Self-Denial and Virtue - Glenn Conjurske

Self-Denial and Virtue

Abstract of a Sermon Preached on April 1, 2001

by Glenn Conjurske

Yesterday I was asked the question, If I do what is right, when my heart isn’t in it, is there any virtue in this? My first response would be to say that there must be more virtue in this than there is in doing what is right when I want to do it. But I am not sure of this, and I leave the question unanswered, Which is more virtuous, whether to do right because we want to, or in spite of the fact that we don’t want to? But this I am sure of, that there is virtue in both of them.

Now as to the question of whether there is any virtue in doing what is right, though our heart is not in it, this may be answered in one word. Self-denial. This is the prime virtue. This is the first thing. “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself.” Let him do those things which he doesn’t want to do. Let him abstain from doing those things which he does want to do. This is self-denial, both negative and positive. This is the first thing God requires of us. This is the first fruit of faith. This is the essence and foundation of all true religion, without which there is no holiness and no salvation. So long as man is a sinner, with a heart full of sinful propensities and desires, self-denial must be the essence of true religion. If God came down and expressed his will to man in a hundred and ten commandments, no man would say, “Ah! this is just exactly what I have always wanted to do!” No sinner would say this, and no saint either. Our hearts are full of sinful inclinations. We do not desire to do the things we ought, nor to abstain from the things we ought not. All those sinful inclinations must be denied. We must act against our hearts, in a thousand and one instances. God requires this of us, as the first demand of the gospel. “And when he had called the people unto him with his disciples also, he said unto them, Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself.” (Mark 8:34.) So long as man is sinful he will never do right without denying himself, and acting against the inclinations of his heart. Those hyperspiritual and antinomian notions taught by men like Lewis Sperry Chafer, that Christian liberty consists in always doing exactly what we most want to do, may perhaps be applied in heaven, but it is as pernicious as it is foolish to try to apply them to sinners on the earth. Sinners must deny themselves, or they can have no virtue at all. They must act against the inclinations of their hearts, or they have no holiness and no religion.

But I must go farther than this. Even though we were free ourselves from the first breath or taint of sin, yet we must deny ourselves so long as others are sinners. Because we are sinners ourselves, we must often go against emotions which are wrong, in order to choose what is right. But though we were no sinners ourselves, so long as sin exists in others, we must often deny our emotions which are either innocent or virtuous, in order to do what is right. Christ was entirely free from any taint of sin. His feelings and desires were all pure and holy. Yet Christ denied himself when he went to the cross. He went to the cross directly against his own desires. He denied himself in a thousand other things also, but I pass those by, and speak only of the cross, for on this the Scriptures are too plain to be mistaken. We read in Matthew 26:37-39, “And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me. And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”

Does this look as though he was doing what he wanted to do? Do you become sorrowful and very heavy when you are about to do what you want to do? Did you go to your wedding sorrowful and very heavy? Did you stand at the altar, and turn to your mate and say, “Now is my soul exceeding sorrowful, even unto death”? Perhaps you might have, if you had possessed prophetic foresight, but at the time you were doing what you wanted to do. Your heart was in it, and there was no heaviness, or sorrowing unto death. These expressions prove beyond doubt that when Christ went to the cross, he was going directly against the inclinations of his heart.

Again, in Luke 22:41 & 42, “And he was withdrawn from them about a stone’s cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless, not my will, but thine, be done.” Did you stand at the marriage altar praying, “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me”? When your mother took you out for a treat, or gave you something you had always wanted, did you pray, “Father, remove this cup from me”? This praying is the proof that Christ went to the cross against his heart—-against his desires. He went there as a matter of self-denial, not of self-indulgence.

Again, in verse 44, “And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground.” Have you ever been “in an agony” over doing what your heart desired to do? Such language makes it perfectly plain that his heart was not in this thing, but directly against it. But more. It may be when you were required to do something which harrowed up all your feelings, something which violated your dearest and strongest desires, you may have broken out in a cold sweat, but have you ever sweat blood? It may be that our own emotions are too weak and fickle to enable us even to understand this, but here is the fact: the Lord sweat blood in viewing the ordeal which was before him, and certainly this teaches us in the most unmistakable manner that his soul felt the strongest possible aversion to the thing which he was about to do. He prayed repeatedly that he might be spared—-prayed repeatedly that God might take that cup from him. And all this conspires together to teach us in the most unequivocal fashion that his heart was not in it. His heart was directly against it, and most strongly against it.

But he also prayed repeatedly, “Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be done.” Here lies the virtue. His own will was strongly opposed to the thing, yet he gave up his own will—-his own desires and inclinations—-and chose to do the will of his Father. The virtue of all this lay not in his feelings or inclinations, but in his choice, and we can hardly help but think that it was more virtuous thus to choose against such strong emotions, than it would have been if his feelings had been all on the other side.

But here we must turn aside to clarify one point. We speak of both inclination and choice—-both emotion and volition—-under the common term “will.” This is true in both Greek and English. It is quite possible, then, according to common usage, to will against our will, that is, to choose against our inclinations. The choice is in the spirit, the inclinations in the soul, and here it is that the soul and spirit are divided asunder. We are no doubt most happy—-and perhaps not less virtuous—-when the soul and the spirit may flow together, and we think they always could but for the existence of sin. It is sin which requires us often to proceed directly against our inclinations, either our own sin, or the sin of others. Where the sin is our own, it is most often wrong inclinations which we must deny. Where the sin is in another, we must deny right inclinations, and proceed directly against them. We have no delight in spanking our dear child. Our heart cannot be in this. Our heart is all the other way. All our desires are to kiss and caress and cuddle and comfort, yet sin makes it necessary to spank, and in order to do so, we must choose to proceed directly against those emotions which are right.

And in this we are nothing different from God. He is entirely sinless, and yet he denies himself. He denies his feelings, in order to do what must be done. “As I live, saith the Lord God, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but that the wicked turn from his way and live.” (Ezek. 33:11). To judge and punish the wicked, he must deny himself. He must set aside his feelings, and all the inclinations of his heart. You understand that “God is light” and “God is love.” These are the two sides of his nature, and these two might co-exist in the utmost harmony, world without end, except for the presence of sin. The presence of sin demands that sometimes the one side must give way before the other. Now love is an emotion, whereas holiness is a choice, and where these two draw us in opposite directions, it is the holiness which must be maintained. God is by all means the happiest—-as are we who are made in his image—-when he can maintain both love and holiness, when his choices may flow in perfect concert with his emotions. But sin renders this sometimes impossible, and when that is the case, it is always the emotions which must be given up. God has no pleasure in the destruction of the wicked, yet destroy them he will, though to do so he must proceed directly in the teeth of his inclinations and emotions. We have shown already that Christ did the same when he went to the cross, and we may be certain that God did so also when he poured out his wrath upon his well-beloved Son. In such things God himself chooses to act directly contrary to his pure and holy inclinations. This is right, and how much more so for us to act contrary to our unholy emotions.

To speak once more of Christ’s going to the cross, we read in Hebrews 12:2 that he “for the joy that was set before him endured the cross.” We do not endure those things in which our emotions are engaged. Here is a young lady who gets married, and goes off for a honeymoon trip. Two weeks later she comes back, and all her girl friends gather around her and ask her how it was. “Oh,” she says, “I endured it.” No, not if her heart was in it. We do not endure those things which our heart is in, but those which are contrary to all our desires and inclinations. Yet mark, we are told that Christ endured the cross. He acted against his desires.

And this he did by faith. He endured the cross for the joy set before him. He denied himself the present pleasure in order to secure the future good. This is the invariable way of faith, and thus it is that faith and self-denial are intimately bound together. They are Siamese twins. Those who wish to exclude self-denial, in order that they may maintain salvation by faith, understand nothing of the most rudimentary elements of the matter. The same desires and inclinations reside in all of us. These belong to the soul. To the spirit belongs the choice of what we shall do about those desires. There are only two options before us. These are the way of faith and self-denial, and the way of unbelief and self-indulgence. It is faith which denies itself the present pleasure in order to secure the future good, whether in spanking your child or in abstaining from fornication. This self-denial God commands, and of course this is the virtuous thing to do. From the outset of our Christian course, all of our worthy and righteous actions consist of denying our feelings and desires, and proceeding directly contrary to them.

But here I must clarify another matter. There is no doubt that in a remote sense the Lord did desire to go to the cross. He did desire to do the Father’s will, and surely he did desire to save us from eternal destruction. Yet in spite of that, he surely did not wish to go to the cross. The end he surely desired, but not the means. The end he desired, the means he could not. And here lies the cause why we must in a thousand cases choose to act contrary to our feelings. You want your child to be godly, yes, but you have no inclination to spank him. Your emotions and inclinations draw you one way, while right and reason and necessity draw you the other. The emotions must be denied. Those who yield to their emotions in such a case will ruin the child, and those who yield to their emotions in general will destroy their own souls. We all wish to go to heaven, but no sinner desires to do what he must in order to get there. Christ commands him, therefore, at the very outset, as the first thing, to deny himself—-to choose and to act contrary to what he feels and desires.

Thus we read in Matthew 5:27-29, “Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: but I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.” This is the way of faith and self-denial, the narrow way that leads to life. Now there is no man that can desire to cut off his hand and cast it from him. No man can desire to pluck out his eye and cast it from him. Neither can he desire to deny and mortify many of those lusts which dwell in his bosom. No, but he can choose to do so. He can desire the end to be gained by it, but he cannot desire the means by which he must gain it. In every such choice he must act directly against his heart. It hardly needs to be said that such choices are right and worthy and virtuous. The man who does not choose to act against his heart has no virtue, and no holiness, and no religion. Whatever he may be, he is not a Christian.

But suppose we have the notion that no choice can be truly virtuous unless it corresponds with our feelings, that no action is worthy unless our heart is in it. See where this will take us. Practically, it must either make us legalists or libertines. If consistently applied, such a principle must either put us under the law, and oblige us continually to condemn ourselves for what we cannot help, or else make us libertines, and excuse us for what we certainly can help. If there is no virtue in acting contrary to our hearts, then there was no virtue in Joseph’s resisting the enticements of Potiphar’s wife. This cuts up all holiness by the roots. Can there be as much virtue in lying late in a warm bed, because I don’t want to get up, as there is in rising early and getting to work, though I would rather stay in bed? If “the desire is as bad as the deed,” as some foolishly maintain, if “the thought is as bad as the act,” what purpose could there have been for David to resist the charms of Bath-sheba? If he desired her and denied himself, he was nothing the better. If he desired her and indulged himself, he was nothing the worse. Such doctrine is likely to make us legalists and libertines both, and David might condemn himself indeed for the desire, and yet commit the act nevertheless, supposing the deed added nothing to the sin of the desire. The desire he couldn’t help, but the deed he could. But these notions turn morality upside down, condemning us for what we cannot help, and yet giving us ground to excuse what we can help.

I recall being in a similar plight to David’s many years ago, and saying to God while I wrestled with the same temptation, “Of what use is it to turn my eyes this way, when my heart goes that way?” If I had then understood what I know now, I could have answered that question. Do you ask, Of what use is it? Much every way. It is our members—-our eyes and hands and other organs—-which God requires us to yield to righteousness, though the desires which dwell in our hearts may draw us directly the other way. This is virtue. This is religion. This is holiness. No, not the perfect holiness which the law demands, but it is such holiness as sinners are capable of, and such holiness as the gospel requires of them. It is that holiness without which no man shall see the Lord. “For if ye live after the flesh, ye shall die, but if ye through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body, ye shall live.” So speaks Paul in Romans 8:13. And if the desire is as bad as the deed, why does the Lord advise us to pluck out our eye and cut off our hand, when the lust dwells in the heart? Plucking out the eye and cutting off the hand will not touch the heart. It will not change the desire, and what have I gained then, by cutting off the members which might be used to carry out the desire? There is no gain at all, if the desire is as bad as the deed. Yet this is “profitable for thee, that one of thy members should perish,” though the heart is not touched by it. This is “profitable for thee,” to cut off “occasion for the flesh,” though the flesh remains just what it was. This is “profitable for thee,” to deny thyself the act, though the desire for it burns yet in the heart. This is the way that leadeth unto life, according to the explicit doctrine of both Christ and Paul.

But one more point, and I have done. Those who put religion in the soul instead of the spirit, making it to consist of feelings instead of choices, not only turn the doctrine of salvation awry, but wreak havoc also in the doctrine of assurance. The Bible is very plain here. As our holiness lies in the realm of the choices and actions, so also does our assurance. “Hereby we do know that we know him, if we keep his commandments.” This is the solid Bible basis of assurance. In place of this men put two false foundations of their own. On the antinomian side we are told to look entirely outside of ourselves, to the work of Christ for us. On the legal side, we are told to examine our frames and feelings, our desires and inclinations. The antinomian doctrine requires nothing of us, and the legal requires virtual sinlessness, or perfection. The Bible lies between them, requiring holiness, but not perfection. The antinomian doctrine gives assurance of salvation to a great host of men who do not possess the salvation itself. On the other side, the founding of our assurance on our frames and feelings will deprive all but the most advanced in holiness of any assurance at all, and even those are likely to have their assurance only by fits and starts. Our emotions may vary, while our choices remain fixed. And it is not necessarily anything spiritual which causes the fluctuation of our feelings. This may be from eating too much sugar. My feelings are somewhere near the bottom right now, and I suppose this is because I ate too much ice cream yesterday. Our assurance does not stand on our feelings, any more than our holiness does. We may make right choices, in spite of wrong emotions. Our assurance stands on those choices. The antinomian says, “Look entirely outside of yourself, to Christ and his work,” and so gives assurance to the whole host of the ungodly. Paul says, “Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith,” but those who set men to examine their frames and feelings deprive the godly of their assurance. Paul does not mean to examine your inclinations and emotions, but your choices and deeds. “Hereby do we know that we know him, if we keep his commandments.” Thus, while the antinomian foundation, outside of ourselves, gives assurance to the ungodly, and the foundation of frames and feelings, within ourselves, deprives the godly of their assurance, the Bible foundation gives that assurance to all the godly, and to none but the godly.

To conclude, religion does not lie in the feelings, yet surely we ought to have some feeling in our religion. But where will we get it? Precisely by choosing and acting contrary to the feelings we have, or by going forward with what is right, in spite of the dullness and deadness of our feelings. We have no direct control over our feelings, but we do have an indirect control. We cannot turn our emotions on or off at will, but we can strengthen or weaken them, slowly but surely. Indulging desires and emotions strengthens them. Denying them weakens them. And though this is a long and arduous process, it does bear fruit in the end. Meanwhile it is the business of every one of us to deny ourselves the pleasures of yielding to our emotions, in order that we may do as we ought.

The soul is the seat of all our desires, inclinations, and enjoyments, and it is certain that, whatever we may have been by creation, in our present condition the soul is much more intimately linked to the body than to the spirit—-entwined as it were in a close embrace with the body, while it only shakes hands with the spirit. Every physical pleasure we desire naturally and most strongly, while our desires for spiritual pleasures are languid or non-existent. Nay, in many cases we have a positive aversion to spiritual delights. We all love savory meat, but have no taste for the meat that endureth unto everlasting life. Our souls must be transformed, by a long and arduous process of self-denial, and while this is doing, all our virtue must consist in acting contrary to our hearts—-in denying ourselves those pleasures to which our souls are strongly attached or addicted, and in laboring for that meat which endureth unto life everlasting, in spite of desires which at best are dull and cold and weak and languid. We must choose such a course, not because we have any inclination towards it, but because it is right, and because it is necessary, if we would escape eternal damnation. We must act as the wolf who leaves off killing calves, and takes to eating hay—-and this while our craving for the calves’ blood remains as strong as ever, and our appetite for the hay as weak as ever. We must “Cease to do evil, and learn to do well,” directly in the face of all our inclinations and cravings. Without this there is no godliness, and no virtue.

Glenn Conjurske