Proverbs 12:10

CRITICAL NOTES.—

Proverbs 12:10. Regardeth, literally “knoweth.” Delitzsch reads, “knoweth how his cattle feed.” “Cruel is singular, denoting that each one of his mercies are cruel” (Fausset).

MAIN HOMILETICS OF Proverbs 12:10

CARE FOR ANIMALS AND CRUELTY TO MEN

Even the animal is benefited by being related to a righteous man.

I. The righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.

1. Because of the entire dependence of the creature upon him. Animals which are the property of man are entirely at his mercy. They have no power to change a bad master for a good one—no voice to utter their complaints—no means of getting redress for their wrongs. All these considerations tend to make a good man care for them, for the righteous man’s sympathies are always drawn out in proportion to the need of the object. And with regard to the animal creation, it may be that the present life is the only opportunity a man may have of showing kindness to them. If, on the other hand, animals live in another world, it may be all the better for men to treat them well here.

2. Because of his dependence upon his beast. Men are very largely indebted to animals for the sustaining of their life—it would be very difficult for the work of the world to be carried on without their help; men would certainly have to labour much harder if they had it not. Therefore, the righteous man feels that he is paying a debt when he “regards the life of his beast.”

3. Because the animal is an object of Divine care. The Bible has many references to the brute creation, and many passages which show that “God regardeth the life of the beast.” Christ tells us that not a sparrow falls to the ground without His Father’s notice, and God has given special commands with reference to the care of dumb creatures. “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn” (Deuteronomy 25:4). Seeing, then, that “God doth care for oxen,” a righteous man will do likewise.

4. Because of the lessons that may be learned from the animal creation. God often sends man to learn of them (see Isaiah 1:3; Jeremiah 8:7), and much suggestive teaching may be got from observation of their dispositions and habits. It would be ingratitude not to repay them with considerate care.

II. The wicked man is cruel. Wickedness is, in its nature, destitute of kindliness. The sea is by nature salt, and its saltness makes it unfit to sustain human life. The father of wickedness is a cruel being—his only aim is to increase the misery of the universe. All his children have partaken more or less of his character since the first human murderer killed his brother. It is said here that even his acts of mercy are cruel. History gives many instances of men whose so-called acts of mercy were only refined cruelties. It follows that if wicked men are cruel to their fellow-creatures—to men and women of their own flesh and blood, they will be even more indifferent to the welfare of creatures below man.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Sir Robert Clayton, as commander of a troop of British cavalry, which after service on the Continent was disbanded in the city of York, and the horses sold, could not bear to think that his old fellow-campaigners, who had borne brave men to battle, should be ridden to death as butcher’s hacks, or worked in dung-carts till they became dogs’ meat, he therefore purchased a piece of ground upon Knavesmire heath, and turned out the old horses to have their run for life. What made this act to be the longer had in remembrance, was the curious fact, that one day, when these horses were grazing, a thunder-storm gathered, at the fires and sounds of which, as if mistaken for the signs of approaching battle, they were seen to get together and form in line, almost in as perfect order as if they had their old masters on their backs.
Sir James Prior tells us, in the last year of the life of Burke, that a feeble old horse which had been a favourite with young Richard—now dead—and his constant companion in all his rural journeyings and sports, when both were alike healthful and vigorous, was turned out to take the run of the park at Beaconsfield during the remainder of his life, the servants being strictly charged not to ride or in any way molest him. This poor worn-out steed it was that one day drew near to Burke, as the now childless and decrepit statesman was musing in the park, and after some moments of inspection, followed by seeming recollection and confidence, deliberately rested his head upon the old man’s bosom. The singularity of the action, the remembrance of his dead son, its late master, and the apparent attachment and intelligence of the poor brute, as if it could sympathise with his inward sorrows, rushing at once into his mind, totally overpowered his firmness, and throwing his arms over its neck, he wept long and loudly.
John Howard writes home from the Lazaretto, himself sick and a prisoner: “Is my chaise-horse gone blind or spoiled? Duke is well, he must have his range when past his labour; not doing such a cruel thing as I did with the old mare. I have a thousand times repented of it.”—Jacox.

OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS

What the cruelty of the wicked is, at its worst, words might seem wanting to show, after it has been said that the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. But “a righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.” Jacob, as flock-master, is studiously careful for his flocks and herds as well as for his tender children; “if men should over-drive them one day, all the flock would die;” so “I will lead on softly,” said he to Esau, “according as the cattle that goeth before me is able to endure.” The angel of the Lord standing in the way, rebukes Balaam for smiting his ass three times: that unrighteous man, wishing there were a sword in his hand, too literally regardeth not the life of his beast.… We certainly ought not, pleads Plutarch, to treat living creatures like shoes or household goods, which, when worn out with use, we throw away; and, were it only to learn benevolence to human kind, we should be merciful to other creatures. To be kind to these our fellow-lodgers is common humanity. To be cruel to them is to be below it. It is almost, if not quite, to be a little lower than themselves. It is, maintains Sir Arthur Helps, an immense responsibility that Providence has thrown upon us in subjecting these sensitive creatures to our complete sway, and he avowedly trembles at the thought of how poor an answer we shall have to give, when asked the question how we have made use of the power entrusted to us over the brute creation.… The question of interposing law has been a vexed one, upon which the humanest have differed … So hard-headed and cool-headed a thinker as Stuart Mill is decisive and incisive in his arguments in favour of legal intervention. Mr. Lecky’s suggestion of a doubt whether cruelty to animals can be condemned on utilitarian grounds, is met by the obvious answer that a utilitarian may rationally include in his definition of the greatest number whose happiness is to be the aim of human beings, not only human beings themselves, but all animals capable of being happy or the reverse; beside which it is urged that, even if we limit our view to the good of our own species, the argument is as strong as can be desired. “If the criminality of an action were to be measured simply by its direct effects on human happiness, we might probably urge that the murderer of a grown-up man was worse than the murderer of a child, and far worse than the torturer of a dumb animal. Yet, as a matter of fact, we should probably feel a greater loathing for a man who could torment a beast for his pleasure than for one who should ill-use one of his equals.” For such cruelty is held to indicate, as a rule, a baser nature. A murderer, though generally speaking a man of bad character, is not of necessity cowardly or mean; he may not improbably show some courage, and possibly even some sensibility to the nobler emotions. The tormentor of animals, on the other hand, shows callousness of nature, a pleasure in giving pain for the sake of giving pain, which has about it something to be described as devilish … John Foster declared it to be a great sin against moral taste to mention ludicrously, or for ludicrous comparison, circumstances in the animal world which are painful and distressing to the animals that are in them; the simile, for instance, “Like a toad under a harrow.”—Jacox.

Lit. “knoweth.” The authorised version gives the right application, but the words remind us that all true sympathy and care must grow out of knowledge. The righteous man tries to know the feelings and life even of the brute beast, and so comes to care for it. “Tender mercies.” Better “the feelings, the emotions,” all that should have led to mercy and pity towards man. The circle expands in the one case, narrows in the other.—Plumptre.

When the pulse of kindness beats strong in the heart the warm stream is sent clean through the body of the human family, and retains force enough to expatiate among the living creatures that lie beyond.… Cruelty is a characteristic of the wicked in general, and in particular of antichrist—that one, wicked by pre-eminence, whom Christ shall yet destroy by the brightness of His coming. By their fruits ye shall know them. The page of history is spotted with the cruelties of papal Rome. The red blood upon his garments is generally the means of discovering a murderer. The trailing womanish robes of the papal high priest are deeply stained with the blood of the saints. The same providence which employs the bloody tinge to detect the common murderer has left more lasting marks of Rome’s cruelty. The Bartholomew massacre, for example, is recorded in more enduring characters than the stains of that blood which soaked the soil of France. The pope and his cardinals rejoiced greatly when they heard the news. So lively was their gratitude that they cast a medal to record it on. There stands the legend, raised in brass and silver—“Strages Huguenotorum” (the slaughter of the Huguenots)—in perpetual memory of the delight wherewith that wicked antichrist regarded the foulest butchery of men by their fellows that this sin-cursed earth has ever seen. That spot will not out with all their washings.—Arnot.

It is better to be the beast of a righteous man than the son of a wicked man; nay it is better to be the beast of a righteous man than to be a wicked man. For the righteous will do right unto his beast; the merciful man hath sense of mercy wheresoever is sense of misery, and while in mercy he regardeth the life of the beast that is beneath him, he is made like unto God, who is so far above him. But the wicked man’s tender mercies are “mercies of the cruel,” or else his tender mercies are cruel, hurting as much as severe cruelty; and therefore many times a wicked father’s fond affection is the utter undoing of a petted child, and sparing pity, where evil should be chastised, is the breeding nurse of mischief which cannot be helped. The fond mercies whereby the wicked favoureth himself in sloth and idleness, whereby he pleaseth himself with pleasures and delights, whereby he pampereth himself with delicate and luscious meats, whereby he restraineth not his lusts and desires—what are they but cruelties whereby he tormenteth his body with sickness and quickly killeth it, and whereby he wilfully destroyeth his soul.—Jermin.

The worldly care of a high prosperous man may seem very tender to those dependent on him and towards others; but the very tenderness of an impenitent example is the higher snare, the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.… Religion has no austerities that make a true saint careless of the life or feelings even of his beast. On the contrary, it breeds the most pervading tenderness; whereas the wise worlding, however careful of his home and tender towards all who have any claim upon his care, yet, in admitting that there is a hell, and neglecting all prayer for his household, and all example, except one that braves the worst, breeds children simply to destroy them.—Miller.

The tender mercies of the wicked are when base and guilty men are spared that should be smitten with the sword of justice. Pity of this sort is more cruel than cruelty itself. For cruelty is exercised upon individuals, but this pity, by granting impunity, arms and sends forth against innocent men the whole army of evil doers.—Lord Bacon.

We have been used to hear much of the benevolence of infidels and the philanthropy of deists. It is all a pretence. Self is the idol and self-indulgence the object, in the accomplishment of which they are little scrupulous about the means. Where self is the idol, the heart is cruel. While they talk of universal charity, they regard not the cruelty of robbing thousands of the consolations of religion.… While they speak of harmless gaiety and pleasure they would treacherously corrupt piety and pollute unsuspecting innocence.—Holden.

The word regard is of twofold application, and may either apply to the moral or the intellectual part of our nature. In the one it is the regard of attention; in the other it is the regard of sympathy or kindness. But we do not marvel at the term having been applied to two different things, for they are most intimately associated. They act and re-act upon each other. If the heart be very alive to any particular set of emotions the mind will be alert in singling out the peculiar objects which excite them; so, on the other hand, that the emotions be specifically felt the objects must be specifically noticed.… So much is this the case that Nature seems to have limited and circumscribed our power of noticing just for the purpose of shielding us from too incessant a sympathy.… If man, for instance, looked upon Nature with a microscopic eye his sensibilities would be exposed to the torture of a perpetual offence from all possible quarters of contemplation, or, if through habit these sensibilities were blunted, what would become of character in the extinction of delicacy of feeling?.… There is, furthermore, a physical inertness of our reflective faculties, an opiate infused, as it were, into the recesses of our mental economy, by which objects, when out of sight, are out of mind, and it is to some such provision, we think, that much of the heart’s purity, as well as its tenderness, is owing; and it is well that the thoughts of the spirit should be kept, though even by the weight of its own lethargy, from too busy a converse with objects which are alike offensive and hazardous to both.… But there is a still more wondrous limitation than this.… The sufferings of the lower animals may be in sight, and yet out of mind. This is strikingly exemplified in the sports of the field, in the midst of whose varied and animating bustle that cruelty, which is all along present to the senses, may not, for one moment, be present to the thoughts.… It touches not the sensibilities of the heart, but just because it is never present to the notice of the mind. The followers of this occupation are reckless of pain, but this is not rejoicing in pain. Theirs is not the delight of savage, but the apathy of unreflecting creatures.… We are inclined to carry this principle much further. We are not sure if, within the whole compass of humanity, fallen as it is, there be such a thing as delight in suffering for its own sake. But, without hazarding a controversy on this, we hold it enough for every practical object that much, and perhaps the whole of this world’s cruelty, arises not from the enjoyment that is felt in consequence of others’ pain, but from the enjoyment that is felt in spite of it.… But a charge of the foulest delinquency may be made up altogether of wants or of negatives; and just as the human face, by the mere want of some of its features, although there should not be any inversion of them, might be an object of utter loathsomeness to beholders, so the human character, by the mere absence of certain habits or sensibilities which belong ordinarily and constitutionally to our species, may be an object of utter abomination in society. The want of natural affection forms one article of the Apostle’s indictment against our world; and certain it is that the total want of it were stigma enough for the designation of a monster. The mere want of religion is enough to make a man an outcast from his God. Even to the most barbarous of our kind you apply, not the term of anti-humanity, but of inhumanity—not the term of anti-sensibility; and you hold it enough for the purpose of branding him for general execration that you convicted him of complete and total insensibility.… We count it a deep atrocity that, unlike to the righteous man of our text, he simply does not regard the life of a beast.… The true principle of his condemnation is that he ought to have regarded.… Our text rests the whole cause of the inferior animals on one moral element, which is in respect of principle, and on one practical method, which is, in respect of efficacy, unquestionable: “A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.” Let a man be but righteous in the general and obvious sense of the word, and let the regard of his attention be but directed to the case of the inferior animals, and then the regard of his sympathy will be awakened to the full extent at which it is either duteous or desirable.… The lesson is not the circulation of benevolence within the limits of one species. It is the transmission of it from one species to another. The first is but the charity of a world; the second is the charity of a universe. Had there been no such charity, no descending current of love and liberality from species to species, what would have become of ourselves? Whence have we learned this attitude of lofty unconcern about the creatures who are beneath us? Not from those ministering spirits who wait upon the heirs of salvation.… Not from that mighty and mysterious visitant who unrobed Him of all His glories, and bowed down His head unto the sacrifice, and still, from the seat of His now exalted mediatorship, pours forth His intercessions and His calls in behalf of the race He died for. Finally, not from the eternal Father of all, in the pavilion of whose residence there is the golden treasury of all those bounties and beatitudes that roll over the face of nature, and from the footstool of whose empyreal throne there reaches a golden chain of providence to the very humblest of His family.—Chalmers.

He prayeth best who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God that loveth us,

He made and loveth all.

Coleridge.