06.06. The Exorcism of Self
Chapter 6 The Exorcism of Self
SELF is the pivot around which the natural man revolves. It is the essential principle of every sin, and has been ever since that first sin, in which Adam preferred what was pleasant to the eyes, and good for food, and calculated to make him wise, to the will and word of God. Sin is the assertion of self. The sensualist asserts that the indulgence of his passion must take precedence of his duty to God and his reverence for the nature God has made. The oppressor asserts that the sufferings of his victims are as the small dust of the scale if only his coffers are filled, his power augmented. The liar asserts that it is more important for his credit to be preserved than that truth should be paramount in the world around. Beneath the purple of the emperor, the ermine of the judge, the cowl of the monk, the broadcloth of the business man, the fustian of the peasant, self-worship has been the mainspring of human activity and crime. At our conversion a strong blow is struck at the dominion of self. We have to be saved altogether by the grace of God, and for the merits of Another. Our own efforts are proved to be useless and worse. Our prayers and tears and righteousness become hindrances rather than helps. Absolute bankrupts, we have nothing to pay. Utterly powerless, we are dragged by Another’s hands from the dark waters which threatened to sweep us to perdition. But though the dethronement of self begins at conversion, it is not completed then, or for long years. In fact, during all the life that follows we are constantly becoming more aware of the subtlety and all-pervasiveness of the self-principle. We detect it in moods and dispositions where we never expected to discover it. It puts off its filthy rags, and attires itself in the somber garb of humility or religious zeal. It busies itself in the work of God. It takes a foremost place in acts of self-denial and devotion. It multiplies its activities. It glories in its unobtrusiveness. It loves to choose the lowest seat. It congratulates itself on its conquests and growing perfection. And all the while, in its self-complacency, it shows that it is a mere mimicry of that genuine holiness which is the direct product of the work of the Holy Spirit. The great antagonist of the self-principle is the Holy Spirit. He lusts against the flesh; and the flesh is sell spelled backward. And if we surrender ourselves to the Eternal Spirit, through whom our Lord offered Himself upon the cross, we shall find that the work of self-destruction will proceed apace. The marble will waste, but the image beneath will grow. The outward man will perish, but the inward man will be renewed day by day. The crucifixion of the self-life will proceed in the heart side by side with the ever-waxing glories of the Easter morning and the ascension mount. The work of the Holy Spirit is antagonistic of self because He is the Spirit of love. The love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, who is given unto us, and the spirit of love is antiseptic to the spirit of self. They are mutually destructive. They can no more coexist than light and darkness, heat and cold, carbolic acid and the microbes of disease. When Jonathan loved David as his own soul, it was possible for him to view without jealousy the growing influence and power of his friend. "Thou shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee." How great a contrast to the gloomy monarch Saul! For love of David the three mighties became oblivious to the overwhelming numbers of the Philistine garrison, as they broke through their ranks to draw water from the ancient well which was by the gate of Bethlehem. For the love of the Bridegroom the greatest of woman-born could view with joy the transference of popularity and the interest of the crowds from himself to Him whose shoe-latchet "he was not great enough to loose." The dwindling audience on the river’s bank excited no regret or surprise, since the rest had gone to swell the glory of his Lord. "He must increase, and I must decrease." The loyal heart of Bethany, in its much love for the dear Master, who had revealed to it His deepest secret, was indifferent to the cold criticism of the apostles, and especially to the cynicism of Judas, expended its choicest stores, gladly performed a slave’s office, broke the alabaster box of very precious ointment of His head, and wiped His feet with her hair. And what but love could have nerved the mother to stand beneath the cross, of the women to brave the dangers of an Eastern city at dawn to visit the sepulcher!
Ah, Love, what canst thou not do! Thou canst make the timid brave, and the weak strong. The nervous bird owns thy spell as in defense of her young she turns to face her pursuer. The martyr, the patriot, the hero have learned of thee the secret of finding beds of down on stones, and gardens of flowers on barren sands. Thou didst bring the King Himself from the midst of His royalties to the cross, and He counted all things but loss that He might redeem the Church on whom He had set His heart. Then self will be dethroned, the cross of daily-dying will be robbed of its bitterness, the furnace floor will become a flower-enameled pathway, if only thou shalt reign in us supreme!
Therefore the apostle said, "The love of Christ constraineth us, because we thus judge that He died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto Him who died for them and rose again." The love that can expel self is not the vague love of principle or theory, but of a person. It is the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge. "I saw," says George Fox, "a sea of light and a sea of ink; and the sea of light flowed into the sea of ink and swept it away forever." On one occasion, as Dr. Chalmers was riding on a coach in the Highlands, at a very dangerous part of the road where it overhung a precipice, the horses took fright and were near precipitating the coach and all its occupants into the ravine beneath. The driver vigorously applied the whip, and the horses, stung with pain and dreading further inflictions, forget their fear. He observed that one fear expelled another, and coined the expression, "The expulsive power of a new affection." Fear expels fear. Sunlight extinguishes firelight. The love of a noble woman often redeems a man from the sway of baser passions. And the love of Christ, wrought in us by the spirit of love, will make us free from the love of self. For His sake we can harbor nothing that would cause Him grief or be at all inconsistent with the completest loyalty.
It has been argued whether the apostle meant Christ’s love to us or ours to Him. The contention is needless. It is the same sunbeam whether striking the mirror directly or reflected from it to the eye.
Christ’s love to us is transforming. A Norwegian lady tells how a little child was brought to her orphanage, so repulsive in its appearance, and loathsome for its sores, that she felt she could not love it. But one day compassion for its motherlessness made her stoop over the wan little face and kiss it. Instantly the most exquisite smile spread over the features, as the consciousness of being loved sank into the heart. From that moment the whole expression of the child became transformed, and it grew to be the jewel of her family. So the consciousness of Christ’s love to us will transfigure us. Only give it time to sink in as you sit at the foot of His cross, and reckon how much He must have loved you, since He dared to die for you, being an enemy and ungodly.
Similarly, our love to Christ will work a wondrous change. It will wean us away from all that grieves Him, just as the love of a noble man will draw a maiden from the pettiness of her life, and make her share in his aims, ideals, and companionships. Love possesses a secret magnetism by which she can entice the soul from chosen home and friends to become a pilgrim of hope in company with the twin-soul to which it has leaped, recognizing its twin. Would that thus our souls might leap to Christ and forever sever themselves from the attractions of the world and the dominion of self!
"’Love took up the harp of Life, and played on all its chords with might-- Touched the chord of Self, which passed in music out of sight." But perhaps there is a deeper meaning still in these words. Christ’s love may be Christ’s love in us. When Christ becomes a resident and inmate of the inner man, He comes arrayed in all His beautiful garments. There is the sweet savor of His love poured forth as fragrance inthe air, and the scent of myrrh, cassia, and aloes makes the inner palace redolent with perfume. Then out through each avenue of our nature go the telltale tidings of the dear indwelling Lord. Often in passing through the crowded street one is arrested by the breath of flowers wafted from the florists shop, where the sweet prisoners of garden and woodland shed forth the aroma of the hothouse on the chill or dusty air. So when Christ dwells within, His love is exhaled from the heart into the life.
Then the one passion is to magnify Him in the body, whether for life or death. We call upon all that is within us to bless His holy name. To live is Christ. We think no more what man may say of us; we care only to secure fresh love to Him, new thoughts of His beauty, His tenderness, His worthiness, His redeeming grace. It is a matter of perfect indifference whether men praise or love or hate. We only care that they understand a little more truly what He can be, what He is, what His love is capable of. To die in doing this were gain indeed. Thus self is exorcised, and troubles us no more.