LYNCH LAW IN SOCIAL LIFE.
By Rusticus
IN civilized countries no man can be condemned and punished without a fair trial. There are courts and judges to see that justice is done. It is only in barbarous lands or in the outskirts of civilization that men are put to death at the will of a despot or of a mob. But while we prize the protection which the law gives to our property, our reputation, and our lives, we have a species of lynch law in our best society that is as cruel and reckless as any that ever prevailed in the South or West. It does not drive men from their homes by threats of violence. It does not burn their dwellings, or hang them on the limbs of trees. But it stabs their reputations, impugns their motives, covers them with clouds of distrust and suspicion, makes their lives bitter, and brands their children with infamy. Our Saviour said, "Judge not." But who of us heeds the prohibition? Who of us is not daily and hourly sitting in judgment upon somebody's life and character? Who of us is not wickedly assuming the prerogative of him who said, "Judgment is mine"? Who of us is not, in our own thoughts at least, passing sentence upon our fellow-men? If we kept our verdict in our own breast it would be bad enough. For we have no right to think evil of our neighbor until we are sure he deserves it. We have no right to condemn him in our hearts until we know all about his motives, until we have heard all that he has to say in his own defense. He has an interest in our good opinion. Our happiness depends largely upon the esteem of those around us. He who withholds from us his good-will when we are worthy of it, he who regards us as foolish or wicked when he does not know positively that we are—does it on mere suspicion, or a hasty view of our conduct—robs us of just so much of the social atmosphere which we have a right to breathe and enjoy. But seldom is it that our condemnation of others, however hasty, is kept to ourselves. Listen to the conversation of those neighbors when they meet. A and B are discussing C's character. They are holding a lynch court upon reports, no doubt sadly garbled, of what he has said or done. They are trying him and condemning him without a hearing, as if they understood the whole case; as if their suspicions or impressions were credible evidence. When these self-constituted judges meet their victim, he sees in the averted eye that they have no faith in him and no charity for him. He feels that they ought to be his friends, that if they understood all his circumstances and motives they would give him sympathy instead of suspicion, and esteem instead of aversion. But he has no opportunity to explain. They have not sought his confidence. They have not permitted him to open his heart to them. They sat down together and put their own construction upon what they saw or heard of him, and settled the whole matter, so far as reference can go, against him. Now this is the height of injustice and the refinement of cruelty. What have we to do with our neighbor's faults and follies? We have enough of our own to attend to. And we are commanded to love him and not to judge him. "Charity thinketh no evil." It tries to put the best possible construction upon the conduct and motives of others. It hopes that the worst are not as bad as they seem. And when anyone begins to pass judgment upon his neighbor, it tries to defend the absent, to suggest that the reports about him may not be authentic, that he might be able to explain what seems obscure, and that even if he is as bad as he is represented, he is a fellow-sinner, no worse by nature than ourselves, and cannot be made better by treating him coldly. The more defective his character or wayward life, the greater is his need of our sympathy and aid. By kindness and charity we may win him from his evil ways. By coldness and scorn we only drive him to bitterness and despair. As a rule, the most pure-minded are the most charitable. Those who are honest and true themselves are less disposed to suspect their neighbors of fraud and falsehood. The consciousness of evil in ourselves tempts us to impute evil to others, and we get a little comfort in the self-condemnation that we cannot avoid, by condemning somebody else. Hence the gossiping and criticising world is like a company of criminals denouncing all mankind as thieves and robbers in order to try to persuade themselves that they are not as bad as they are. When I hear a man or woman insinuating that Mr. X and Mrs. Y and Miss Z are no better than they should be, I am reminded of the Saviour's words to the accusing Pharisees, "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone." Their hypocrisy was a worse crime than that of her they accused. And the consciousness of it, the moral degradation into which it had brought them, and not a love of purity, made them quick and relentless in punishing those who were guilty of any offense against the letter of the law. So now, we who are sinners ourselves have no right to be casting stones at others; and if there was a perfect saint on earth he would have the spirit of the Saviour and not of the Pharisee. I cannot help thinking sometimes how the judgments which we are forming and uttering in regard to those around us will look when the great white throne is set, and the lives and hearts of all men are revealed. Many that we condemn will be nobly vindicated, and many that we thought pure and good will be unmasked. And we ourselves will find that among our greatest sins is that of usurping the highest of God's prerogatives, and sitting in judgment on our fellow-men. It would be well for us to think often of that day and to heed the admonition of him before whom we must then stand: "Judge not that ye be not judged."—Rusticus, in Occident.