Love is the fulfilling of the law.—ROMANS 13:10
TO promise is honest, but to keep it is difficult,” says the proverb; but by what right? It is manifestly the keeping of a promise that is honest, and in that the proverb is right, that the keeping of a promise is honest and also difficult. But what is promising? The proverb, in the words quoted, says nothing about what a promise is; perhaps then a promise is nothing at all; perhaps it is less than nothing. Perhaps the proverb is even warning against promising, as if it would say: waste no time in promising; the keeping a promise, which is the honorable thing, is certainly difficult, And truly, the promising is certainly far from being honesty, even when the promise is by no means dishonestly intended. Should one not hesitate to give “the fact of promising” the name of honesty, hesitate in a world which deceitfully promises so much, in a generation which is only too inclined to promise and honestly deceives itself in promising? Should one not hesitate for the sake of the proverb itself, since there is another proverb which worldly men are also familiar with and know from experience, that “A penny loaned,” if—according to the promise—it is repaid, “is a penny found”? One might rather go to the opposite extreme and say that promising is dishonest, assuming that the characteristic of true trustworthiness is precisely that it does not make promises, that it wastes no time in promising, does not flatter itself by promising, and then claim a twofold credit, first for promising, and then for the fulfillment of the promise. Nevertheless, one may prefer to try to center the attention exclusively and decisively upon the keeping the promise, while, as a preamble, a stimulating and authoritative reminder warns against promising.
There is a parable found in the Holy Scriptures which is but rarely referred to in the godly discourse, and which, nevertheless, is very instructive and stimulating. Let us consider it a little. There was a man “who had two sons”; therein he resembles the father of the prodigal son, who also had two sons. Moreover, the resemblance between these two fathers is even greater; for one of the sons of the father of whom we are speaking was also a prodigal son, as we shall learn from the story. The father went to the first and said: “Son, go out and work today in my vineyard.” But he answered and said: “I will not”; but afterward he repented and went. And the father went to the other son and said likewise. But he answered and said, “Lord, I go,” and he did not go. Which of the two did the father’s will? We might also ask it in another way, “Which of these two was the prodigal son?” I wonder if it was not the one who said “yes,” the obedient one, who not only said “ves,” but said, “Lord, I will,” as if to show his unconditional, obedient submission to his father’s will. I wonder if it was not the one who said “yes,” who was secretly lost, so that no notoriety attached to him as there did to that prodigal son who wasted his substance on harlots, and ended by herding swine, but who also ended by being reformed. I wonder if the one who said “yes” does not conspicuously resemble that brother of the prodigal son whose righteousness is made suspect in the Gospel, although he regarded himself as the righteous, or the good son; so, too, this brother (we have in our language a peculiar expression which for the sake of brevity we might use about him), this “yesbrother,” regarded himself as being the good son—did he not say “yes,” did he not say, “Lord, I go” P—and as the proverb says, it is honest to promise! The other brother, on the contrary, said “no.” Such a “no,” which still implies that one will do precisely what one said “no” to, may sometimes be caused by an inexplicable peculiarity. An honesty exiled and alien to the earth sometimes hides itself in such a simulated negation, whether because the speaker is so disgusted with repeatedly hearing the “yes,” which signifies that one will not do what one says, that he has accustomed himself to saying “no” where others say “yes,” in order to do then what the yes-brother leaves undone; or it is because the speaker has a troubled mistrust of himself, and therefore avoids promising anything, lest he promise too much. Or is it because the speaker, in a sincere zeal for doing good, wishes to abjure the hypocritical appearance of a promise? Still, in the Gospel this “no” is not mentioned in any way except as being intended to show that it really was disobedience on the part of the son; but he repents and goes out and does his father’s will.
But I wonder if what the parable wishes to emphasize is not how dangerous it is to be overprecipitate in saying “yes,” even if it is intended to mean “in a moment.” The yes-brother is not represented as one who was a deceiver when he said “yes,” but as one who became a deceiver because he did not keep his promise, and, still more exactly, as one who just through his readiness in promising became a deceiver —that is to say, his promise became a snare. If he had not promised anything, he would perhaps have been quicker to do it. When one says “yes,” or promises something, then one so easily deceives himseif and also easily deceives others, as if one had already done what he had promised, or as if by promising, he had already done some part of what he had promised to do, or as if the promise in itself was something meritorious. And then if one still does not do what he promised, then the road becomes very long before he comes back to the truth again, and only makes a beginning by still doing a little of what he had promised. Alas, what he had promised to do was perhaps complicated enough, but now, through the unfulfilled promise, he finds himself at an illusory distance from the beginning. It is now no longer as it was at the moment when he lost his way, and instead of beginning on the labor, swung about by the aid of the promise. He must traverse the whole circuitous way back before he again reaches the beginning. On the contrary, the way from having said “no,” the way through repentance to making good again, is much shorter and easier to find. The “yes” of the promise is soporific, but the “no” uttered and hence heard by one’s self is arousing, and repentance really not far away. He who says, “Lord, I will,” immediately seems virtuous in his own eyes; he who says “no” becomes almost afraid of himself. But this difference is very significant in the first moment, and very critical in the second; yet the first moment is the judgment of the immediate, the second moment is the judgment of eternity. That is why the world is so given to making promises, for the worldly is the immediate, and a promise at first looks so good. That is precisely why eternity is suspicious of promises, as it is suspicious of everything immediate. If we assume that neither of the brothers went and did his father’s will, then he who said “no” was still nearer to doing it, inasmuch as he at least realized that he was not doing his father’s will. A “no” does not conceal anything, but a “yes” so easily becomes a delusion, a self-deception, which of all difficulties is perhaps the hardest to overcome.