith, which is the foundation of a righteous character, determines the
acceptableness of worship. Cain's offering had no sense of dependence, no
outgoing of love and trust, no adoration,--though it may have had fear,--and
no moral element. So it had no sweet odour for God. Abel's was sprinkled
with some drops of the incense of lowly trust, and came from a heart which
fain would be pure; therefore it was a joy to God. So we are taught at the
very beginning, that, as is the man, so is his sacrifice; that the prayer of
the wicked is an abomination. Plenty of worship nowadays is Cain worship.
Many reputable professing Christians bring just such sacrifices. The prayers
of such never reach higher than the church ceiling. Of course, the lesson of
the story is not that a man must be pure before his sacrifice is accepted.
Of course, the faintest cry of trust is heard, and a contrite heart, however
sinful, is always welcome. But we are taught that our acts of worship must
have our hearts in them, and that it is vain to pray and to love evil. Sin
has the awful power of blocking our way to God.
3. Note in one word that we have here at the beginning of human
history the solemn distinction which runs through it all. These two,
so near in blood, so separate in spirit, head the two classes into which
Scripture decisively parts men, especially men who have heard
the gospel. It is unfashionable now to draw that broad line between
the righteous and the wicked, believers and unbelievers. Sheep and
goats are all one. Modern liberal sentiment--so-called--will not consent to
such narrowness as the old-fashioned classification. There are none of us
black, and none white; we are all different shades of grey. But facts do not
quite bear out such amiable views. Perhaps it is not less charitable, and a
great deal truer, to draw the line broad and plain, on one side of which is
peace and safety, and on the other trouble and death, if only we make it
plain that no man need stop one minute on the dark side.
4. The solemn divine voice reads the lesson of the power of sin, when once
done, over the sinner. Like a wild beast, it crouches in ambush at his door,
ready to spring and devour. The evil deed once
committed takes shape, as it were, and waits to seize the doer. Remorse,
inward disturbance, and above all, the fatal inclination to
repeat sin till it becomes a habit, are set forth with terrible force in
these grim figures. What a menagerie of ravenous beasts some of us have at
the doors of our hearts! With what murderous longing they glare at us,
seeking to fascinate us, and make us their prey! When we sin, we cannot
escape the issues; and every wrong thing we do has a kind of horrible life
given it, and sits henceforth there, beside us, ready to rend us. The
tempting, seducing power of our own evils was never put in more startling
and solemnly true words, on which the bitter experience of many a poor
victim of his own past is a commentary. The eternal duty of resistance is
farther taught by the words. Hope of victory, encouragement to struggle, the
assurance that even these savage beasts may be subdued, and the lion and
adder (the hidden and the glaring evils--those which wound unseen, and which
spring with a roar) may be overcome, led in a silken leash or charmed into
harmlessness, are given in the command, which is also a promise, 'Rule thou
over it.'
5. The deadly fruit of hate is taught us in the brief account of the actual
murder. Notice the impressive plainness and fewness of the words. 'Cain rose
up against his brother, and slew him.' A kind of horror-struck awe of the
crime is audible. Observe the emphasis with which 'his brother' is repeated
in the verse and throughout. Observe, also, the vivid light thrown by the
story on the rise and
progress of the sin. It begins with envy and jealousy. Cain was not
wroth because his offering was rejected. What did he care for that?
But what angered him was that his brother had what he had not. So
selfishness was at the bottom, and that led on to envy, and that to
hatred. Then comes a pause, in which God speaks remonstrances,--as God's
voice--conscience--does now to us all,--between the imagination and the act
of evil. A real or a feigned reconciliation is effected. The brothers go in
apparent harmony to the field. No new provocation appears, but the old
feelings, kept down for a time, come in again with a rush, and Cain is swept
away by them. Hatred
left to work means murder. The heart is the source of all evil. Selfishness
is the mother tincture out of which all sorts of sin can be made. Guard the
thoughts, and keep down self, and the deeds will
take care of themselves.
6. Mark how close on the heels of sin God's question treads! How God spoke,
we know not. Doubtless in some fashion suited to the needs of Cain. But He
speaks to us as really as to him, and no sooner is the rush of passion over,
and the bad deed done, than a revulsion comes. What we call conscience asks
the question in stern tones, which make a man's flesh creep. Our sin is like
touching the electric bells which people sometimes put on their windows to
give notice of thieves. As soon as we step beyond the line of duty we set
the alarm going, and it wakens the sleeping conscience. Some of us go so far
as to have silenced the voice within; but, for the most part, it speaks
immediately after we have gratified our inclinations wrongly.
7. Cain's defiant answer teaches us how a man hardens himself against God's
voice. It also shows us how intensely selfish all sin is, and how weakly
foolish its excuses are. It is sin which has rent men apart from men, and
made them deny the very idea that they have
duties to all men. The first sin was only against God; the second was
against God and man. The first sin did not break, though it saddened, human
love; the second kindled the flames of infernal hatred, and caused the first
drops to flow of the torrents of blood which have soaked the earth. When men
break away from God, they will soon murder one another.
Cain was his brother's keeper. His question answered itself. If Abel
was his brother, then he was bound to look after him. His self-condemning
excuse is but a specimen of the shallow pleas by which
the forgetfulness of duties we owe to all mankind, and all sins, are
defended.
8. The stern sentence is next pronounced. First we have the grand
figure of the innocent blood having a voice which pierces the heavens. That
teaches in the most forcible way the truth that God
knows the crimes done by 'man's inhumanity to man,' even when the
meek sufferers are silent. According to the fine old legend of the cranes of
Ibycus, a bird of the air will carry the matter. It speaks, too, of God's
tender regard for His saints, whose blood is precious in His sight; and it
teaches that He will surely requite. We cannot but think of the innocent
blood shed on Calvary, of the Brother of us all, whose sacrifice was
accepted of God. His blood, too, crieth from the ground, has a voice which
speaks in the ear of God, but not to plead for vengeance, but pardon.
'Jesus' blood through earth and skies, Mercy, free, boundless mercy, cries.'
Then follows the sentence which falls into two parts--the curse of bitter,
unrequited toil, and the doom of homeless wandering. The blood which has
been poured out on the battlefield fertilises the soil; but Abel's blasted
the earth. It was a supernatural infliction, to teach that bloodshed
polluted the earth, and so to shed a nameless horror over the deed. We see
an analogous feeling in the common belief that places where some foul sin
has been committed are cursed. We see a weak natural correspondence in the
devastating effect of war, as expressed in the old saying that no grass
would grow where the hoof of the Turk's horse had stamped.
The doom of wandering, which would be compulsory by reason of the earth's
barrenness, is a parable. The murderer is hunted from place to place, as the
Greek fable has it, by the furies, who suffer him
not to rest. Conscience drives a man 'through dry places, seeking rest, and
finding none.' All sin makes us homeless wanderers. There
is but one home for the heart, one place of repose for a man, namely, in the
heart of God, the secret place of the Most High; and he who, for his sin,
durst not enter there, is driven forth into 'a salt land and not inhabited,'
and has to wander wearily there. The legend of the wandering Jew, and that
other of the sailor, condemned for ever to fly before the gale through
stormy seas, have in them a deep truth. The earthly punishment of departing
from God is that we have not where to lay our heads. Every sinner is a
fugitive and a vagabond. But if we love God we are still wanderers indeed,
but we are 'pilgrims and sojourners with Thee.'
9. Cain's remonstrance completes the tragic picture. We see in it
despair without penitence. He has no word of confession. If he had
accepted his chastisement, and learned by it his sin, all the bitterness
would have passed away. But he only writhes in agony, and adds, to the
sentence pronounced, terrors of his own devising. God had not forbidden him
to come into His presence. But he feels that he dare not venture thither.
And he was right; for, whether we suppose that some sensible manifestation
of the divine presence is meant by 'Thy face' or no, a man who had
unrepented sin on his conscience, and murmurings in his heart, could not
hold intercourse with God; nor would he wish to do so. Thus we learn again
the lesson that sin separates from our Father, and that chastisements, not
accepted as signs of His love, build up a black wall between God and us.
Nor had Cain been told that his life was in danger. But his conscience made
a coward of him, as of us all, and told him what he
deserved. There were, no doubt, many other children of Adam, who
would be ready to avenge Abel's death. The wild justice of revenge
is deep in the heart of men; and the natural impulse would be to hunt down
the murderer like a wolf. It is a dreadful picture of the defiant and
despairing sinner, tortured by well-founded fears, shut out from the
presence of God, but not able to shut out thoughts of Him, and seeing an
avenger in every man.
We need not ask how God set a mark on Cain. Enough that His doing so was a
merciful alleviation of his lot, and teaches us how God's long-suffering
spares life, and tempers judgment, that there may still be space for
repentance. If even Cain has gracious protection and mercy blended with his
chastisement, who can be beyond the pale of God's compassion, and with whom
will not His loving providence and patient pity labour? No man is so
scorched by the fire of retribution, but many a dewy drop from God's
tenderness falls on him. No doubt, the story of the preservation of Cain was
meant to restrain the blood-feuds so common and ruinous in early times; and
we need the lesson yet, to keep us from vengeance under the mask of justice.
But the deepest lesson and truest pathos of it lies in the picture of the
watchful kindness of God lingering round the wretched man, like gracious
sunshine playing on some scarred and black rock, to win him back by goodness
to penitence, and through penitence to peace.
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