Piety and impiety; recompense and penalty.
We ask and answer the twofold question, viz. what is—
I. OUR EXPECTATION. We should certainly expect two things, judging antecedently.
1. That piety would be richly rewarded; for who would not expect that the bountiful, just, and resourceful Father would give liberally, in many ways, to those who sought his favor, and were "good in his sight"?
2. That impiety would bear plain marks of Divine disapproval; for who would suppose that men would defy their Maker, break his laws, injure his children, spoil his holy and benignant purpose, and not suffer marked and manifold evils as the just penalty of their presumption and their guilt? We naturally look for much happiness and prosperity for the former, much misery and defeat for the latter.
II. OUR EXPERIENCE. What do we find?
1. That God does reward his servants. The Preacher mentions three good gifts of his hand; they are not exhaustive, though they include or suggest much of the righteous man's heritage.
2. That sin is visited with penalty. Do we find that God giveth "to the sinner travail, to gather and to heap up"? We do.
HOMILIES BY J. WILLCOCK
An experiment: riotous mirth.
Solomon had found that wisdom and knowledge are not the means by which the search after happiness is brought to a successful issue. He then resolved to try if indulgence in sensual delights would yield any lasting satisfaction. This, as he saw, was a course on which many entered, who like him desired happiness, and he would discover for himself whether or not they were any nearer the goal than he was. And so he resolved to enjoy pleasure—"to give his heart to wine," and "to lay hold of folly." Like the rich man in the parable, who said to his soul, "Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink and be merry," so did he address his heart, "Come, I will prove thee with mirth." He had tried wisdom, and found it fruitless for his purpose, and now would try folly. He lays aside the character and pursuits of a student, and enters the company of fools, to join in their revelry and mirth. The conviction that his learning was useless, either to satisfy his own cravings or to remedy the evils that exist in the world, made it easy for him to cast away, for a time at any rate, the intellectual employments in which he had engaged, and to live as others do who give themselves up to sensual pleasures. Wearied of the toil of thought, sickened of its illusions and of its fruitlessness, he would find tranquility and health of mind in frivolous gaiety and mirth. This was not an attempt to stifle his cravings after the highest good, for he deliberately determined to analyze his experience at every point, in order to discover whether any permanent gain resulted from his search in this new quarter. "I sought," he says, "in mine heart to give myself unto wine, yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom; and to lay hold on folly, till I might see what was that good for the sons of men, which they should do under the heaven all the days of their life." For the sake of others as well as for himself, he would try this pathway and see whither it would lead. But the experiment failed. In a very short time he discovered that vanity was here too. The laughter of fools was, as he says elsewhere (Ecclesiastes 7:6), like the crackling of burning thorns; the blaze lasted but for a moment, and the gloom that followed was but the deeper and more enduring. Where the fire of jovial revelry and boisterous mirth had been, there remained but cold, gray ashes. The mood of reckless enjoyment was followed by that of cynical satiety and bitter disappointment. He said of laughter, "It is mad," and of mirth, "What doeth it?" In his moments of calm reflection, when he communed with his own heart, he recognized the utter folly of his experiment, and felt that from his own dear-bought experience he could emphatically warn all in time to come against seeking satisfaction for the soul in sensual pleasures. Not in this way can the hunger and thirst with which the spirit of man is consumed be allayed. At most, a short period of oblivion can be secured, from which the awakening is all the more terrible. The sense of personal responsibility, the feeling that we are called to seek the highest good and are doomed to unrest and misery until we find it, the conviction that our failures only make ultimate success the more doubtful, is not to be quenched by any such coarse anodyne. Various reasons may be found to explain why this kind of experiment failed and must fail.
I. In the first place, it consisted in AN ABUSE OF NATURAL FACULTIES AND APPETITES. Some measure of joy and pleasure is needed for health of mind and body. Innocent gaiety, enjoyment of the gifts God has bestowed upon us, reasonable satisfaction of the appetites implanted in us, have all a rightful place in our life. But over-indulgence in any one of them violates the harmony of our nature. They were never intended to rule us, but to be under our control and to minister to our happiness, and we cannot allow them to govern us without throwing our whole life into disorder.
II. In the second place, THE PLEASURE EXCITED IS ONLY TRANSITORY. From the very nature of things it cannot be kept up for any long time by mere effort of will; the brain grows weary and the bodily powers become exhausted. A jest-book is proverbially very tiresome reading. At first it may amuse, but the attention soon begins to flag, and after a little the most brilliant specimen of wit can scarcely evoke a smile. The drunkard and the glutton find that they can only carry the pleasures of the table up to a certain point; after that has been reached the bodily organism refuses to be still further stimulated.
III. In the third place, SUCH PLEASURE CAN ONLY BE GRATIFIED BY SELF-DEGRADATION. It is inconsistent with the full exercise of the intellectual faculties which distinguish man from the brute, and destructive of those higher and more spiritual faculties by which God is apprehended, served, and enjoyed. Self-indulgence in the gross pleasures of which we are speaking actually reduces man below the level of the beasts that perish, for they are preserved from such folly by the natural instincts with which they are endowed.
IV. In the fourth place, THE INEVITABLE RESULT OF SUCH AN EXPERIMENT IS A DEEPER AND MORE ENDURING GLOOM. Self-reproach, enfeeblement of mind and body, satiety and disgust, come on when the mad fit is past, and, what is still worse, the apprehension of evils yet to come—the knowledge that the passions excited and indulged will refuse to die down; that they have a life and power of their own, and will stimulate and almost compel their slave to enter again on the evil courses which he first tried of his own free will and with a light heart. The prospect before him is that of bondage to habits which he knows will yield him no lasting pleasure, and very little of the fleeting kind, and must involve the enfeeblement and destruction of all his powers. Mirth and laughter and wine did not banish Solomon's melancholy; but after the feverish excitement they produced had passed away, they left him in a deeper gloom than ever. "Like phosphorus on a dead man's lace, he felt that it was all a trick, a lie; and like the laugh of a hyena among the tombs, he found that the worldling's frolic can never reanimate the joys which guilt has slain and buried." "I said of laughter, It is mad: and of mirth, What doeth it?' The well-known story of the melancholy patient being advised by a doctor to go and see Grimaldi, and answering, "I am Grimaldi," and that of George Fox being recommended by a minister whom he consulted to dispel the anxieties which his spiritual fears and doubts and aspirations had excited within him, by "drinking beer and dancing with the girls" (Carlyle, 'Sartor Resartus,' Esther 3:1), may be used to illustrate the teaching of our text. Some stanzas, too, of Byron's last poem give a pathetic expression to the feelings of satiety and disappointment which are the retribution of sensuality ―
"My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
"The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile.
"The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love I cannot share,
But wear the chain."
—J.W.
Another experiment: refined voluptuousness.
Riotous mirth having failed miserably to give him the settled happiness after which he sought, our author records another and more promising experiment which he made, the search for happiness in a life of culture—"the pursuit of beauty and magnificence in art." More promising it was, because it brought into play higher and purer emotions than those to which ordinary sensuality appeals; it cultivated the side of the nature which adjoins, and almost merges into, the spiritual. The Law of Moses, forbidding as it did the making of images or representations of natural objects or of living creatures for purposes of worship, had prevented much advance being made in sculpture and painting; but there were still extensive fields of artistic development left for cultivation. Architecture and gardening afforded abundant scope for the exhibition and gratification of a refined taste. And so Solomon built splendid palaces, and planted vineyards, and laid out parks and gardens, and filled them with the choicest fruit trees, and dug pools for the irrigation of his plantations in the time of summer drought. Nothing was omitted that could minister to his sense of the beautiful, or that could enhance his splendor and dignity. A large household, great flocks of cattle, heaps of silver and gold, precious treasures from distant lands, the pleasures of music and of the harem are all enumerated as being procured by his wealth and power, and employed for his gratification. All that the eye could rest on with delight, all that the heart could desire, was brought within his reach. And all the time wisdom was with him, guiding him in the pursuit of pleasure, and not abandoning him in the enjoyment of it. Nothing occurred to prevent the experiment being carried through to the very end. The delights he enumerates were in themselves lawful, and therefore were indulged in without any uneasy sensation of transgressing against the Law of God or the dictates of conscience. Nay, the very fact that he had a moral end in view when he began the experiment seemed to give a high sanction to it. He was not interrupted by the intrusion of other thoughts and cares. No foreign enemy disturbed his peace; sickness did not incapacitate him; his wealth was not exhausted by the large demands made upon it for the support of his magnificence and luxury. And so he went to the utmost bounds of refined enjoyment, and found much that for a time amply rewarded him for the efforts he put forth. "My heart," he says, "rejoiced in all my labor" (Esther 2:10). His busy mind was kept occupied; his senses were charmed by the beauty and richness of the treasures he had gathered together, and of the great works which gave such abundant evidence of his taste and wealth. His experiment was not quite fruitless, therefore. Present gratification he found in the course of his labors; but when they were completed, the pleasure they had yielded passed away. The charm of novelty was gone. Possession did not yield the joy and delight which acquisition had done. When the palaces were finished, the gardens planted, the gems and rarities accumulated, the luxurious household established, and nothing left to do but to rest in the happiness that these things had been expected to secure, the sense of defeat and disappointment again fell upon the king. "Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labor that I had labored to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun." He does not try to explain the cause of his failure, but simply records the fact that he did fail. "He does not moralize, still less preach; he just paints the picture of his soul's sad wanderings, of the baffled effort of a human heart, and passes on." But we may find it highly profitable to inquire what were the causes why the life of culture—which, without harshness, may be called a refined voluptuousness—fails to give satisfaction to the human soul.
I. In the first place, IT IS A LIFE OF ISOLATION FROM GOD. As Solomon represents the course he followed, we see that the thought of God was excluded from his mind. The Divine gifts were enjoyed, the love of the beautiful which is implanted in the soul of man was gratified, every exquisite sensation of which we are capable was indulged, but the one thing needed to sanctify the happiness obtained and render it perfect was omitted. "God," says St. Augustine, "has made us for himself, and we cannot rest until we rest in him." Emotions of gratitude, adoration, humility, and self-consecration to His service cannot be suppressed without great loss—the loss even of that security and tranquility of spirit which are essential to true happiness. All the resources upon which Solomon drew may furnish helps to happiness, but none of them, nor all of them together, could, apart from God, secure it. Compare with the failure of Solomon the success of those who have often, in circumstances of extreme discomfort and suffering, enjoyed the peace of God that passeth all understanding. The sixty-third psalm, written by David in the time of exile and hardship, illustrates the truth that in communion with God the soul enjoys a happiness which cannot be found elsewhere. "A man's life does not consist in the abundance of the things which he possesseth." Apart from the favor of God and the service of God, the richest possessions and the most skilful employment of them can secure no lasting satisfaction. For we are so constituted as creatures that our life is not complete if we are dissevered from our Creator.
II. In the second place, IT IS A SELFISH LIFE. All that Solomon describes are his efforts to secure certain durable results for himself; to indulge his love for the beautiful in nature and art, and to surround himself with luxury and splendor. He would have been more successful in his search for happiness if he had endeavored to relieve the wants of others—to clothe the naked, to feed the hungry, to comfort the afflicted, and to instruct the ignorant. Self-denial and self-sacrifice for the sake of others would have brought him nearer the gem of his desire. The penalty of his selfish pursuit fell heavily upon him. He could not live at a height above mankind, in the enjoyment of his own felicity, for long; "the riddle of the painful earth" filled him with thoughts of self-loathing and despair, which shattered all his happiness. Do what he might, old age, disease, and death were foes he could not conquer, and all about him in human society he could discern moral evils and inequalities which he could not set right nor' even explain. Such selfish isolation as that into which for a time he had withdrawn himself failed to secure the object he had in view, for he could not really dissever his lot from that of his fellows, or escape the evils which afflicted them. The idea of a life of luxurious ease, undisturbed by the sight or thought of the miseries and hardships of life, was a vain dream, from which he soon awoke. In his poem, 'The Palace of Art,' Tennyson has given a most luminous and suggestive commentary upon this portion of the Book of Ecclesiastes. In it he represents the soul as seeking forgiveness for the sin of selfish isolation by penitence, prayer, and self-renunciation, and as anticipating a resumption of all the joys of culture and art in companionship with others. In communion with God, in fellowship with others, all things that are noble and pure and lovely are taken into holy keeping, and form a lasting source of joy and happiness.—J.W.
The value and the futility of wisdom.
Solomon had now made many experiments to try and discover something that was good in itself, that was an end for which one might labor, a goal for which one might make, a resting-place for the soul. The acquisition of knowledge had first of all attracted him, but after a long course of study, in which he traversed the whole field of learning and reached the limits of human thought, the futility of his labors dawned upon him. Then he turned to sensual enjoyments, and gave himself up to them for a time, with the deliberate purpose of seeking to discover if there were in this quarter any permanent gain; if it were possible so to prolong the pleasures of life as to silence, if not to satisfy, the cravings of the soul. The experiment was but a short one; he soon found out that pleasure is short-lived, and that mirth and laughter are followed by weariness and melancholy. His resources were not, however, yet exhausted. A new course was open to him, and one which his richly endowed nature qualified him for trying, and his kingly power and wealth laid open to him. This was the cultivation of those arts by which human life is beautified; the gratification of those tastes that distinguish man from the lower creatures, and that have something in them that is noble and pure. He built stately palaces, planted gardens and forests; he surrounded himself with all the luxury and pageantry of an Oriental court; he accumulated treasures such as kings only could afford to procure; music and song, and whatever could delight a refined taste, and a love of the beautiful were sedulously cultivated. But all in vain; aesthetieism proved as fruitless as the pursuit of knowledge, or the indulgence of the coarser appetites, to give rest to the soul. And now in sober meditation he reviewed all his experience; having come to the end of his resources, he inquires into actual results attained, and pronounces upon them. First of all, he is convinced that he has given a fair trial to all the various means by which men seek for the highest good. He had failed to find that satisfaction, but it was not because he had been ill equipped for carrying on the search. No one that came after him (Esther 2:12) could surpass him by a more complete and thorough investigation. God had given him "a wise and understanding heart," and had endowed him with wealth and power; and in both particulars he excelled all his fellows. Accordingly, he has no hesitation in laying down great general principles drawn from careful observation of the phenomena of human life.
I. THE GREAT ADVANTAGE WHICH WISDOM HAS OVER FOLLY. The wise man walks in light, and has the use of his eyes; the fool is blind, and walks in darkness. The wisdom here praised is not that holy, spiritual faculty which springs from the fear of God and obedience to his will (Job 28:28; Deuteronomy 4:6; Psalms 111:10), and which is so strikingly personified, almost deified, in the Book of Proverbs and in that of Job (Proverbs 8:1-36; Proverbs 9:1-18.; Job 28:12-28); but is ordinary science, knowledge of the laws of nature, and of the powers and limitations of human life. This wisdom can only be acquired by long and painful labor, and though by it we cannot discover God or find out the way of winning and retaining his favor, or provide for the wants of the soul, it has, in its sphere, high value. It gives some pleasure; it affords some guidance and direction to its possessor. It enables him to acquire some good; it teaches him to avoid some evils. Progress in civilization is only possible by the cultivation of this wisdom. Wider acquaintance with the laws of health, for example, has enabled men to stamp out certain forms of disease, or, at any rate, to prevent their frequent recurrence, and to alleviate the sufferings caused by others. Consider the immense benefit to the race the progress of medical science has secured. The inventions that we owe to the cultivation of natural knowledge are beyond number, and by them incalculable benefits have been brought within our reach—better cultivation of the soil, less exhausting labor, discovery of the uses of the metals stored up in the bowels of the earth, more rapid distribution of the productions of nature and of human industry, swifter means of communication between one part of the world and another. "The improvement of natural knowledge," says a great authority, "whatever direction it has taken, and however low the aims of those who may have commenced it, has not only conferred practical benefits on men, but in so doing has effected a revolution in their conceptions of the universe and of themselves, and has profoundly altered their modes of thinking and their views of right and wrong" (Huxley, 'Lay Sermons'). Does not this amply justify Solomon's assertion that "wisdom excels folly, as light darkness; that the wise man hath the use of his eyes, the fool is blind"?
II. THE FUTILITY OF WISDOM. All the delight in the charms of wisdom is quenched by the thought of the leveling power of death, which overwhelms both the wise and the foolish indiscriminately (verses 14b—17). For a brief space there is a distinction between them—the one endowed with priceless gifts, the other ignorant and poor. But what, after all, was the use of the short-lived superiority? Like an extinguished torch, the wisdom of the sage is blown out by death, and the very memory of his attainments and triumphs is buried in oblivion. For a time, perhaps, he is missed, but the gap is soon filled up, the busy world goes on its way, and in a very short time it forgets all about him. Thus even the posthumous fame, after which the purest and noblest minds have longed, to secure which they have been content to endure poverty, hardship, and neglect in their lifetime, is denied to the vast majority, even of those who have richly deserved it. There were wise men before Solomon (1 Kings 4:31), but no memorial survives of them but their names; no illustrations of their wisdom are given to explain their reputation. And how faint is the impression which the wisdom of Solomon himself makes upon the actual life of the present world! Enshrined though it is in the sacred volume, it seems foreign to our modes of thought; its voice is not heard in our schools of philosophy. The fact of death is a certainty both to the wise and to the fool; the manner of it may be similar; the doubts and fears and anxieties concerning the life to come may perplex both. What can we suggest to relieve the sad picture, or to counteract the paralyzing effect which the spectacle of the futility of wisdom and effort is calculated to produce? The conviction that this life is not all, that there is a life beyond the grave, is the great corrective to the gloom in which otherwise every thinking mind would be enwrapped. This present life is a state of infancy, of probation, in which we receive education for eternity. And to ask in melancholy tones what is the use of acquiring wisdom if death is so soon to cut short our career here, is as foolish as to ask what is the use of a sapling growing vigorously in a nursery garden if it is to be afterwards transplanted. The place from which it was taken may soon know it no more. But the loss is slight; the tree itself lives and flourishes still under the eye and care of the almighty Husbandman. No fruitless regrets over the brevity and uncertainty of human fame need interfere with present effort. We may soon be forgotten on earth, but no attainments in wisdom or holiness we have made will have been in vain; they will have qualified us for a higher service and a truer enjoyment of God than we could otherwise have known.—J.W.
Riches, though obtained by much toil, are vanity.
The thought of death, which sweeps away the wise man as well as the fool, and of the eternal oblivion which swallows up the memory of them both, was very depressing; but a new cause for deeper dejection of spirit is round in the reflection that the man who has toiled in the accumulation of wealth must leave it all to another, of whom he knows nothing, and who wilt perhaps dissipate it in a very brief time.
I. The first mortifying thought is—HE BUT GATHERS FOR A SUCCESSOR. (Esther 2:18.) He himself, when the moment of death comes, must leave his possessions and depart into the world of shadows as naked as he was when he entered upon life. The fact that such a reflection should be bitter proves how deeply the soul is corroded by covetous and selfish aggrandizement. The heart is absorbed in the things of the present, and the anticipation of heavenly and spiritual joys grows faint and dies away. To be torn from the wealth and possessions acquired upon earth is regarded as losing everything; to be forced to leave them to another, even to a son, is almost as bad as being plundered of them by a thief. This feeling of bitter regret at having to give up all they possess at the call of death, has often been experienced by those who have found their chief occupation and happiness in life in the acquisition of earthly treasures. "Mazarin walks through the galleries of his palace and says to himself, 'Il taut quitter tout cela.' Frederick William IV. of Prussia turns to his friend Bunsen, as they stand on the terrace at Potsdam, and says as they look out on the garden, 'Das auch, das soil ich lassen' ('This too! must leave behind me')" (Plumptre).
II. The second mortifying thought is—THAT IT IS QUITE UNCERTAIN WHAT CHARACTER THE SUCCESSOR WILL BE OF, AND WHAT USE HE WILL MAKE OF HIS INHERITANCE. (Esther 2:19.) He may be a wise man, or he may be a fool; he may make a prudent use of his inheritance, or he may in a very short time scatter it to the winds. The very change in his circumstances, the novelty of his new situation, may turn his head and lead him into courses of folly which otherwise he might have avoided. Some have thought that the character of the youthful Rehoboam was already so far developed as to suggest this mortifying reflection to Solomon. But this is quite conjectural. The early career of the headstrong, arrogant sovereign whose folly broke up the kingdom of Israel is an illustration of the truth of this general statement, and may have been in the thoughts of the writer, if he were not Solomon but some later sage. The special reference to this one historical example of an inheritance dissipated by an unworthy son need not be pressed. For, unfortunately, in every generation there are only too many instances of a like kind. So frequent are they, indeed, as to suggest very humiliating reflections to every one who has spent his life in acquiring riches or collecting treasures of art. As he sees fortunes squandered and collections of rarities broken up, the thought must recur to his mind whose are to be the things which he has treasured up so carefully (Psalms 39:6; Luke 12:20).
III. The third mortifying thought is—THAT THE CHARACTER OF THE SUCCESSOR MAY NOT BE A MATTER OF DOUBT; he may be a man of a positively foolish and vicious disposition (Esther 2:21). The case presents itself of a man who has labored in wisdom and knowledge and equity having to leave to another who is devoid of these virtues, who has never sought to acquire them, all that his prudence and diligence have enabled him to acquire. There is thus a climax in the thoughts of the writer. First of all, there is some matter for irritation, especially to a selfish mind, in the idea of giving up to another what one has spent years of laborious toil m gathering together. Then there is the torturing doubt as to the possible character of the new owner, and the use he will make of what is left to him. But worst of all is the conviction that he is both foolish and vicious. This is enough to poison all present enjoyment, and to paralyze all further effort. Why should a man spend laborious days and sleepless nights, if this is to be the end of it all? What has he left to show for all his exertions? What but weariness and exhaustion, and the bitter reflection that all has been in vain? Yet a little time after he has been forced by death to part with his possessions, and they will be made to minister to the frivolity and vice of one who has never labored for them, and ultimately will be scattered like chaff before the wind. Thus a final discovery of the vanity of all earthly employments is made. The acquisition of wisdom and knowledge,, the gratification of the pleasures of sense, the cultivation and indulgence of artistic tastes, had all been tried as possible avenues to lasting happiness, and tried in vain. To these must now be added the accumulation by prudent and lawful means, of great wealth. This, too, was discovered to be vanity. It could only be accomplished by years of toil, and brought with it fresh cares; and in the end all that had been gained must be given up to another. Mortifying though the experiments had turned out to be, they had at least been of negative value. Though they had not revealed where happiness was to be found, they had revealed where it was not to be found. The last disappointment, the discovery of the vanity of riches, taught the great truth which might become a clue to lead to the much-desired happiness, that "a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth" (Luke 12:15).—J.W.