A Good Name
“A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.” — xxii. 1.
WE are not good judges of value, in the public market of life. We make grievous mistakes, both in choosing and refusing: we often throw away the pearl, and carefully keep the shell. Besides the great disparity in value between the things of heaven and the things of earth, some even of these earthly things are of greater worth than others. The valuables in both ends of this balance belong to time; and yet there is room for a choice between them. There is a greater and a less, where neither is the greatest.
A trader at his counter has a certain set of weights which he uses every day, and all day, and for all sorts of commodities. Whatever may be in the one scale, the same invariable leaden weight is always in the other. This lump of metal is his standard, and all things are tried by it. Riches practically serve nearly the same purpose in the market of human life. Whether people are aware of it or not, riches become insensibly the standard by which other things are estimated. As the dealer mechanically throws his old leaden pound weight into one scale, whatever species of goods the other may contain; so in human life, by a habit so uniform that it looks like instinct, men quietly refer all things to the standard of gold.
This is a mistake. Many things are better than gold; and one of these is a good name. A good conscience, indeed, is better than both, and must be kept at all hazards; but. in cases where matters from the higher region do not come into competition, reputation should rank higher than riches in the practical estimation of men. If a man choose honour as the substantial portion of his soul, it flits before him as a shadow, and he is never satisfied; but, shadow though it be, and worthless alone, it is precious as an accompaniment of the substance. The shadows are not the picture, but the picture is a naked, ungainly thing without them. Thus the atmosphere of a good name surrounding it, imparts to real worth additional body and breadth. As the substitute for a good conscience, a good name is a secret torment at the time, and in the end a cheat; but as a graceful outer garment with which a good conscience is clothed, it should be highly valued and carefully preserved by the children of the kingdom. Robes rich in texture, and comely in form, would not make a wooden image gainly; but it does not follow that they are useless to the living human frame. An idol is vile, whether it be gold or a good name; but as articles in the inventory of our Father’s gifts, gold is good, and reputation better.
The term “loving favour” serves to indicate the sweetness of being esteemed and loved by our neighbours. The Lord, who has made us capable of that enjoyment, does not set it down as sin. If we be “a people near unto him,” he will take care that we shall not be spoiled by over-doses of loving-kindness from men. It is our part so to act as to deserve that love: then, if it be given, we may innocently enjoy it; if it be withheld, we should meekly submit. If in adversity even a brother turn his back, a Friend remains who sticketh closer.
I do not know any department of providence in which the hand of God is more frequently or more visibly displayed, than in maintaining before the world the good name of those who, before himself, maintain a good conscience. A small parenthesis of two words in the evangelic history serves, like a magnetic needle, to point out in this matter the way of the Lord. Among the twelve, there was a Judas, besides the betrayer, and he was faithful to the Lord. His fellow-disciple John (xiv. 22), having occasion in the course of his history to record a question which this Judas addressed to the Master, adds to his name the significant notandum, “Not Iscariot.” “The shields of the earth belong unto God,” and he is ever ready to throw one round the reputation of a true disciple, when danger is near. The Master knows who betrays him, and who proves faithful: he will not permit the two to be confounded. Eli made a mistake when he reckoned Hannah among the drunkards, but he* righteousness came out as light. There will be no confusion in the current accounts of the world j for its Governor is wise and powerful. He will not spare the sins of his servants. Now by the stem rebuke, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” and now by the silent look that melts the fickle denier’s heart, he will take vengeance on their inventions; but he will encircle themselves in his own everlasting arms.
An interesting example of “particular providence” in this department has been recently brought to light. A brief entry was discovered in an authentic record, which seemed to leave a stain on the memory of Patrick Hamilton, the herald and first martyr of the Scottish Reformation. In the household accounts of the royal treasurer for the year 1543, a sum is entered for a gown to Isobel Hamilton, a lady of the queen’s household, “daughter of Patrick, abbot of Feme.” This was evidently the martyr’s daughter, in all probability a posthumous child. He died young. Hitherto no mention had ever been made of his marriage. In the silence of history it was assumed that he had not been married. Could it be that this youth, whom we have all along considered in every sense a holy martyr of Christ, had imitated in his life the licentiousness of the Romish dignitaries whom he denounced 1 Almost as soon as the question was raised, an answer was provided. Evidence the most incidental, undesigned, and certain, appears in time to shield the confessor’s good name at the threatened point. The writings of Alexander Alesius, a contemporary Scotchman, a witness of Hamilton’s death, and a convert of his ministry, have lately been brought to light on the Continent* The affectionate pupil, all unconscious of the use that would afterwards be found for his testimony, records, in a treatise written while he was in exile for the truth in Germany, that Hamilton married a “lady of noble rank,” in the interval between his return from the continent and his trial at St. Andrews. The letters of a true disciple’s name were beginning to appear very like those of the traitor, and forthwith the writing, “Not Iscariot” beamed from the wall, as if emblazoned there by an angel’s hand.
* Precursors of Knox — Patrick Hamilton. By Professor Lorimer of London.