THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
EDITED BY THE REV.
W ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.,
Editor of "The Expositor."
THE BOOK OF PROVERBS.
BY
R. F. HORTON, M.A.
London:
HODDER AND STOUGHTON,
27, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCXC
THE
BOOK OF PROVERBS.
BY
R. F. HORTON, M.A.,
Hampstead;
LATE FELLOW OF NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD.
London:
HODDER AND STOUGHTON,
27, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MDCCCXCI.
"Shrewd remarks
Of moral prudence, clothed in images
Lively and beautiful."
Wordsworth.
INTRODUCTION.
In attempting to make the book of Proverbs a subject
of Expository Lectures and practical sermons
it has been necessary to treat the book as a uniform
composition, following, chapter by chapter, the order
which the compiler has adopted, and bringing the
scattered sentences together under subjects which are
suggested by certain more striking points in the
successive chapters. By this method the great bulk of
the matter contained in the book is brought under
review, either in the way of exposition or in the way
of quotation and allusion, though even in this method
many smaller sayings slip through the expositor's
meshes. But the grave defect of the method which is
thus employed is that it completely obliterates those
interesting marks, discernible on the very surface of
the book, of the origin and the compilation of the
separate parts. This defect the reader can best supply
by turning to Professor Cheyne's scholarly work "Job
and Solomon; or, The Wisdom of the Old Testament;"
but for those who have not time or opportunity to refer
to any book besides the one which is in their hands, a
brief Introduction to the following Lectures may not be
unwelcome.
The Jewish tradition ascribed the Proverbs, or
Sayings of the Wise, to Solomon, just as it ascribed
the Psalms, or inspired lyrics of the poets, to King
David, and we may add, just as it ascribed all the gradual
accretions and developments of the Law to Moses.
But even a very uncritical reader will observe that the
book of Proverbs as we have it is not the work of a
single hand; and a critical inquiry into the language
and style of the several parts, and also into the social
and political conditions which are implied by them, has
led scholars to the conclusion that, at the most, a
certain number of Solomon's wise sayings are included
in the collection, but that he did not in any sense
compose the book. In fact, the statement in 1 Kings
iv. 32, "He spake three thousand proverbs," implies
that his utterances were recorded by others, and not
written down by himself, and the heading to chap. xxv.
of our book suggests that, the "men of Hezekiah"
collected the reputed sayings of Solomon from several
sources, one of those sources being the collection contained
in the previous chapters.Cf. xxv. 24 (xxi. 9), xxvi. 22 (xviii. 8), xxvii. 12 (xxii. 3), xxvii.
13 (xx. 16), xxvi. 13 (xxii. 13), xxvi. 15 (xix. 24), xxviii. 6 (xix. 1),
xxviii. 19 (xii. 11), xxix. 13 (xxii. 2); to which add xxvii. 15 (xix. 13),
xxvii. 21 (xvii. 3), xxix. 22 (xv. 18).
The opening words, then, of the book—"The
Proverbs of Solomon the son of David, King of Israel"—are
not to be taken as an assertion that all which
follows flowed from Solomon's pen, but rather as a
general description and key-note of the subject of the
treatise. It is as if the compiler wished to say, 'This
is a compendium of those wise sayings current among
us, the model and type of which may be found in the
proverbs attributed to the wisest of men, King Solomon.'
That this is the way in which we must understand the
title becomes plain when we find contained in the book
a passage described as "the sayings of the wise" (xxiv.
23-34), a chapter distinctly entitled "The Words of
Agur," and another paragraph headed "The Words of
King Lemuel."
Leaving aside the traditional view of the authorship,
which the book itself shows to be misleading, the contents
may be briefly delineated and characterized.
The main body of Proverbs is the collection which
begins at chap. x., "The Proverbs of Solomon," and
ends at xxii. 16. This collection has certain distinct
features which mark it off from all that precedes and
from all that follows. It is, strictly speaking, a collection
of proverbs, that is of brief, pointed sayings,—sometimes
containing a similitude, but more generally consisting
of a single antithetical moral sentiment,—such as spring
into existence and pass current in every society of men.
All these proverbs are identical in form: each is
expressed in a distich; the apparent exception in xix. 7
is to be explained by the obvious fact that the third
clause is the mutilated fragment of another proverb,
which in the LXX. appears complete: ὁ πολλὰ κακοποιῶν
τελεσιουργεῖ κακίαν, ὃς δὲ ἐρεθίζει λόγους οὐ σωθήσεται.
As the form is the same in all, so the general drift of
their teaching is quite uniform; the morality inculcated
is of no very lofty type; the motives for right conduct
are mainly prudential; there is no sense of mystery or
wonder, no tendency to speculation or doubt; "Be
good, and you will prosper; be wicked, and you will
suffer," is the sum of the whole. A few scattered precepts
occur which seem to touch a higher level and to
breathe a more spiritual air; and it is possible, as has
been suggested, that these were added by the author of
chaps. i.-ix., when he revised and published the compilation.
Such a sentiment as xiv. 34 well accords with
the utterance of Wisdom in viii. 15, 16. And the series
of proverbs which are grouped on the principle of their
all containing the name of Jahveh, xv. 33-xvi. 7 (cf.
xvi. 20, 33) seems to be closely linked with the
opening chapters of the book. Assuming the proverbs
of this collection to spring from the same period, and to
reflect the social conditions which then prevailed, we
should say that it points to a time of comparative
simplicity and purity, when the main industry was that
of tilling the soil, when the sayings of wise people were
valued by an unsophisticated community, when the
family life was pure, the wife honoured (xii. 4; xviii. 22;
xix. 14), and parental authority maintained, and when
the king was still worthy of respect, the immediate
and obedient instrument of the Divine government
(xxi. 1). The whole collection seems to date from the
earlier and happier times of the monarchy.
To this collection is added an appendix (xxii. 17-xxiv.
22), which opens with an exhortation addressed
by the teacher to his pupil. The literary form of this
appendix falls far behind the style of the main
collection. The terse and compact distich occurs
rarely; most of the sayings are more cumbrous and
elaborate, and in one case there is a brief didactic poem
carried through several verses (xxiii. 29-35). As the
style of composition shows a decline, so the general
conditions which form the background of the sayings
are less happy. They seem to indicate a time of growing
luxury; gluttony and drunkenness are the subjects
of strong invective. It appears that the poor are
oppressed by the rich (xxii. 22), and justice is not
rightly administered, so that the innocent are carried
away into confinement (xxiv. 11, 12). There is political
unrest, too, and the young have to be cautioned
against the revolutionary or anarchical spirit (xxiv. 21).
We are evidently brought down to a later period in
Israel's melancholy history.
Another brief appendix follows (xxiv. 23-34), in
which the distich form almost entirely disappears; it
is remarkable as containing a little picture (30-34),
which, like the much longer passage in vii. 6-27, is
presented as the personal observation of the writer.
We now pass on to an entirely new collection,
ch. xxv.-xxix., which was made, we are told, in the
literary circle at the court of Hezekiah, two hundred
and fifty years or thereabouts after the time of Solomon.
In this collection there is no uniformity of structure
such as distinguished the proverbs of the first collection.
Some distichs occur, but as often as not the proverb
is drawn out into three, four, and in one case (xxv. 6, 7)
five clauses; xxvii. 23-27 forms a brief connected exhortation,
which is a considerable departure from the
simple structure of the mashal, or proverb. The social
condition reflected in these chapters is not very attractive;
it is clear that the people have had experience
of a bad ruler (xxix. 2); we seem to have hints of the
many troubled experiences through which the monarchy
of Israel passed—the divided rule, the injustice, the
incapacity, the oppression (xxviii. 2, 3, 12, 15, 16, 28).
There is one proverb which particularly recalls the
age of Hezekiah, when the doom of the exile was already
being proclaimed by the prophets: "As a bird that
wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth
from his place" (xxvii. 8). And it is perhaps characteristic
of that troubled time, when the spiritual life was
to be deepened by the experience of material suffering
and national disaster, that this collection contains a
proverb which might be almost the key-note of the New
Testament morality (xxv. 21, 22).
The book closes with three quite distinct passages,
which can only be regarded as appendices. According
to one interpretation of the very difficult words which
stand at the head of chaps. xxx. and xxxi., these paragraphs
would come from a foreign source; it has been
thought that the word translated "oracle" might be the
name of the country mentioned in Gen. xxv. 14, Massa.
But whether Jakeh and King Lemuel were natives of
this shadowy land or not, it is certain that the whole
tone and drift of these two sections are alien to the
general spirit of the book. There is something enigmatical
in their style and artificial in their form, which
would suggest a very late period in Israel's literary
history. And the closing passage, which describes the
virtuous woman, is distinguished by being an alphabetical
acrostic, the verses beginning with the successive
letters of the Hebrew alphabet, a kind of composition
which points to the dawn of Rabbinical methods in
literature. It is impossible to say when or how these
curious and interesting additions were made to our
book, but scholars have generally recognized them as
the product of the exile, if not the post-exile, period.
Now, the two collections which have been described,
with their several appendices, were at some favourable
point in religious history, possibly in those happy days
of Josiah when the Deuteronomic Law was newly
promulgated to the joyful nation, brought together, and,
as we should say now, edited, with an original introduction
by an author who, unknown to us by name,
is among the greatest and noblest of Biblical writers.
The first nine chapters of the book, which form the
introduction to the whole, strike a far higher note,
appeal to nobler conceptions, and are couched in a much
loftier style than the book itself. The writer bases his
moral teaching on Divine authority rather than on the
utilitarian basis which prevails in most of the proverbs.
Writing in a time when the temptations to a lawless
and sensual life were strong, appealing to the wealthier
and more cultured youth of the nation, he proceeds in
sweet and earnest discourse to woo his readers from
the paths of vice into the Temple of Wisdom and Virtue.
His method of contrasting the "two ways," and exhorting
men to shun the one and choose the other, constantly
reminds us of the similar appeals in the Book
of Deuteronomy; but the touch is more graphic and more
vivid; the gifts of the poet are employed in depicting
the seven-pillared House of Wisdom and the deadly
ways of Folly; and in the wonderful passage which
introduces Wisdom appealing to the sons of men, on the
ground of the part which she plays in the Creation and by
the throne of God, we recognize the voice of a prophet—a
prophet, too, who holds one of the highest places in
the line of those who foretold the coming of our Lord.
Impossible as it has been in the Lectures to bring
out the history and structure of the book, it will greatly
help the reader to bear in mind what has just been
said; he will thus be prepared for the striking contrast
between the glowing beauty of the introduction and
the somewhat frigid precepts which occur so frequently
among the Proverbs themselves; he will be able to
appreciate more fully the point which is from time
to time brought into relief, that much of the teaching
contained in the book is crude and imperfect, of value
for us only when it has been brought to the standard
of our Lord's spirit, corrected by His love and wisdom,
or infused with His Divine life. And especially as the
reader approaches those strange chapters "The Sayings
of Agur" and "The Sayings of King Lemuel" he will
be glad to remind himself of the somewhat loose relation
in which they stand to the main body of the work.
In few parts of the Scripture is there more need than
in this of the ever-present Spirit to interpret and apply
the written word, to discriminate and assort, to arrange
and to combine, the varied utterances of the ages.
Nowhere is it more necessary to distinguish between
the inspired speech, which comes to the mind of prophet
or poet as a direct oracle of God, and the speech
which is the product of human wisdom, human observation,
and human common sense, and is only in that
secondary sense inspired. In the book of Proverbs
there is much which is recorded for us by the wisdom
of God, not because it is the expression of God's
wisdom, but distinctly because it is the expression
of man's wisdom; and among the lessons of the book
is the sense of limitation and incompleteness which
human wisdom leaves upon the mind.
But under the direction of the Holy Spirit, the
reader may not only learn from the Proverbs much
practical counsel for the common duties of life; he may
have, from time to time, rare and wonderful glimpses
into the heights and depths of God.
I.
THE BEGINNING OF WISDOM.
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge."—Prov. i. 7.
"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom:
And the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding."—Prov. ix. 10.
(Cf. Eccles. i. 14, "To fear the Lord is the beginning of wisdom:
and it was created with the faithful in the womb;" also Ps. cxi. 10.)
The book of Proverbs belongs to a group of works
in the Hebrew literature the subject of which
is Wisdom. It is probably the earliest of them all,
and may be regarded as the stem, of which they are
the branches. Without attempting to determine the
relative ages of these compositions, the ordinary reader
can see the points of contact between Proverbs and
Ecclesiastes, and a little careful study reveals that the
book of Job, though fuller and richer in every respect,
belongs to the same order. Outside the canon of
Holy Scripture we possess two works which avowedly
owe their suggestion and inspiration to our book, viz.
"The Wisdom of Jesus the Son of Sirach," commonly
called Ecclesiasticus, a genuinely Hebrew product, and
"The Wisdom of Solomon," commonly called the Book
of Wisdom, of much later origin, and exhibiting that
fusion of Hebrew religious conceptions with Greek
speculation which prevailed in the Jewish schools of
Alexandria.
Now, the question at once occurs, What are we to
understand by the Wisdom which gives a subject and
a title to this extensive field of literature? and in what
relation does it stand to the Law and the Prophets, which
form the great bulk of the Old Testament Scriptures?
Broadly speaking, the Wisdom of the Hebrews
covers the whole domain of what we should call Science
and Philosophy. It is the consistent effort of the
human mind to know, to understand, and to explain all
that exists. It is, to use the modern phrase, the search
for truth. The "wise men" were not, like Moses and
the Prophets, inspired legislators and heralds of God's
immediate messages to mankind; but rather, like the
wise men among the earlier Greeks, Thales, Solon,
Anaximenes, or like the Sophists among the later
Greeks, Socrates and his successors, they brought all
their faculties to bear in observing the facts of the
world and of life, and in seeking to interpret them, and
then in the public streets or in appointed schools
endeavoured to communicate their knowledge to the
young. Nothing was too high for their inquiry: "That
which is is far off, and exceeding deep; who can find it
out?"Eccl. vii. 24.
yet they tried to discover and to explain that
which is. Nothing was too lowly for their attention;
wisdom "reaches from one end to another mightily,
and sweetly orders all things."Wisdom viii. 1.
Their purpose finds
expression in the words of Ecclesiastes, "I turned
about, and my heart was set to know and to search
out, and to seek wisdom and the reason of things."Eccl. vii. 25.
But by Wisdom is meant not merely the search, but
also the discovery; not merely a desire to know, but
also a certain body of conceptions ascertained and
sufficiently formulated. To the Hebrew mind it would
have seemed meaningless to assert that Agnosticism
was wisdom. It was saved from this paradoxical conclusion
by its firmly rooted faith in God. Mystery
might hang over the details, but one thing was plain:
the whole universe was an intelligent plan of God; the
mind might be baffled in understanding His ways, but
that all existence is of His choosing and His ordering
was taken as the axiom with which all thought must
start. Thus there is a unity in the Hebrew Wisdom;
the unity is found in the thought of the Creator; all
the facts of the physical world, all the problems of
human life, are referred to His mind; objective Wisdom
is God's Being, which includes in its circle everything;
and subjective wisdom, wisdom in the human mind,
consists in becoming acquainted with His Being and
all that is contained in it, and meanwhile in constantly
admitting that He is, and yielding to Him the rightful
place in our thought.
But while Wisdom embraces in her wide survey all
things in heaven and in earth, there is one part of the
vast field which makes a special demand upon human
interest. The proper study of mankind is man. Very
naturally the earliest subject to occupy human thought
was human life, human conduct, human society. Or,
to say the same thing in the language of this book,
while Wisdom was occupied with the whole creation,
she specially rejoiced in the habitable earth, and her
delight was with the sons of men.
Theoretically embracing all subjects of human knowledge
and reflection, the Wisdom of the Hebrew literature
practically touches but little on what we should
now call Science, and even where attention was turned
to the facts and laws of the material world, it was
mainly in order to borrow similitudes or illustrations
for moral and religious purposes. King Solomon
"spake of trees, from the cedar that is in Lebanon even
unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he spake
also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and
of fishes."1 Kings iv. 33.
But the Proverbs which have actually
come down to us under his name refer almost exclusively
to principles of conduct or observation of life, and
seldom remind us of the earth, the sea, and the sky,
except as the dwelling-place of men, the house covered
with paintings for his delight or filled with imagery for
his instruction.
But there is a further distinction to be drawn, and in
attempting to make it plain we may determine the
place of the Proverbs in the general scheme of the
inspired writings. Human life is a sufficiently large
theme; it includes not only social and political questions,
but the searchings and speculations of philosophy,
the truths and revelations of religion. From one point
of view, therefore, wisdom may be said to embrace the
Law and the Prophets, and in a beautiful passage of
EcclesiasticusIn this passage Wisdom is represented saying—
"I from the mouth of the Highest came forth, and as vapour I veiled the earth;
I in the heights pitched my tent, my throne in a pillar of cloud;
I alone circled the ring of heaven, and walked in the depths of abysses;
In the waves of the sea, and in all the earth, and in every people and race I obtained a possession;
With all these I sought a rest (saying), In whose inheritance shall I settle?
Then came to me the command of the Creator of all; my Creator pitched my tent; and He said,
In Jacob pitch thy tent, in Israel find thine inheritance.
Before the world was, in the beginning He created me, and while the world lasts I shall not fail:
In the holy tent before Him I offered service, and thus in Sion I was planted;
In the beloved city He likewise made me rest, and in Israel is my power;
And I took root in a people that is glorified, in a portion of the Lord His inheritance."—Eccles. xxiv. 3.
the whole covenant of Jehovah with
Israel is treated as an emanation of wisdom from the
mouth of the Most High. Wisdom was the inspiration
of those who shaped the law and built the Holy
House, of those who ministered in the courts of the
Temple, and of those who were moved by the Holy
One to chide the faults of the people, to call them to
repentance, to denounce the doom of their sin, and
proclaim the glad promise of deliverance. Again, from
this large point of view Wisdom could be regarded as
the Divine Philosophy, the system of thought and the
body of beliefs which would furnish the explanation of
life, and would root all the decisions of ethics in eternal
principles of truth. And this function of Wisdom is
presented with singular beauty and power in the eighth
chapter of our book, where, as we shall see, the mouth
of Wisdom shows that her concern with men is derived
from her relation with the Creator and from her comprehension
of His great architectural design in the
construction of the world.
Now, the wisdom which finds expression in the bulk
of the Proverbs must be clearly distinguished from
wisdom in this exalted sense. It is not the wisdom of
the Law and the Prophets; it moves in a much lower
plane. It is not the wisdom of chap. viii., a philosophy
which harmonizes human life with the laws of nature
by constantly connecting both with God.
The wisdom of the Proverbs differs from the wisdom
of the Prophets in this, that it is derived not directly,
but mediately from God. No special mind is directed
to shape these sayings; they grow up in the common
mind of the people, and they derive their inspiration
from those general qualities which made the whole
nation in the midst of which they had their birth an
inspired nation, and gave to all the literature of the
nation a peculiar and inimitable tone. The wisdom of
the Proverbs differs, too, from the wisdom of these introductory
chapters in much the same way; it is a difference
which might be expressed by a familiar use
of words; it is a distinction between Philosophy and
Proverbial Philosophy, a distinction, let us say, between
Divine Philosophy and Proverbial Philosophy.
The Proverbs are often shrewd, often edifying, sometimes
almost evangelical in their sharp ethical insight;
but we shall constantly be reminded that they do not
come with the overbearing authority of the prophetic
"Thus saith the Lord." And still more shall we be
reminded how far they lag behind the standard of life
and the principles of conduct which are presented to us
in Christ Jesus.
What has just been said seems to be a necessary
preliminary to the study of the Proverbs, and it is only
by bearing it in mind that we shall be able to appreciate
the difference in tone between the nine introductory
chapters and the main body of the book; nor should
we venture, perhaps, apart from the consideration which
has been urged to exercise our critical sense in the
study of particular sayings, and to insist at all points
on bringing the teaching of the wise men of old to the
standard and test of Him who is Himself made unto
us Wisdom.
But now to turn to our text. We must think of
wisdom in the largest possible sense, as including not
only ethics, but philosophy, and not only philosophy,
but religion; yes, and as embracing in her vast survey
the whole field of natural science, when it is said that
the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; we must
think of knowledge in its fullest and most liberal extent
when we read that the fear of the Lord is the beginning
of knowledge.
In this pregnant truth we may distinguish three ideas:
first, fear, or, as we should probably say, reverence, is
the pre-requisite of all scientific, philosophical, or religious
truth; second, no real knowledge or wisdom can
be attained which does not start with the recognition of
God; and then, thirdly, the expression is not only
"the fear of God," which might refer only to the Being
that is presupposed in any intelligent explanation of
phenomena, but the "fear of the Lord," i.e. of Jahveh,
the self-existent One, who has revealed Himself in a
special way to men as "I am what I am;" and it is
therefore hinted that no satisfactory philosophy of
human life and history can be constructed which does
not build upon the fact of revelation.
We may proceed to dwell upon these three thoughts
in order.
1. Most religious people are willing to admit that
"the fear of the Lord is a fountain of life, to depart
from the snares of death."Prov. xiv. 27.
But what is not always
observed is that the same attitude is necessary in the
intellectual sphere. And yet the truth may be illustrated
in a quarter which to some of us may be surprising.
It is a notable fact that Modern Science had
its origin in two deeply religious minds. Bacon and
Descartes were both stirred to their investigation of
physical facts by their belief in the Divine Being who
was behind them. To mention only our great English thinker,
Bacon's Novum Organum is the most reverent
of works, and no one ever realized more keenly than
he that, as Coleridge used to say, "there is no chance
of truth at the goal where there is not a childlike humility
at the starting-point."
It is sometimes said that this note of reverence is
wanting in the great scientific investigators of our day.
So far as this is true, it is probable that their conclusions
will be vitiated, and we are often impressed by
the feeling that the unmannerly self-assertion and overweening
self-confidence of many scientific writers augur
ill for the truth of their assertions. But, on the other
hand, it must be remembered that the greatest men of
science in our own, as in all other ages, are distinguished
by a singular simplicity, and by a reverence which
communicates itself to their readers. What could be
more reverent than Darwin's way of studying the coral-insect
or the earth-worm? He bestowed on these
humble creatures of the ocean and of the earth the
most patient and loving observation. And his success
in understanding and explaining them was in proportion
to the respect which he showed to them. The coral-diver
has no reverence for the insect; he is bent only
on gain, and he consequently can tell us nothing of the
coral reef and its growth. The gardener has no reverence
for the worm; he cuts it ruthlessly with his
spade, and flings it carelessly aside; accordingly he is
not able to tell us of its lowly ministries and of the part
it plays in the fertilization of the soil. It was Darwin's
reverence which proved to be the beginning of knowledge
in these departments of investigation; and if it
was only the reverence of the naturalist, the truth is
illustrated all the better, for his knowledge of the unseen
and the eternal dwindled away, just as his perception
of beauty in literature and art declined, in proportion
as he suffered his spirit of reverence towards these
things to die.
The gates of Knowledge and Wisdom are closed, and
they are opened only to the knock of Reverence. Without
reverence, it is true, men may gain what is called
worldly knowledge and worldly wisdom; but these are far
removed from truth, and experience often shows us how
profoundly ignorant and how incurably blind pushing
and successful people are, whose knowledge is all turned
to delusion, and whose wisdom shifts round into folly,
precisely because the great pre-requisite was wanting.
The seeker after real knowledge will have little about
him which suggests worldly success. He is modest, self-forgetful,
possibly shy; he is absorbed in a disinterested
pursuit, for he has seen afar the high, white star of
Truth; at it he gazes, to it he aspires. Things which
only affect him personally make but little impression
on him; things which affect the truth move, agitate,
excite him. A bright spirit is on ahead, beckoning to
him. The colour mounts to his cheek, the nerves thrill,
and his soul is filled with rapture, when the form seems
to grow clearer and a step is gained in the pursuit.
When a discovery is made he almost forgets that he
is the discoverer; he will even allow the credit of it to
pass over to another, for he would rather rejoice in the
truth itself than allow his joy to be tinged with a
personal consideration.
Yes, this modest, self-forgetful, reverent mien is
the first condition of winning Truth, who must be
approached on bended knee, and recognized with a
humble and a prostrate heart. There is no gainsaying
the fact that this fear, this reverence, is the beginning
of wisdom.
2. We pass now to an assertion bolder than the last,
that there can be no true knowledge or wisdom which
does not start from the recognition of God. This is one
of those contentions, not uncommon in the Sacred
Writings, which appear at first sight to be arbitrary
dogmas, but prove on closer inquiry to be the authoritative
statements of reasoned truth. We are face to
face, in our day, with an avowedly atheistic philosophy.
According to the Scriptures, an atheistic philosophy is
not a philosophy at all, but only a folly: "The fool hath
said in his heart, There is no God." We have thinkers
among us who deem it their great mission to get rid of
the very idea of God, as one which stands in the way of
spiritual, social, and political progress. According to
the Scriptures, to remove the idea of God is to destroy
the key of knowledge and to make any consistent
scheme of thought impossible. Here certainly is a
clear and sharp issue.
Now, if this universe of which we form a part is a
thought of the Divine mind, a work of the Divine hand,
a scene of Divine operations, in which God is realizing,
by slow degrees, a vast spiritual purpose, it is self-evident
that no attempt to understand the universe can
be successful which leaves this, its fundamental idea,
out of account; as well might one attempt to understand
a picture while refusing to recognize that the artist had
any purpose to express in painting it, or indeed that there
was any artist at all. So much every one will admit.
But if the universe is not the work of a Divine mind,
or the effect of a Divine will; if it is merely the working
of a blind, irrational Force, which realizes no end,
because it has no end to realize; if we, the feeble
outcome of a long, unthinking evolution, are the first
creatures that ever thought, and the only creatures
who now think, in all the universe of Being; it follows
that of a universe so irrational there can be no true
knowledge for rational beings, and of a scheme of
things so unwise there can be no philosophy or wisdom.
No person who reflects can fail to recognize this, and
this is the truth which is asserted in the text. It is not
necessary to maintain that without admitting God we
cannot have knowledge of a certain number of empirical
facts; but that does not constitute a philosophy or a
wisdom. It is necessary to maintain that without admitting
God we cannot have any explanation of our knowledge,
or any verification of it; without admitting God
our knowledge can never come to any roundness or
completeness such as might justify our calling it by
the name of Wisdom.
Or to put the matter in a slightly different way: a
thinking mind can only conceive the universe as the
product of thought; if the universe is not the product
of thought it can never be intelligible to a thinking
mind, and can therefore never be in a true sense the
object of knowledge; to deny that the universe is the
product of thought is to deny the possibility of wisdom.
We find, then, that it is not a dogma, but a truth of
reason, that knowledge must start with the recognition
of God.
3. But now we come to an assertion which is the
boldest of all, and for the present we shall have to
be content to leave behind many who have readily
followed us so far. That we are bound to recognize
"the Lord," that is the God of Revelation, and bow
down in reverence before Him, as the first condition of
true wisdom, is just the truth which multitudes of men
who claim to be Theists are now strenuously denying.
Must we be content to leave the assertion merely as a
dogma enunciated on the authority of Scripture?
Surely they, at any rate, who have made the beginning
of wisdom in the fear of the Lord should be able to show
that the possession which they have gained is actually
wisdom, and does not rest upon an irrational dogma,
incapable of proof.
We have already recognized at the outset that the
Wisdom of this book is not merely an intellectual
account of the reason of things, but also more specifically
an explanation of the moral and spiritual life. It
may be granted that so far as the Intellect alone claims
satisfaction it is enough to posit the bare idea of God
as the condition of all rational existence. But when
men come to recognize themselves as Spiritual Beings,
with conceptions of right and wrong, with strong affections,
with soaring aspirations, with ideas which lay
hold of Eternity, they find themselves quite incapable of
being satisfied with the bare idea of God; the soul within
them pants and thirsts for a living God. An intellectual
love of God might satisfy purely intellectual creatures;
but to meet the needs of man as he is, God must be a
God that manifests His own personality, and does not
leave Himself without a witness to His rational creature.
A wisdom, then, that is to truly appraise and rightly guide
the life of man must start with the recognition of a God
whose peculiar designation is the Self-existent One, and
who makes Himself known to man by that name; that
is, it must start with the "fear of the Lord."It may be well to remind the reader who is too familiar with the
name "the Lord" to consider its significance; that "the Lord" is the
English translation of that peculiar name, Jahveh, by which God
revealed Himself to Moses, and the term Jahveh seems to convey one
of two ideas, existence or the cause of existence, according to the
vowel-pointing of the consonants יהוה.
How cogent this necessity is appears directly the
alternative is stated. If Reason assures us of a God
that made us, a First Cause of our existence and of our
being what we are; if Reason also compels us to refer
to Him our moral nature, our desire of holiness, and
our capacity of love, what could be a greater tax on
faith, and even a greater strain on the reason, than to
declare that, notwithstanding, God has not revealed
Himself as the Lord of our life and the God of our salvation,
as the authority of righteousness or the object
of our love? When the question is stated in this way
it appears that apart from a veritable and trustworthy
revelation there can be no wisdom which is capable of
really dealing with human life, as the life of spiritual and
moral creatures; for a God who does not reveal Himself
would be devoid of the highest qualities of the human
spirit, and the belief in a God who is inferior to man, a
Creator who is less than the creature, could furnish
no foundation for an intelligible system of thought.
Our text now stands before us, not as the unsupported
deliverance of dogma, but as a condensed utterance
of the human reason. We see that starting from
the conception of Wisdom as the sum of that which is,
and the sufficient explanation of all things, as including
therefore not only the laws of nature, but also the laws
of human life, both spiritual and moral, we can make
no step towards the acquisition of wisdom without a
sincere and absolute reverence, a recognition of God as
the Author of the universe which we seek to understand,
and as the Personal Being, the Self-existent One, who
reveals Himself under that significant name "I am,"
and declares His will to our waiting hearts. "To
whom hath the root of Wisdom been revealed? or who
hath known her wise counsels? There is one wise,
and greatly to be feared, the Lord sitting upon His
throne."Eccles. i. 6, 8.
In this way is struck the key-note of the Jewish
"Wisdom." It is profoundly true; it is stimulating
and helpful. But it may not be out of place to remind
ourselves even thus early that the idea on which we
have been dwelling comes short of the higher truth
which has been given us in Christ. It hardly entered
into the mind of a Hebrew thinker to conceive that
"fear of the Lord" might pass into full, whole-hearted,
and perfect love. And yet it may be shown that this
was the change effected when Christ was of God
"made unto us Wisdom;" it is not that the "fear,"
or reverence, becomes less, but it is that the fear is
swallowed up in the larger and more gracious sentiment.
For us who have received Christ as our Wisdom,
it has become almost a truism that we must love in
order to know. We recognize that the causes of things
remain hidden from us until our hearts have been
kindled into an ardent love towards the First Cause,
God Himself: we find that even our processes of
reasoning are faulty until they are touched with the
Divine tenderness, and rendered sympathetic by the
infusion of a loftier passion. And it is quite in accordance
with this fuller truth that both science and philosophy
have made genuine progress only in Christian
lands and under Christian influences. Where the touch
of Christ's hand has been most decisively felt, in Germany,
in England, in America, and where consequently
Wisdom has attained a nobler, a richer, a more tender
significance, there, under fostering powers, which are
not the less real because they are not always acknowledged,
the great discoveries have been made, the
great systems of thought have been framed, and the
great counsels of conduct have gradually assumed
substance and authority. And from a wide observation
of facts we are able to say, "The fear of the Lord is
the beginning of wisdom and knowledge;" yes, but the
Wisdom of God has led us on from fear to love, and
in the Love of the Lord is found the fulfilment of that
which trembled into birth through fear.
II.
WISDOM AS THE GUIDE OF CONDUCT.
"To deliver thee from the way of the evil man....
To deliver thee from the strange woman."—Prov. ii. 12a-16a.
Wisdom is concerned, as we have seen, with
the whole universe of fact, with the whole
range of thought; she surveys and orders all processes
of nature. We might say of her,
"She doth preserve the stars from wrong,
And the most ancient heavens by her are fresh and strong."
But while she is occupied in these high things, she is no
less attentive to the affairs of human life, and her delight
is to order human conduct, not despising even the smallest
detail of that which is done by men under the sun.
Side by side with physical laws, indeed often intertwined
with them, appear the moral laws which issue from the
lively oracles of Wisdom. There is not one authority
for natural phenomena, and another for mental and moral
phenomena. As we should say now, Truth is one:
Science is one: Law is one. The laws of the physical
order, the laws of the speculative reason, the laws of
practical life, form a single system, come from the sole
mind of God, and are the impartial interests of Wisdom.
As the great authority on Conduct, Wisdom is pictured
standing in the places where men congregate, where
the busy hum of human voices and the rush of hurried
feet make it necessary for her to lift up her voice in order
to gain attention. With words of winsome wooing—"for
wisdom shall enter into thy heart, and knowledge
shall be pleasant unto thy soul"Prov. ii. 10.
—or with loud threats
and stern declarations of truth—"the backsliding of the
simple shall slay them, and the prosperity of fools shall
destroy them"Prov. i. 32.
—she tries to win us, while we are yet
young, to her paths of pleasantness and her ways of
peace. Her object is to deliver youth, (1) from the evil
man, and (2) from the evil woman, or in the most comprehensive
way "to deliver us from evil."
First of all, we may spend a few moments in noting
the particular temptations to which men were exposed
in the days when these chapters were written.We may remind ourselves that, according to the most probable
conjecture, this introduction to Solomon's Proverbs (chaps, i.-ix.)
dates from the reign of Josiah (640-609 b.c.).
There
was a temptation to join a troop of banditti, and to
obtain a living by acts of highway robbery which
would frequently result in murder; and there was
the temptation to the sin which we call specifically
Impurity, a temptation which arose not so much from
the existence of a special class of fallen women, as
from the shocking looseness and voluptuousness of
married women in well-to-do circumstances.
Society under the kings never seems to have reached
anything approaching to an ordered security. We
cannot point to any period when the mountain roads,
even in the neighbourhood of the capital, were not
haunted by thieves, who lurked in the rocks or the
copses, and fell upon passing travellers, to strip and to
rob, and if need be to kill them. When such things
are done, when such things are even recounted in
sensational literature, there are multitudes of young
men who are stirred to a debased ambition; a spurious
glory encircles the brow of the adventurer who sets the
laws of society at defiance; and without any personal
entreaty the foolish youth is disposed to leave the
quiet ways of industry for the stimulating excitement
and the false glamour of the bandit life. The reckless
plottings of the robbers are described in chap. i. 11-14.
The character of the men themselves is given in
iv. 16, 17: "They sleep not, except they have done
mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they
cause some to fall. For they eat the bread of wickedness,
and drink the wine of violence." The proverb
in xxiv. 15 is addressed to such an one: "Lay not
wait, O wicked man, against the habitation of the
righteous; spoil not his resting-place."
The rebukes of the prophets—Isaiah, Micah, Jeremiah—may
have a wider application, but they seem at any
rate to include this highwayman's life. "Your hands
are full of blood" is the charge of Isaiah;Isa. i. 15.
and again,
"Their feet run to evil, and they make haste to shed
innocent blood; their thoughts are thoughts of
iniquity."Isa. lix. 7.
"They build up Zion with blood," says
Micah indignantly.Micah iii. 10.
Jeremiah cries with still more
vehemence to his generation, "Also in thy skirts is
found the blood of the souls of the innocent poor;"Jer. ii. 34.
and again, "But thine eyes and thine heart are not but
for thy covetousness, and for to shed innocent blood,
and for oppression, and for violence, to do it."Jer. xxii. 17.
We are to conceive, then, the young and active men
of the day constantly tempted to take these unhallowed
paths which seemed to promise wealth; the sinners
were always ready to whisper in the ears of those
whose life was tedious and unattractive,Prov. i. 14. Compare the proverb, xvi. 29, "A man of violence
enticeth his neighbour, and leadeth him in a way that is not good."
"Cast in
thy lot among us; we will all have one purse." The
moral sense of the community was not sufficiently
developed to heartily condemn this life of iniquity; as
in the eighteenth century among ourselves, so in Israel
when this book was written, there existed in the minds
of the people at large a lurking admiration for the bold
and dashing "gentlemen of the way."
The other special temptation of that day is described
in our book with remarkable realism, and there is no
false shame in exposing the paths of death into which it
leads. In v. 3-20 the subject is treated in the plainest
way: "Her latter end is bitter as wormwood, sharp
as a two-edged sword. Her feet go down to death;
her steps take hold on Sheol." It is taken up again
in vi. 24-35: "Can a man take fire in his bosom,
and his clothes not be burned? or can one walk
upon hot coals, and his feet not be scorched?" The
guilty man who has been betrayed by the glitter and
beauty, by the honeyed words and the soft entreaties,
"shall get wounds and dishonour, and his reproach
shall not be wiped away."
In chap. vii. 5-27 a most vivid picture is drawn
of the foolish youth seduced into evil; there he is
seen going as an ox to the slaughter, as one in fetters,
"till an arrow strike through his liver; as a bird
hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his
life." And the Introduction closes with a delineation
of Folly, which is obviously meant as a counterpart
to the delineation of Wisdom in chap. i. 20, etc.Prov. ix. 13-18.
The
miserable woman sits at the door of her house, on
a seat in the high places of the city; with seductive
words she wins the foolish passers-by to enter her
doors: "the dead are there; her guests are in the
depths of Sheol."
It is a temptation which in many varying forms has
always beset human life. No small part of the danger
is that this evil, above all others, grows in silence,
and yet seems to be aggravated by publicity. The
preacher cannot speak plainly about it, and even writers
shrink from touching the subject. We can, however, be
thankful that the book, which is God's book rather
than man's, knows nothing of our false modesty and conventional
delicacy: it speaks out not only boldly, but
minutely; it is so explicit that no man who with a
prayerful heart will meditate upon its teachings need
fall into the pitfall—that pitfall which seems to grow
even more subtle and more seductive as civilization advances,
and as the great cities absorb a larger proportion
of the population; or if he fall he can only admit with
shame and remorse, "I have hated instruction, and my
heart despised reproof. Neither have I obeyed the
voice of my teachers, nor inclined mine ear to them
that instructed me. I was well-nigh in all evil in
the midst of the congregation and assembly."Prov. v. 12-14.
In the second place, we must try to look at these
temptations in the light of our own day, in order that
we may listen to the voice of wisdom, not in the antiquarian,
but rather in the practical spirit. The second
temptation exists amongst us almost unchanged, except
that the vast accumulation and concentration of
vice in great cities has provided that mournful band of
women whom a great moralist has designated the
Vestal Virgins of Humanity, consecrated to shame and
ruin in order to preserve unsullied the sacred flame
of the domestic altar. The result of this terrible
development in evil is that the deadly sin has become
safer for the sinner, and in certain circles of society
has become recognized as at any rate a venial fault, if
not an innocent necessity. It is well to read these
chapters again with our eye on the modern evil, and
to let the voice of Wisdom instruct us that the life is
not the less blighted because the body remains unpunished,
and vice is not the less vicious because,
instead of ruining others for its gratification, it feeds
only on those who are already ruined. If the Wisdom
of the Old Testament is obscure on this point, the
Wisdom of the New Testament gives no uncertain
sound. Interpreting the doctrine of our book, as
Christians are bound to do, by the light of Christ, we
can be left in no doubt that to all forms of impurity
applies the one principle which is here applied to a
specific form: "He doeth it that would destroy his
own soul." "His own iniquities shall take the wicked,
and he shall be holden with the cords of his sin."Prov. vi. 32 and v. 22.
But with regard to the first of the two temptations,
it may be urged that in our settled and ordered society
it is no longer felt. We are not tempted to become
highwaymen, nor even to embark on the career of a
professional thief. We are disposed to skim lightly
over the warning, under the impression that it does
not in any way apply to us. But stop a moment!
Wisdom spoke in the first instance direct to the vice of
her day, but she gave to her precepts a more general
colouring, which makes it applicable to all time, when
she said, "So are the ways of every one that is greedy
of gain; it taketh away the life of the owners thereof."Prov. i. 19.
The specific form of greediness described in this first
chapter may have become obsolete among decent and
respectable people; but that greed of gain which
showed itself then in a particular form is alive to-day.
Dressed in a different garb, it presents temptations of a
slightly different order; but the spirit is the same, the
issue, the fatal issue, is the same. It is a melancholy
fact that in the most progressive and civilized communities
the greed of gain, instead of dying out,
becomes aggravated, acquires a dominant influence,
and sways men as the master passion. The United
States, a country so bountiful to her children that a
settled peace might be supposed to pervade the life of
men who can never be in fear of losing the necessaries,
or even the comforts, of life, are inflamed with a fierce
and fiery passion. Society is one perpetual turmoil;
life is lived at the highest conceivable pressure, because
each individual is seeking to gain more and ever more.
In our own country, though society is less fluid, and
ancient custom checks the action of disturbing forces,
the passion for gain becomes every year a more exacting
tyranny over the lives of the people. We are
engaged in a pitiless warfare, which we dignify by the
name of competition; the race is to the swift, and the
battle to the strong. It becomes almost a recognized
principle that man is at liberty to prey upon his fellow
man. The Eternal Law of Wisdom declares that we
should treat others as we treat ourselves, and count
the interests of others dear as our own; it teaches us
that we should show a tender consideration for the
weak, and be always ready, at whatever cost, to succour
the helpless. But competition says, "No; you must try
rather to beat the weak out of the field; you must
leave no device untried to reduce the strength of the
strong, and to divert into your own hands the grist
which was going to your neighbour's mill." This
conflict between man and man is untempered by pity,
because it is supposed to be unavoidable as death itself.
In a community so constituted, where business has
fallen into such ways, while the strong may hold their
own with a clean hand, the weaker are tempted to
make up by cunning what they lack in strength, and
the weakest are ground as the nether millstone. The
pitilessness of the whole system is appalling, the more
so because it is accepted as necessary.
The Bandit life has here emerged in a new form.
"Come, let us lay wait for blood," says the Sweater or
the Fogger, "let us lurk privily for the innocent without
cause; let us swallow them up alive as Sheol, and
whole as those that go down into the pit."A dog-chain sold in London at one shilling and threepence was
found to have cost, for materials twopence, for labour three-farthings.
(Evidence before Lord Dunraven's Commission on the Sweating
System).
The
Bandit is an outcast from society, and his hand is
turned against the rich. The Sweater is an outcast
from society, and his hand is turned against the poor.
By "laying wait" he is able to demand, from weak
men, women, and children, the long hours of the day
for unceasing toil, and the bitter hours of the night for
hunger and cold, until the gaunt creatures, worn with
weariness and despair, find a solace in debauchery
or an unhallowed rest in death.
Now, though the temptation to become a sweater
may not affect many or any of us, I should like to ask,
Are there not certain trades or occupations, into which
some of us are tempted to enter, perfectly honeycombed
with questionable practices? Under the pretext that
it is all "business," are not things done which can only
be described as preying upon the innocence or the
stupidity of our neighbours? Sometimes the promise
is, "We shall find all precious substance, we shall fill
our houses with spoil."See Prov. i. 13.
Sometimes the simple object
is to escape starvation. But there is the miserable
temptation to sacrifice probity and honour, to stifle
compassion and thought, in order to bring into our
own coffers the coveted wealth. And is there not, I
ask, a similar temptation lurking in a thousand haunts
more or less respectable—a temptation which may be
described as the spirit of gambling? The essence of
all gambling, whether it be called speculative business
or gaming, in stock and share markets or in betting
clubs and turf rings, is simply the attempt to trade on
the supposed ignorance or misfortune of others, and to
use superior knowledge or fortune for the purpose, not
of helping, but of robbing them. It may be said that
we do it in self-defence, and that others would do the
same by us; yes, just as the bandit says to the young
man, "We do not want to injure the traveller yonder;
we want his purse. He will try to shoot you; you only
shoot him in self-defence." It is the subtlety of all
gambling that constitutes its great danger. It seems to
turn on the principle that we may do what we like
with our own; it forgets that its object is to get hold
of what belongs to others, not by honest work or
service rendered, but simply by cunning and deception.
It is, then, only too easy to recognize, in many varied
shapes of so-called business and of so-called pleasure,
"the ways of those who are greedy of gain." Wisdom
has need to cry aloud in our streets, in the chief place
of concourse, in the city, in exchanges and marts.
Her warning to the young man must be explicit and
solemn: "My son, if sinners entice thee, consent thou
not." The bandit life still has its attractions, though its
methods are changed; it plays upon the idle imagination:
it promises freedom from laborious and distasteful
toil; but it says nothing of the ways of death into
which it leads.
Now, in the third place, we come to the protest of
Divine Wisdom against these evil ways in which men
are tempted to walk. They are, she says, folly of the
most egregious kind. There may be an apparent
success or a momentary gratification; "precious substance
may be amassed, and houses may be filled with
spoil;" but the people who are betrayed into these
wicked courses "shall be cut off from the land."Prov. ii. 22.
They
"lay wait for their own blood;" greed "taketh away
the life of the owner thereof;"Prov. i. 19.
and as for the strange
woman, that flattereth with her words, "none that go
unto her return again."Prov. ii. 19.
It needs but a clear vision or a little wise reflection
to see the destructive tendency of Evil. It is the commonest
fact of experience that where "vice goes before,
vengeance follows after." Why do men not perceive
it? There is a kind of fatuity which blinds the eyes.
The empty-headed bird sees the net spread out before
its eyes;Prov. i. 17.
many of its fellows have already been caught;
the warning seems obvious enough, but it is all "in
vain;" eager to get the bait—the dainty morsel lying
there, easily obtainable—the foolish creature approaches,
looks, argues that it is swifter and stronger
than its predecessors, who were but weaklings! it
will wheel down, take the food, and be gone long
before the flaps of the net can spring together. In
the same way the empty-headed youth, warned by
the experience of elders and the tender entreaties of
father and mother, assured that these ways of unjust
gain are ways of ruin, is yet rash enough to enter
the snare in order to secure the coveted morsel. And
what is the issue? Setting at nought all the counsel of
Wisdom, he would none of her reproof.Prov. i. 25.
A momentary
success led to wilder infatuation, and convinced him
that he was right, and Wisdom was wrong; but his
prosperity destroyed him. Soon in the shame of exposure
and the misery of remorse he discovers his
mistake. Or, worse still, no exposure comes; success
continues to his dying day, and he leaves his substance
to his heirs; "he eats of the fruits of his own way, and
is filled with his own devices,"Prov. i. 31, 32.
but none the less he
walks in the ways of darkness—in paths that are
crooked and perverse—and he is consumed with inward
misery. The soul within is hard, and dry, and
dead; it is insensible to all feelings except feelings
of torture. It is a life so dark and wretched, that
when a sudden light is thrown upon its hidden secrets
men are filled with astonishment and dismay, that such
things could exist underneath that quiet surface.
Finally, note these two characteristics of the Divine
Wisdom: (1) she is found in her fulness only by
diligent seekers; and (2) rejected, she turns into the
most scornful and implacable foe.
She is to be sought as silver or hidden treasure is
sought. The search must be inspired by that eagerness
of desire and passion of resolve with which
avarice seeks for money. No faculty must be left unemployed:
the ear is to be inclined to catch the first
low sounds of wisdom; the heart is to be applied to
understand what is heard; the very voice is to be lifted up
in earnest inquiry. It is a well-known fact that the
fear of the Lord and the knowledge of God are not
fruits which grow on every wayside bush, to be plucked
by every idle passer-by, to be dropped carelessly and
trodden underfoot. Without seriousness and devotion,
without protracted and unflagging toil, the things of
God are not to be attained. You must be up betimes;
you must be on your knees early; you must lay open
the book of Wisdom, pore over its pages, and diligently
turn its leaves, meditating on its sayings day and night.
The kingdom of God and His righteousness must be
sought, yes, and sought first, sought exclusively, as the
one important object of desire. That easy indifference,
that lazy optimism—"it will all come right in the end"—that
habit of delay in deciding, that inclination to
postpone the eternal realities to vanishing shadows,
will be your ruin. The time may come when you will
call, and there will be no answer, when you will seek
diligently, but shall not find. Then in the day of your
calamity, when your fear cometh, what a smile of scorn
will seem to be on Wisdom's placid brow, and around
her eloquent lips! what derision will seem to ring in
the well-remembered counsels which you rejected.Prov. i. 24-31.
O
tide in the affairs of men! O tide in the affairs of God!
We are called to stand by death-beds, to look into
anguished eyes which know that it is too late. The
bandit of commercial life passes into that penal servitude
which only death will end; what agony breaks out
and hisses in his remorse! The wretched victim of lust
passes from the house of his sin down the path which
inclines unto death; how terrible is that visage which
just retains smirched traces that purity once was there!
The voice rings down the doleful road, "If I had only
been wise, if I had given ear, wisdom might have
entered even into my heart, knowledge might have
been pleasant even to my soul!"
And wisdom still cries to us, "Turn you at my
reproof: behold, I will pour out my spirit unto you,
I will make known my words unto you."
III.
THE EARTHLY REWARDS OF WISDOM.
Prov. iii. 1-10.
The general teaching of these nine introductory
chapters is that the "ways of Wisdom are
pleasantness, and all her paths are peace." We are
taught to look for the fruit of righteousness in long life
and prosperity, for the penalty of sin in premature
destruction. "The upright shall dwell in the land, and
the perfect shall remain in it. But the wicked shall be
cut off from the land, and they that deal treacherously
shall be rooted out of it."Prov. ii. 21, 22.
The foolish "shall eat of
the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their own
devices. For the backsliding of the simple shall slay
them, and the prosperity of fools shall destroy them.
But whoso hearkeneth unto Wisdom shall dwell securely,
and shall be quiet without fear of evil."Prov. i. 31-33.
"By
Wisdom thy days shall be multiplied, and the years of
thy life shall be increased. If thou art wise, thou art
wise for thyself; and if thou scornest, thou alone shall
bear it." The ways of Folly have this legend written
over the entrance-gate: "The dead are there; her
guests are in the depths of Sheol."Prov. ix. 12, 18.
This teaching is summarized in the passage before
us. "My son, forget not my law; but let thine heart
keep my commandments: for length of days, and years
of life, and peace, shall they add to thee. Let not
mercy and truth," those primary requirements of wisdom,
"forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them
upon the table of thy heart;" i.e. let them be an ornament
which strikes the eye of the beholder, but also an
inward law which regulates the secret thought. "So
shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the
sight of God and man;" that is to say, the charm of thy
character will conciliate the love of thy fellow creatures
and of thy God, while they recognize, and He approves,
the spiritual state from which these graces grow.
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not
upon thine own understanding:Cf. xxviii. 26, "He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool: but
whoso walketh wisely, he shall be delivered."
in all thy ways acknowledge
Him, and He shall direct thy paths. Be not
wise in thine own eyes; fear the Lord, and depart from
evil: it shall be health to thy navel, and marrow to thy
bones. Honour the Lord with thy substance, and with
the first-fruits of all thy increase: so shall thy barns be
filled with plenty, and thy vats shall overflow with new
wine."Prov. iii. 1-10.
The rewards of wisdom, then, are health and long life,
the good-will of God and man, prosperity, and abundant
earthly possessions. As our Lord would put it,
they who leave house, or wife, or brethren, or parents,
or children, for the kingdom of God's sake, shall receive
manifold more in this time, even of the things which
they surrender, in addition to the everlasting life in the
time to come.Luke xviii. 29, 30.
This is a side of truth which we frequently allow to
drop out of sight, in order to emphasize another side
which is considered more important. We are accustomed
to dwell on the promised joys of the future world
as if godliness had no promise of the life which now is,
and in so doing we take all life and colour from those
expected blessings. The true view seems to be, The
way of wisdom, the path of the upright, is so full of
joy, so crowned with peace; the life of the children of
the kingdom is so wisely and bountifully provided for;
the inevitable pains and troubles which fall to their
share are so transformed; that from this present good
we can infer a future better, gathering hints and promises
of what we shall be from the realized felicity of
what we are.
If we try to estimate the temporal blessings of
wisdom we do not thereby deny the larger and more
lasting blessings which are to come; while if we ignore
these present joyful results we deprive ourselves of the
surest evidence for the things which, though hoped for,
are not yet seen.
We may, then, with much advantage try to estimate
some of the immediate and apprehensible benefits of
the life which is lived according to the dictates of
heavenly wisdom.
(1) First of all, the right life is a wholesome life—yes,
physically healthy. Obedience to the eternal
moral laws brings "health to the navel," and that
peculiar brightness which is like the freshness of dew.The Hebrew word שִׁקּוּי in iii. 8b is the same as that which is
translated "my drink" in Hosea ii. 6. The LXX. render it "marrow,"
but it means the moisture which in a natural and healthy state keeps the bones supple, as opposed to the dryness which is produced by
senility or disease.
The body is a sacred trust, a temple of the Holy
Ghost; to use it ill is to violate the trust and to defile
the temple. The temperance of habit and orderliness
of life which Wisdom requires of her children are the
first conditions of vitality. They who seek health as
the first consideration become valetudinarians and find
neither health nor happiness; but they who diligently
follow the law of God and the impulse of His Spirit
find that health has come to them, as it were, by a side
wind. The peace of mind, the cheerfulness of temper,
the transfer of all anxiety from the human spirit to the
strong Spirit of God, are very favourable to longevity.
Insurance societies have made this discovery, and
actuaries will tell you that in a very literal way the
children of God possess the earth, while the wicked are
cut off.
Yet no one thinks of measuring life only by days
and years. To live long with the constant feeling that
life is not worth living, or to live long with the constant
apprehension of death, must be counted as a
small and empty life. Now, it is the chief blessedness
in the lot of the children of light that each day is a full,
rich day, unmarred by recollections, unshadowed by
apprehensions. Each day is distinctly worth living; it
has its own exquisite lessons of cloud or sunshine, its
own beautiful revelations of love, and pity, and hope.
Time does not hang heavily on the hands, nor yet is its
hurried flight a cause of vain regret; for it has accomplished
that for which it was sent, and by staying longer
could not accomplish more. And if, after all, God has
appointed but a few years for His child's earthly life, that
is not to be regretted; the only ground for sorrow would
be to live longer than His wise love had decreed. "If
God thy death desires," as St. Genest says to Adrien in
Rotrou's tragedy, "life has been long enow."Si ton Dieu veut ta mort, c'est déjà trop vécu.
The life in God is undoubtedly a healthy life, nor is
it the less healthy because the outward man has to
decay, and mortality has to be swallowed up of life.
From the standpoint of the Proverbs this wider application
of the truth was not as yet visible. The problem
which emerges in the book of Job was not yet solved.
But already, as I think we shall see, it was understood
that the actual and tangible rewards of righteousness
were of incomparable price, and made the prosperity of
the wicked look poor and delusive.
(2) But there is a second result of the right life
which ordinary observation and common sense may
estimate. Wisdom is very uncompromising in her
requirement of fair dealing between man and man.
She cannot away with those commercial practices which
can only be described as devising "evil against thy
neighbour," who "dwelleth securely by thee."Prov. iii. 29.
Her
main economic principle is this, that all legitimate trade
is the mutual advantage of buyer and seller; where the
seller is seeking to dupe the buyer, and the buyer is
seeking to rob the seller, trade ceases, and the transaction
is the mere inworking of the devil. Wisdom is
quite aware that by these ways of the devil wealth may
be accumulated; she is not blind to the fact that the
overreaching spirit of greed has its rich and splendid
reward; but she maintains none the less that "the
curse of the Lord is in the house of the wicked; but
He blesseth the habitation of the righteous."Prov. iii. 33.
It is a very impressive experience to enter the house
of a great magnate whose wealth has been obtained by
questionable means. The rooms are beautiful; works
by the great masters shed their radiance of eternal
truth from the walls; the library gleams with the well-bound
books of moralists and religious teachers. The
sons and daughters of the house are fair and elegant;
the smile of prosperity is in every curtained and carpeted
room, and seems to beam out of every illuminated
window; and yet the sensitive spirit cannot be
rid of the idea that "the curse of the Lord is in the
house."
On the other hand, the honourable man whose paths
have been directed by the Lord, no matter whether he
be wealthy or merely in receipt, as the result of a life's
labour, of his "daily bread," has a blessing in his
house. Men trust him and honour him.Cf. xii. 8, "A man shall be commended according to his wisdom:
but he that is of a perverse heart, shall be despised."
His wealth
flows as a fertilizing stream, or if it run dry, his friends,
who love him for himself, make him feel that it was a
good thing to lose it in order to find them. In proportion
as the fierce struggle of competition has made the
path of fair dealing more difficult, they who walk in it
are the more honoured and loved. Nowhere does
Wisdom smile more graciously or open her hand to
bless more abundantly, than in the later years of a
life which has in its earlier days been exposed, and
has offered a successful resistance, to the strong temptations
of unrighteous gain.
(3) Further, Wisdom commands not only justice, but
generosity. She requires her children to yield the
first-fruits of all their possessions to the Lord, and to
look tenderly upon His poor. "Withhold not good
from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power
of thine hand to do it. Say not unto thy neighbour,
Go, and come again, and to-morrow I will give; when
thou hast it by thee."Prov. iii. 27, 28.
And the teaching of experience
is that those who act upon this precept purchase to
themselves a good possession. The main value of the
Mammon of unrighteousness is, as our Lord says, to
make to ourselves friends with it, friends who shall
receive us into the everlasting habitations. The money
we spend upon our own pleasures, and to promote our
own interests, is spent and gone; but the money given
with an open hand to those poor children of God, to
whom it is strictly due, is not spent at all, but laid up
in the most secure of banks. There is no source of joy
in this present world to be compared with the loving
gratitude of the poor whom you have lovingly helped.
Strangely enough, men will spend much to obtain a
title which carries no honour with it, forgetting that the
same money given to the needy and the suffering
purchases the true honour, which gives the noblest title.
For we are none of us so stupid as to think that the
empty admiration of the crowd is so rich in blessing as
the heartfelt love of the few.
But in enumerating these external results of right
living we have only touched incidentally upon the
deeper truths which lie at the root of it. It is time to
look at these.
God is necessarily so much to men, men are necessarily
so completely bereft without Him, that clear
vision and strong action are utterly impossible apart
from a humble dependence upon Him. The beginning
of all wisdom is, as we have seen, in the recognition
of God, in personal submission to Him, in diligent
obedience to all His directions. This appears, before
we reflect, to be a mere truism; when we have reflected,
it proves to be a great revelation. We do not at first
see what is meant by trusting in the Lord with all
our heart; we confuse it with that tepid, conventional
relation to God which too frequently passes current for
faith. We do not readily apprehend what is implied
in acknowledging God in all our ways; we suppose
that it only means a general professing and calling
ourselves Christians. Consequently, many of us who
believe that we trust in the Lord, yet lean habitually
and confidently upon our own understanding, and are
even proud of doing so; we are wise in our own eyes
long after our folly has become apparent to every one
else; we resent with a vehemence of righteous indignation
any imputation upon the soundness of our judgment.
The very tone of mock humility in which we say, "I
may be wrong, but——" shows that we are putting a
case which seems to us practically impossible. Consequently,
while we think that we are acknowledging
God in all our ways, He does not direct our paths;
indeed, we never gave Him an opportunity. From first
to last we directed them ourselves. Let us frankly
acknowledge that we do not really believe in God's
detailed concern with the affairs of the individual life;
that we do not, therefore, commit our way with an
absolute surrender into His hand; that we do not think
of submitting to His disposal the choice of our profession,
the choice of our partner in life, the choice of our
place of residence, the choice of our style of living, the
choice of our field of public service, the choice of our
scale of giving. Let us confess that we settled all these
things in implicit and unquestioning reliance upon our
own understanding.
I speak only in wide and fully admitted generalities.
If Christians as a whole had really submitted their lives
in every detail to God, do you suppose that there would
be something like fifty thousand Christian ministers and
ten times that number of Christian workers at home,
while scarcely a twentieth of that number have gone
out from us to labour abroad? If Christians had really
submitted their lives to God, would there have been
these innumerable wretched marriages—man and wife
joined together by no spiritual tie, but by the caprice
of fancy or the exigencies of social caste? If Christians
had really asked God to guide them, meaning what they
said, would all the rich be found in districts together,
while all the poor are left to perish in other districts
apart? If Christians had really accepted God's direction,
would they be living in princely luxury while the
heathen world is crying for the bread of life? would
they be spending their strength on personal aims while
the guidance of social and political affairs is left in the
hands of the self-interested? would they be giving such
a fragment of their wealth to the direct service of the
Kingdom of God?
We may answer very confidently that the life actually
being lived by the majority of Christian people is not
the result of God directing their paths, but simply comes
from leaning on their own understanding. And what
a sorrowful result!
But in face of this apostasy of life and practice, we
can still joyfully point to the fact that they who do
entirely renounce their own judgment, who are small
in their own eyes, and who, with their whole heart
trusting Him, acknowledge Him in all their ways, find
their lives running over with blessing, and become the
means of incalculable good to the world and to themselves.
It would not be easy to make plain or even
credible, to those who have never trusted in God, how
this guidance and direction are given. Not by miraculous
signs or visible interpositions, not by voices
speaking from heaven, nor even by messages from
human lips, but by ways no less distinct and infinitely
more authoritative, God guides men with His eye upon
them, tells them, "This is the way; walk ye in it," and
whispers to them quite intelligibly when they turn to
the right hand or the left. With a noble universality of
language, this text says nothing of Urim or Thummim,
of oracle or seer, of prophet or book: "He shall direct
thy paths."Prov. iii. 6.
That is enough; the method is left open
to the wisdom and love of Him who directs. There is
something even misleading in saying much about the
methods; to set limits to God's revelations, as Gideon
did, is unworthy of the faith which has become aware
of God as the actual and living Reality, compared with
whom all other realities are but shadows. Our Lord
did not follow the guidance of His Father by a mechanical
method of signs, but by a more intimate and immediate
perception of His will. When Jesus promised
us the Spirit as an indwelling and abiding presence
He clearly intimated that the Christian life should be
maintained by the direct action of God upon the several
faculties of the mind, stimulating the memory, quickening
the perception of truth, as well as working on the
conscience and opening the channels of prayer. When
we wait for signs we show a defect of faith. True trust
in our Heavenly Father rests in the absolute assurance
that He will make the path plain, and leave us in no
uncertainty about His will. To doubt that He speaks
inwardly and controls us, even when we are unconscious
of His control, is to doubt Him altogether.
When a few years have been passed in humble dependence
on God, it is then possible to look back and
see with astonishing clearness how real and decisive
the leadings of the Spirit have been. There were
moments when two alternatives were present, and we
were tempted to decide on the strength of our own
understanding; but thanks be to His name, we committed
it to Him. We stepped forward then in the
darkness; we deserted the way which seemed most
attractive, and entered the narrow path which was
shrouded in mist. We knew He was leading us, but
we could not see. Now we see, and we cannot speak
our praise. Our life, we find, is all a plan of God, and
He conceals it from us, as if on purpose to evoke our
trust, and to secure that close and personal communion
which the uncertainty renders necessary.
Are you suspicious of the Inward Light, as it is
called? Does it seem to open up endless possibilities
of self-delusion? Are you disgusted with those who
follow their own wilful way, and seek a sanction for
it by calling it the leading of God? You will find that
the error has arisen from not trusting the Lord "with
the whole heart," or from not acknowledging Him "in
all ways." The eye has not been single, and the
darkness therefore has been, as our Lord declares that
it would be, dense.Matt. vi. 22.
The remedy is not to be found
in leaning more on our own understanding, but rather
in leaning less. Wisdom calls for a certain absoluteness
in all our relations to God, a fearless, unreserved,
and constantly renewed submission of heart to Him.
Wisdom teaches that in His will is our peace, and that
His will is learnt by practical surrender to His ways
and commandments.
Now, is it not obvious that while the external
results of wisdom are great and marked, this inward
result, which is the spring of them all, is more blessed
than any? The laws which govern the universe are
the laws of God. The Stoic philosophy demanded a life
according to Nature. That is not enough, for by Nature
is meant God's will for the inanimate or non-moral
creation. Where there is freedom of the will, existence
must not be "according to Nature," but according to
God; that is to say, life must be lived in obedience to
God's laws for human life. The inorganic world moves
in ordered response to God's will. We, as men, have
to choose; we have to discover; we have to interpret.
Woe to us if we choose amiss, for then we are undone.
Woe to us if we do not understand, but in a brutish
way follow the ordinances of death instead of the way
of life!
Now, the supreme bliss of the heavenly wisdom is
that it leads us into this detailed obedience to the law
which is our life; it sets us under the immediate and
unbroken control of God. Well may it be said, "Happy
is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth
understanding. For the merchandise of it is better than
the merchandise of silver, and the gain thereof than fine
gold. She is more precious than rubies."Prov. iii. 13-15.
And yet
rubies are very precious. I learn that the valley in Burmah
where the most perfect rubies in the world are found
is situated four thousand five hundred feet above the
sea level, in a range of mountainous spurs about eighty
miles due north of Mandalay; but owing to the difficult
nature of the intervening ground, the valley can only
be reached by a circuitous journey of some two hundred
miles, which winds through malarious jungles and over
arduous mountain passes. An eminent jewellers' firm is
about to explore the Valley of Rubies, though it is quite
uncertain whether the stones may not be exhausted.
Wisdom is "more precious than rubies, and none of the
things thou canst desire are to be compared unto her."
To know the secret of the Lord, to walk in this
world not guideless, but led by the Lord of life, to
approach death itself not fearful, but in the hands of
that Infinite Love for whom death does not exist,
surely this is worth more than the gold and precious
stones which belong only to the earth and are earthy.
This wisdom is laden with riches which cannot be computed
in earthly treasures; "she is a tree of life to
them that lay hold upon her: and happy is every one
that retaineth her."Prov. iii. 18.
The creation itself, in its vast
and infinite perfections, with all its æonian changes,
and all the mysterious ministries which order its details
and maintain its activities, comes from that same
wisdom which controls the right human life. The
man, therefore, who is led in the ways of wisdom,
trusting wholly to God, is in harmony with that great
universe of which he forms an intelligent part: he may
lie down without being afraid; he may walk securely
without stumbling; no sudden fear can assail him; all
the creatures of God are his sisters and his brothers;
even Sister Death, as St. Francis used to say, is a
familiar and a friend to him.
We have been dwelling upon the outward results of
Heavenly Wisdom—the health, the prosperity, the
friends, the favour with God and man which come to
those who possess her. We have been led to seek out
the secret of her peace in the humble surrender of the
will to its rightful Lord. But there is a caution needed,
a truth which has already occurred to the author of
this chapter. It is evident that while Wisdom brings
in her hand riches and honour,Prov. iii. 16.
health to the navel,
and marrow to the bones,Prov. iii. 8.
it will not be enough to
judge only by appearances. As we have pondered
upon the law of Wisdom, we have become aware that
there may be an apparent health and prosperity, a
bevy of friends, and a loud-sounding fame which are
the gift not of Wisdom, but of some other power. It
will not do, therefore, to set these outward things
before our eyes as the object of desire; it will not do
to envy the possessors of them.Prov. iii. 31.
"The secret of the
Lord is with the upright," and it may often be that
they to whom His secret has become open will choose
the frowns of adversity rather than the smile of prosperity,
will choose poverty rather than wealth, will
welcome solitude and contumely down in the Valley of
Humiliation. For it is an open secret, in the sweet
light of wisdom it becomes a self-evident truth, that
"whom the Lord loveth He reproveth; even as a father
the son in whom he delighteth."Prov. iii. 12.
There is, then, a certain paradox in the life of wisdom
which no ingenuity can avoid. Her ways are ways of
pleasantness, but we may not seek them because they
are pleasant, for other ways are pleasant too, or seem
to be so for a while. All her paths are peace, but we
do not enter them to gain peace, for the peace comes
often under the stress of a great conflict or in the
endurance of a heavy chastening. A thousand temporal
blessings accompany the entrance into the narrow way,
but so far from seeking them, it is well-nigh impossible
to start on the way unless we lose sight and care of
them altogether. The Divine Wisdom gives us these
blessings when we no longer set our hearts on them,
because while we set our hearts on them they are
dangerous to us. Putting the truth in the clearest
light which has been given to us, the light of our Lord
Jesus Christ, we are called upon to give up everything
in order to seek first the Kingdom of Heaven, and
when we are absorbed in that as our true object of
search everything is given back to us a hundredfold;
we are called upon to take up our cross and follow
Him, and when we do so He bears the cross for us; we
are called upon to take His yoke upon us and to learn
of Him, and immediately we take it—not before—we
find that it is easy. The wise, loving only wisdom,
find that they have inherited glory; the fools, seeking
only promotion, find that they have achieved nothing
but shame.Prov. iii. 35.
IV.
EDUCATION: THE CHILD'S THOUGHT OF THE PARENT.This subject, which occupies so large a part of the book, is further
treated in Lect. XXIII.
"Wisdom doth live with children round her knees."
Wordsworth.
"He taught me, and said unto me," etc.—Prov. iv. 4.
This chapter begins with a charming little piece of
autobiography. Unhappily the writer is unknown.
That it was not Solomon is plain from the fact that an
only son is speaking, and we know from 1 Chron. iii. 5
that Solomon was not an only son of his mother.It is noteworthy that the LXX. in ver. 2 seek to maintain the
Solomonic authorship by deliberately altering the words.
But
the naïveté and beauty of the confession are the same,
whoever was the speaker. The grateful memories of
a father's teaching and of a mother's tenderness give
point and force to the exhortations. "Do I urge upon
you, young people, the claims of Wisdom?" the author
seems to say. "Well I speak from experience. My
parents taught me her wholesome and pleasant ways.
Though I was an only son, they did not by a selfish
indulgence allow me to be spoiled. They made me
bear the yoke in my youth, and now I live to thank
them for it."
There is a great temptation to spoil an only child, a
temptation which few are able to resist. Parents can
deny themselves everything for their idol, except the
pleasure of making the child a despot; they can endure
any pain for their despot, except the pain of resisting
him and instructing him. And accordingly they have
sometimes to experience the shame and anguish of their
children's curses, like that Carthaginian mother, of
whom it is related that her son, a convicted criminal,
passing to execution, requested that he might whisper
something to her, and, coming near, bit off her ear, saying
that it was his revenge because she had brought him up
so badly. Very different are the feelings of our author;
he owes much to his parents, and is eager to acknowledge
what he owes. God has no kinder gift to give
us than a hallowed home, the memory of lessons from
the lips of father and mother, the early impressions of
virtue and wisdom, the sacred streams which rise from
that fountainhead, and that alone, and run freshening
and singing and broadening all through our lives.Cf. the beautiful family picture of the linked and mutually blessed
generations in the proverb, "Children's children are the crown of old
men; and the glory of children are their fathers" (xvii. 6).
With this happy example of good home influence
before our eyes, we will come to consider briefly two
points which are suggested by it: first, the importance
of these early impressions; second, the main features of
the discipline presented in the chapter.
I. Not without reason has a great cardinal of the
Roman Church said that if he may have the children up
to the age of five, he will not mind in whose hand they
may be afterwards; for it is almost impossible to exaggerate
the permanent effects of those first tendencies
impressed on the soul before the intellect is developed,
and while the soft, plastic nature of the child is not yet
determined in any particular direction. Things which
we learn we can more or less unlearn, but things which
are blended with the elements of our composition, made
parts of us before we are conscious of our own personality,
defy the hand of time and the power of conscious
effort to eradicate them.
John Paton, that noble missionary to the New
Hebrides, has given us a vivid picture of his early
home. It was a plain lowland cottage, with its "but
and ben," and between the two a small chamber with
a diminutive window shedding diminutive light on the
scene. To this room the children saw the father retire
oftentimes a day, and shut to the door; they would
occasionally hear the pathetic pleadings of the voice that
prayed, and they learnt to slip past the door on tiptoe.
They got to understand whence came that happy light
upon their father's face; they recognized it as a reflection
from the Divine presence, in the consciousness of
which he lived.
Let a child draw his first breath in a house which
possesses a sanctuary like that; let him come to know by
his quick childish perceptions that there is in his home a
ladder set up from earth to heaven, and that the angels
of God go up and down on it; let him feel the Divine
atmosphere in his face, the air all suffused with heavenly
light, the sweetness and the calm which prevail in a
place where a constant communion is maintained,—and
in after years he will be aware of voices which call and
hands which reach out to him from his childhood, connecting
him with heaven, and even the most convincing
negations of unbelief will be powerless to shake the
faith which is deep as the springs of his life.
We learn to love, not because we are taught to
love, but by some contagious influence of example
or by some indescribable attraction of beauty. Our
first love to Wisdom, or, to use our modern phrase,
Religion, is won from us by living with those that love
her. She stole in upon us and captured us without
any overpowering arguments; she was beautiful and
we felt that those whom we loved were constantly taken
and held by her beauty. Just reflect upon this subtle
and wonderful truth. If my infancy is spent among
those whose main thought is "to get" riches, I acquire
imperceptibly the love of money. I cannot rationally
explain my love; but it seems to me in after life a
truism, that money is the principal thing; I look with
blank incredulity upon one who questions this ingrained
truth. But if in infancy I live with those whose love is
wholly centred upon Religion, who cherish her with
unaffected ardour and respond to her claims with kindling
emotion, I may in after life be seduced from her
holy ways for awhile, but I am always haunted by the
feeling that I have left my first love, I am restless
and uneasy until I can win back that "old bride-look
of earlier days."
Yes, that old bride-look—for religion may be so
presented to the child's heart as to appear for ever the
bride elect of the soul, from whose queenly love promotion
may be expected, whose sweet embraces bring
a dower of honour, whose beautiful fingers twine a
chaplet of grace for the head and set a crown of glory
on the brow.Prov. iv. 8, 9.
The affections are elicited, and often permanently
fixed, before the understanding has come into play. If
the child's heart is surrendered to God, and moulded by
heavenly wisdom, the man will walk securely; a certain
trend will be given to all his thoughts; a certain instinctive
desire for righteousness will be engrafted in his
nature; and an instinctive aversion will lead him to
decline the way of the wicked.Prov. iv. 14.
The first thing, then, is to give our children an
atmosphere to grow up in; to cultivate their affections,
and set their hearts on the things eternal; to make them
associate the ideas of wealth and honour, of beauty and
glory, not with material possessions, but with the
treasures and rewards of Wisdom.
II. But now comes the question, What is to be the
definite teaching of the child? for it is an unfailing
mark of the parents who themselves are holy that they
are impelled to give clear and memorable instruction to
their children. And this is where the great and constant
difficulty emerges. If the hallowed example
would suffice we might count the task comparatively
easy. But some day the understanding will begin to
assert itself; the desire to question, to criticise, to prove,
will awake. And then, unless the truths of the heart
have been applied to the conscience in such a way as to
satisfy the reason, there may come the desolate time
in which, while the habits of practical life remain pure,
and the unconscious influence of early training continues
to be effective, the mind is shaken by doubt,
and the hope of the soul is shrouded in a murky
cloud.
Now the answer to this question may for the Christian
be briefly given, Bring your children to Christ,
teach them to recognize in Him their Saviour, and to
accept Him as their present Lord and gracious Friend.
But this all-inclusive answer will not suffer by a little
expansion on the lines which are laid down in the
chapter before us. When Christ is made unto us
Wisdom, the contents of Wisdom are not altered, they
are only brought within our reach and made effectual
in us. Bringing our children to Christ will not merely
consist in teaching them the doctrine of salvation, but
it will include showing them in detail what salvation is,
and the method of its realization.
The first object in the home life is to enable
children to realize what salvation is. It is easy to
dilate on an external heaven and hell, but it is not so
easy to demonstrate that salvation is an inward state,
resulting from a spiritual change.
It is very strange that Judaism should ever have
sunk into a formal religion of outward observance,
when its own Wisdom was so explicit on this point:
"My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto
my sayings. Let them not depart from thine eyes;
keep them in the midst of thine heart. For they are
life unto those that find them, and health to all their
flesh. Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it
are the issues of life."Prov. iv. 20-23.
The Greek version, which was
very generally used in our Lord's time, had a beautiful
variation of this last clause: "In order that thy
fountains may not fail thee, guard them in the heart."
It was after all but a new emphasis on the old teaching
of the book of Proverbs when Jesus taught the necessity
of heart purity, and when He showed that out of the
heart come forth evil thoughts, and all the things which
defile a man.Matt. xv. 19.
Yet this lesson of inwardness has
always been the most difficult of all to learn. Christianity
itself has always been declining from it and
falling into the easier but futile ways of externalism;
and even Christian homes have usually failed in their
influence on the young chiefly because their religious
observances have fallen into formalism, and while the
outward conduct has been regulated, the inner springs
of action have not been touched.
All conduct is the outcome of hidden fountains. All
words are the expression of thoughts. The first thing
and the main thing is that the hidden fountains of
thought and feeling be pure. The source of all our
trouble is the bitterness of heart, the envious feeling, the
sudden outbreak of corrupt desire. A merely outward
salvation would be of no avail; a change of place, a
magic formula, a conventional pardon, could not touch
the root of the mischief. "I wish you would change
my heart," said the chief Sekomi to Livingstone, "Give
me medicine to change it, for it is proud, proud and
angry, angry always." He would not hear of the New
Testament way of changing the heart; he wanted an
outward, mechanical way—and that way was not to
be found. The child at first thinks in the same way.
Heaven is a place to go to, not a state to be in. Hell
is an outward punishment to fly from, not an inward
condition of the soul. The child has to learn that
searching truth which Milton tried to teach, when he
described Satan in Paradise,—
"... within him hell
He brings, and round about him, nor from hell
One step, no more than from himself, can fly
By change of place.
"'Which way I fly is hell,'
cries the miserable being,
'myself am hell;
And in the lowest deep, a lower deep,
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.'"Paradise Lost, iv. 20, etc., and 75. Cf. also ix. 120:—
"And the more I see
Pleasures about me, so much more I feel
Torment within me, as from hateful siege
Of contraries. All good to me becomes
Bane, and in heaven much worse would be my state."
We are tempted in dealing with children to train them
only in outward habits, and to forget the inward sources
which are always gathering and forming; hence we
often teach them to avoid the lie on the tongue, to put
away from them the froward mouth and perverse lips,Prov. iv. 24.
and yet leave them with the lies in the soul, the deep
inward unveracities which are their ruin. We often
succeed in bringing them up as respectable and decorous
members of society, and yet leave them a prey to
secret sins; they are tormented by covetousness which
is idolatry, by impurity, and by all kinds of envious
and malignant passions.
There is something even ghastly in the very virtues
which are sometimes displayed in a highly civilised
society like ours. We perceive what appear to be
virtues, but we are haunted by an uncomfortable
misgiving that they are virtues only in appearance; they
seem to have no connection with the heart; they never
seem to bubble up from irrepressible fountains; they
do not overflow. There is charity, but it is the charity
only of the subscription list; there is pity, but it is the
pity only of conventional humanitarianism; there is
the cold correctness of conduct, or the formal accuracy
of speech, but the purity seems to be prudery because
it is only a concession to the conventional sentiments
of the hour, and the truthfulness seems to be a lie
because its very exactness seems to come, not from
springs of truth, but only from an artificial habit.
We are frequently bound to notice a religion of a
similar kind. It is purely mimetic. It is explained on
the same principle as the assimilation of the colours of
animals to the colours of their environment. It is the
unconscious and hypocritical instinct of self-preservation
in a presumably religious society, where not to seem
religious would involve a loss of caste. It may be
regarded then as the first essential lesson which is to
be impressed on the mind of a child,—the lesson coming
next after the unconscious influences of example, and
before all dogmatic religious teaching,—that righteousness
is the condition of salvation, righteousness of the
heart; that the outward seeming goes for nothing at
all, but that God with a clear and quiet eye gazes down
into the hidden depths, and considers whether the
fountains there are pure and perennial.
The second thing to be explained and enforced is
singleness of heart, directness and consistency of aim;
by which alone the inward life can be shaped to
virtuous ends: "Let thine eyes look right on, and let
thine eyelids look straight before thee. Make level the
path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established.
Turn not to the right hand nor to the left."Prov. iv. 25-27.
As our
Lord puts it, If thine eye be single, thy whole body
shall be full of light. This precept has frequently been
given in the interests of worldly wisdom. The boy is
told that if he means to get on he must concentrate
his thoughts and refuse to let any of the seductions
around him divert his attention. Singleness of eye
may be the most ruinous of evils—if a man has only a
single eye to his own advantage, and pursues nothing
but his own pleasure. The precept is given here
however in the interests of heavenly wisdom, and
there is much to be said for the view that only the
truly religious mind can be quite single-eyed. Selfishness,
though it seems to be an undivided aim, is really
a manifold of tumultuous and conflicting passions. He
only, strictly speaking, has one desire, whose one
desire is God. The way of wisdom is after all the only
way which has no bifurcations. The man who has a
single eye to his own interest may find before long
that he has missed the way: he pushes eagerly on,
but he flounders ever deeper in the mire; for though
he did not turn to the right hand nor to the left, he
never all the time removed his foot from evil.Prov. iv. 27.
The right life then is a steady progress undiverted
by the alluring sights and sounds which appeal to
the senses.Cf. xvii. 24, "Wisdom is before the face of him that hath understanding;
but the eyes of a fool are in the ends of the earth."
"Look not round about thee," says
Ecclesiasticus,Eccles. ix. 7.
"in the streets of the city, neither
wander thou in the solitary places thereof." We are
to learn that the way goes through Vanity Fair, but
admits of no divergences into its tempting booths or
down its alluring alleys; the lust of the eye, the lust
of the flesh, the vainglory of life, are not to distract
the mind which has but one purpose in view. The
path is to be kept level;Prov. iv. 26.
as we should say, an even
tenor is to be preserved; we are to follow the plain
unexciting path of duty, the beaten track of sober
rightness. For while it is the mark of all unhallowed
ways that they plunge up and down from despondency
to wild elation, from giddy raptures to heartstricken
depression, it is the sure sign of God's hand in our
life when the paths are made level.Prov. v. 21.
Ah those tempting
ways, on which shine the false lights of imagined
duty, of refined selfishness, or of gilded sensuality.
Surely it is the result of Wisdom, the gift of God's
grace, to keep the eyes "looking right on."
But it is time to sum up. Here is a great contrast
between those whose early training has been vicious
or neglected, and those who have been "taught in the
way of wisdom, led in paths of uprightness." It is a
contrast which should constantly be present to the
eyes of parents with a warning and an encouragement.
The unfortunate child whose infancy was passed in the
midst of baleful example, whose heart received no instruction
from parents' lips, grows up like one stumbling
in the dark, and the darkness deepens as he advances;
observers cannot tell—he himself cannot tell—what it
is at which he stumbles.Prov. iv. 19.
There is the old ingrained
vice which comes out again and again after every
attempted reformation; there is the old shuffling
habit; there is the old unhallowed set of the thoughts
and the tastes; there is the old incurable pharisaism,
with its tendency to shift all blame on to other people's
shoulders. It is all like the damp in the walls of an
ill-built house. In dry weather there are only the
stains, but those stains are the prophecy of what will
be again when the wet weather returns. The corrupt
ways have become a second nature; they are as sleep
and food to the wretched creature; to abstain from
iniquity creates the restlessness of insomnia; if he has
not been spreading an influence of evil and leading
others astray, he feels as if he had been deprived
of his daily food, and he is consumed with a fiery
thirst.Prov. iv. 16, 17.
Even when such an one is genuinely born
again, the old hideous habits will appear like seams
in the character; and temptations will send the flush
along the tell-tale scars.
On the other hand, the life which starts from the
sweet examples of a hallowed home, and all its timely
chastisements and discipline, presents a most entrancing
history. At first there is much which is
difficult to bear, much against which the flesh revolts.
The influences of purity are cold like the early dawn,
and the young child's spirit shrinks and shivers;
but with every step along the levelled road the light
broadens and the air becomes warmer,—the dawn shines
more and more unto the perfect day.Prov. iv. 18, margin.
As the character
forms, as the habits become fixed, as the power of
resistance increases, a settled strength and a lasting
peace gladden the life. The rays of heavenly wisdom
not only shine on the face, but suffuse the very texture
of the being, so that the whole body is full of light.
Eventually it begins to appear that truth and purity,
pity and charity, have become instinctive. Like a well-disciplined
army, they spring at once into the ranks,
and are ready for service even on a surprise. The
graces of holy living come welling up from those untainted
inner springs, and, be the surroundings ever so
dry, the fountains fail not. The habit of single-eyed
devotion to right avails even where there is no time
for reflection; more and more the seductions of the
senses lose their point of attack in this disciplined
spirit. There is a freedom in the gait, for holiness has
ceased to be a toilsome calculation,—the steps of the
spiritual man are not straitened. There is a swiftness
in all action,—the feet are shod with a joyous and
confident preparation, for the fear of stumbling is gone.Prov. iv. 12.
With daily growing gratitude and veneration does
such an one look back upon the early home of piety
and tenderness.
V.
THE WAYS AND ISSUES OF SIN.
"His own iniquities shall take the wicked,
And he shall be holden with the cords of his sin.
He shall die for lack of instruction;
And in the greatness of his folly he shall go astray."
—Prov. v. 22, 23.
It is the task of Wisdom, or, as we should say, of
the Christian teacher,—and a most distasteful task
it is,—to lay bare with an unsparing hand (1) the
fascinations of sin, and (2) the deadly entanglements
in which the sinner involves himself,—"there is a way
which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof
are the ways of death."Prov. xiv. 12.
It would be pleasanter, no
doubt, to avoid the subject, or at least to be content with
a general caution and a general denunciation; one is
tempted to take refuge in the opinion that to mention
evils of a certain kind with any particularity is likely
to suggest rather than to suppress, to aggravate rather
than to lessen, them. But Wisdom is not afraid of
plain speaking; she sees that shame is the first result
of the Fall, and behind the modest veil of shame the
devil works bravely. There is a frankness and a
fulness in the delineations of this chapter and of chapter
seven which modern taste would condemn; but the
motive cannot be mistaken. Holiness describes the
ways of sin in detail to create a horror and a hatred
of them; she describes exactly what is within the
tempting doors,—all the glamour, all the softness, all the
luxury, all the unhallowed raptures,—and shows distinctly
how these chambers are on the incline of death,
in order that curiosity, the mother of prurience, may
be stifled, and the unwary may be content to remove
his way far from the temptress, and to come not nigh
the door of her house.Prov. v. 8.
But this, it may be said, is the plea urged by a
certain school of modern Realism in Art. Let us
depict—such is the argument—in all its hideous literalness
the sinful life, and leave it to work its own impressions,
and to act as a warning to those who are
entering on the seductive but dangerous ways. From
this principle—so it may be said—has sprung the
school of writers at whose head is M. Zola. Yes, but
to counteract vice by depicting it is so hazardous a
venture that none can do it successfully who is not
fortified in virtue himself, and constantly led, directed,
and restrained by the Holy Spirit of God. Just in
this point lies the great difference between the realism
of the Bible and the realism of the French novel. In
the first the didactic purpose is at once declared, and
the writer moves with swift precision through the
fascinating scene, to lift the curtain and show death
beyond; in the last the motive is left doubtful, and
the writer moves slowly, observantly, even gloatingly,
through the abomination and the filth, without any
clear conception of the Divine Eye which watches, or
of the Divine Voice which condemns.The Laureate has touched with stern satire on this debased modern
Realism:—
"Author, atheist, essayist, novelist, realist, rhymester, play your part,
Paint the mortal shame of Nature with the living hues of Art.
Rip your brothers' vices open, strip your own foul passions bare,
Down with Reticence, down with Reverence—forward—naked—let them stare!
Feed the budding rose of boyhood with the drainage of your sewer,
Send the drain into the fountain lest the stream should issue pure.
Set the maiden fancies wallowing in the troughs of Zolaism,
Forward, forward,—aye and backward, downward too into the abysm!"
—The new Locksley Hall.
There is a corresponding difference in the effects of
the two. Few men could study these chapters in the
book of Proverbs without experiencing a healthy revolt
against the iniquity which is unveiled; while few men
can read the works of modern realism without contracting
a certain contamination, without a dimming of the
moral sense and a weakening of the purer impulses.
We need not then complain that the powers of
imaginative description are summoned to heighten the
picture of the temptation, because the same powers are
used with constraining effect to paint the results of
yielding to it. We need not regret that the Temptress,
Mistress Folly, as she is called, is allowed to utter all
her blandishments in full, to weave her spells before
our eyes, because the voice of Wisdom is in this way
made more impressive and convincing. Pulpit invectives
against sin often lose half their terrible cogency
because we are too prudish to describe the sins which
we denounce.
I. The glamours of sin and the safeguard against
them.—There is no sin which affords so vivid an
example of seductive attraction at the beginning, and
of hopeless misery at the end, as that of unlawful love.
The illustration which we generally prefer, that drawn
from the abuse of alcoholic drinks, occurs later on in
the book, at xxiii. 31, 32; but it is not so effectual for
the purpose, and we may be thankful that the Divine
Wisdom is not checked in its choice of matter by our
present-day notions of propriety.
There are two elements in the temptation: there is
the smooth and flattering speech, the outpouring of
compliment and pretended affection expressed in vii.
15, the subtle and enflaming suggestion that "stolen
waters are sweet;"Prov. ix. 17.
and there is the beauty of form
enhanced by artful painting of the eyelids,Prov. vi. 25.
and by
all those gratifications of the senses which melt the
manhood and undermine the resisting power of the
victim.Prov. vii. 16, 17.
In our own time we should have to add still
further elements of temptation,—sophistical arguments
and oracular utterances of a false science, which encourages
men to do for health what appetite bids
them do for pleasure.
After all, this is but a type of all temptations to
sin. There are weak points in every character; there
are places in every life where the descent is singularly
easy. A siren voice waylays us with soft words and
insinuating arguments; gentle arms are thrown around
us, and dazzling visions occupy our eyes; our conscience
seems to fade away in a mist of excited feeling;
there is a sort of twilight in which shapes are uncertain,
and the imagination works mightily with the
obscure presentations of the senses. We are taken
unawares; the weak point happens to be unguarded;
the fatal bypath with its smooth descent is, as it
were, sprung upon us.
Now the safeguard against the specific sin before us
is presented in a true and whole-hearted marriage.Prov. v. 15-19.
And the safeguard against all sin is equally to be
found in the complete and constant preoccupation of
the soul with the Divine Love. The author is very far
from indulging in allegory,—his thoughts are occupied
with a very definite and concrete evil, and a very
definite and concrete remedy; but instinctively the
Christian ear detects a wider application, and the
Christian heart turns to that strange and exigent
demand made by its Lord, to hate father and mother,
and even all human ties, in order to concentrate on
Him an exclusive love and devotion. It is our method
to state a general truth and illustrate it with particular
instances; it is the method of a more primitive
wisdom to dwell upon a particular instance in such a
way as to suggest a general truth. Catching, therefore,
involuntarily the deeper meanings of such a
thought, we notice that escape from the allurements of
the strange woman is secured by the inward concentration
of a pure wedded love. In the permitted paths
of connubial intimacy and tenderness are to be found
raptures more sweet and abiding than those which are
vainly promised by the ways of sin.
"Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings,
Reigns here and revels; not in the bought smile
Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared."Paradise Lost.
Forbidding to marry is a device of Satan; anything
which tends to degrade or to desecrate marriage bears
on its face the mark of the Tempter. It is at our
peril that we invade the holy mystery, or brush
away from its precincts the radiant dews which reflect
the light of God. Nay, even the jest and the playful
teasing which the subject sometimes occasions are
painfully inappropriate and even offensive. We do ill
to smile at the mutual absorption and tender endearments
of the young married people; we should do
better to pray that their love might grow daily more
absorbing and more tender. I would say to brides and
bridegrooms: Magnify the meaning of this sacred union
of yours; try to understand its Divine symbolism.
Labour diligently to keep its mystical passion pure and
ardent and strong. Remember that love needs earnest,
humble, self-suppressing cultivation, and its bloom is
at first easily worn off by negligence or laziness.
Husbands, labour hard to make your assiduous and
loving care more manifest to your wives as years go
by. Wives, desire more to shine in the eyes of your
husbands, and to retain their passionate and chivalrous
admiration, than you did in the days of courtship.
Where marriage is held honourable,—a sacrament of
heavenly significance,—where it begins in a disinterested
love, grows in educational discipline, and matures in a
complete harmony, an absolute fusion of the wedded
souls, you have at once the best security against many
of the worst evils which desolate society, and the most
exquisite type of the brightest and loveliest spiritual
state which is promised to us in the world to come.
Our sacred writings glorify marriage, finding in it
more than any other wisdom or religion has found.
The Bible, depicting the seductions and fascinations
of sin, sets off against them the infinitely sweeter joys
and the infinitely more binding fascinations of this
condition which was created and appointed in the time
of man's innocence, and is still the readiest way of
bringing back the Paradise which is lost.
II. The binding results of sin.—It is interesting to
compare with the teaching of this chapter the doctrine
of Karma in that religion of Buddha which was already
winning its victorious way in the far East at the time
when these introductory chapters were written. The
Buddha said in effect to his disciple, "You are in
slavery to a tyrant set up by yourself. Your own
deeds, words, and thoughts, in the former and present
states of being, are your own avengers through a
countless series of lives. If you have been a murderer,
a thief, a liar, impure, a drunkard, you must pay the
penalty in your next birth, either in one of the hells, or
as an unclean animal, or as an evil spirit, or as a demon.
You cannot escape, and I am powerless to set you free.
Not in the heavens," so says the Dhammapada, "not
in the midst of the sea, not if thou hidest thyself in the
clefts of the mountains, wilt thou find a place where
thou canst escape the force of thy own evil actions."
"His own iniquities shall take the wicked, and he
shall be holden with the cords of his sin." This terrible
truth is illustrated with mournful emphasis in the sin
of the flesh which has been occupying our attention,
a sin which can only be described as "taking fire
into the bosom or walking upon hot coals," with the
inevitable result that the clothes are burnt and the
feet are scorched.Prov. vi. 27, 28.
There are four miseries comparable
to four strong cords which bind the unhappy
transgressor. First of all, there is the shame. His
honour is given to others,Prov. v. 9.
and his reproach shall not
be wiped away.Prov. vi. 33.
The jealous rage of the offended
husband will accept no ransom, no expiation;Prov. vi. 34, 35.
with
relentless cruelty the avenger will expose to ruin and
death the hapless fool who has transgressed against
him. Secondly, there is the loss of wealth. The
ways of debauchery lead to absolute want, for the
debauchee, impelled by his tormenting passions, will
part with all his possessions in order to gratify his
appetites,Prov. v. 10.
until, unnerved and 'feckless,' incapable of
any honest work, he is at his wits' end to obtain even
the necessaries of life.Prov. vi. 26.
For the third binding cord of
the transgression is the loss of health; the natural
powers decay, the flesh and the body are consumed
with loathsome disease.Prov. v. 11.
Yet this is not the worst.
Worse than all the rest is the bitter remorse, the
groaning and the despair at the end of the shortened
life. "How have I hated instruction, and my heart
despised reproof!"Prov. v. 12-14.
"Going down to the chambers
of death," wise too late, the victim of his own sins
remembers with unspeakable agony the voice of his
teachers, the efforts of those who wished to instruct
him.
There is an inevitableness about it all, for life is not
lived at a hazard; every path is clearly laid bare from
its first step to its last before the eyes of the Lord;
the ups and downs which obscure the way for us
are all level to Him.Prov. v. 21.
Not by chance, therefore, but
by the clearest interworking of cause and effect, these
fetters of sin grow upon the feet of the sinner, while
the ruined soul mourns in the latter days.It is, if we may say so, a maxim of modern science that "A sin
without punishment is as impossible, as complete a contradiction in
terms, as a cause without an effect" (W. R. Gregg).
The reason
why Wisdom cries aloud, so urgently, so continually,
is that she is uttering eternal truths, laws which hold
in the spiritual world as surely as gravitation holds in
the natural world; it is that she sees unhappy human
beings going astray in the greatness of their folly,
dying because they are without the instruction which
she offers.Prov. v. 23.
But now, to turn to the large truth which is illustrated
here by a particular instance, that our evil actions,
forming evil habits, working ill results on us and on
others, are themselves the means of our punishment.
"The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us."King Lear.
We do not rightly conceive God or Judgment or Hell
until we recognize that in spiritual and moral things
there is a binding law, which is no arbitrary decree of
God, but the essential constitution of His universe.
He does not punish, but sin punishes; He does not
make hell, but sinners make it. As our Lord puts it,
the terrible thing about all sinning is that one may
become involved in an eternal sin.Mark iii. 26.
It is by an inherent
necessity that this results from a sin against
the Holy Spirit within us.
We cannot too frequently, or too solemnly, dwell
upon this startling fact. It is a fact established, not
by a doubtful text or two, nor by a mere ipse dixit of
authority, but by the widest possible observation of
life, by a concurrent witness of all teachers and all true
religions. No planetary movement, no recurrence of
the seasons, no chemical transformation, no physiological
growth, no axiom of mathematics, is established
on surer or more irrefutable grounds. Sin itself may
even be defined, from an induction of facts, as "the
act of a human will which, being contrary to the Divine
Will, reacts with inevitable evil upon the agent." Sin
is a presumptuous attempt on the part of a human will
to disturb the irresistible order of the Divine Will, and
can only draw down upon itself those lightnings of the
Divine power, which otherwise would have flashed
through the heavens beautiful and beneficent.
Let us, then, try to impress upon our minds that,
not in the one sin of which we have been speaking
only, but in all sins alike, certain bands are being woven,
certain cords twisted, certain chains forged, which must
one day take and hold the sinner with galling stringency.
Every sin is preparing for us a band of shame to be
wound about our brows and tightened to the torture-point.
There are many gross and generally condemned
actions which when they are exposed bring their
immediate penalty. To be discovered in dishonourable
dealing, to have our hidden enormities brought into the
light of day, to forfeit by feeble vices a fair and dignified
position, will load a conscience which is not quite callous
with a burden of shame that makes life quite intolerable.
But there are many sins which do not entail this scornful
censure of our fellows, sins with which they have a
secret sympathy, for which they cherish an ill-disguised
admiration,—the more heroic sins of daring ambition,
victorious selfishness, or proud defiance of God. None
the less these tolerated iniquities are weaving the
inevitable band of shame for the brow: we shall not
always be called on only to face our fellows, for we
are by our creation the sons of God, in whose image
we are made, and eventually we must confront the
children of Light, must look straight up into the face
of God, with these sins—venial as they were thought—set
in the light of His countenance. Then will the
guilty spirit burn with an indescribable and unbearable
shame,—"To hide my head! To bury my eyes that
they may not see the rays of the Eternal Light," will
be its cry. May we not say with truth that the shame
which comes from the judgment of our fellows is the
most tolerable of the bands of shame?
Again, every sin is preparing for us a loss of wealth,
of the only wealth which is really durable, the treasure
in the heavens; every sin is capable of "bringing
a man to a piece of bread,"Prov. vi. 26.
filching from him all the
food on which the spirit lives. It is too common a
sight to see a young spendthrift who has run through
his patrimony in a few years, who must pass through
the bankruptcy court, and who has burdened his estate
and his name with charges and reproaches from which
he can never again shake himself free. But that is
only a superficial illustration of a spiritual reality.
Every sin is the precursor of spiritual bankruptcy;
it is setting one's hand to a bill which, when it comes
in, must break the wealthiest signatory.
That little sin of yours, trivial as it seems,—the mere
inadvertence, the light-hearted carelessness, the petty
spleen, the innocent romancing, the gradual hardening
of the heart,—is, if you would see it, like scratching
with a pen through and through a writing on a parchment.
What is this writing? What is this parchment?
It is a title-deed to an inheritance, the inheritance of
the saints in light. You are quietly erasing your name
from it and blotching its fair characters. When you
come to the day of account, you will show your claim,
and it will be illegible. "What," you will say, "am
I to lose this great possession for this trifling scratch
of the pen?" "Even so," says the Inexorable; "it is
precisely in this way that the inheritance is lost; not,
as a rule, by deliberate and reckless destruction of the
mighty treasure, but by the thoughtless triviality, the
indolent easifulness. See you, it is the work of your
own hand. His own iniquities shall take the wicked."
Again, every sin is the gradual undermining of the
health, not so much the body's, as the soul's health.
Those are, as it were, the slightest sins by which
"the flesh and the body are consumed." "Who hath
wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes?"
Who is stricken and hurt and beaten, bitten as if
by an adder, stung as if by a serpent?Prov. xxiii. 29, 32.
It is the
victim of drink, and every feature shows how he is
holden by the cords of his sin. But there is one who
is drunk with the blood of his fellow-men, and has
thriven at the expense of the poor, who yet is temperate,
healthy, and strong. The disease of his soul does not
come to the light of day. None the less it is there.
The sanity of soul which alone can preserve the life
in the Eternal World and in the presence of God is
fatally disturbed by every sin. A virus enters the
spirit; germs obtain a lodgment there. The days pass,
the years pass. The respected citizen, portly, rich, and
courted, goes at last in a good old age from the scene
of his prosperity here,—surely to a fairer home above?
Alas, the soul if it were to come into those fadeless
mansions would be found smitten with a leprosy. This
is no superficial malady; through and through the whole
head is sick, the whole heart faint. Strange that men
never noticed it down there in the busy world. But
the fact is, it is the air of heaven which brings out these
suppressed disorders. And the diseased soul whispers,
"Take me out of this air, I beseech you, at all costs.
I must have change of climate. This atmosphere is
intolerable to me. I can only be well out of heaven."
"Poor spirit," murmur the angels, "he says the truth;
certainly he could not live here."
Finally, the worst chain forged in the furnace of sin
is Remorse: for no one can guarantee to the sinner
an eternal insensibility; rather it seems quite unavoidable
that some day he must awake, and standing
shamed before the eyes of his Maker, stripped of all
his possessions and hopelessly diseased in soul, must
recognize clearly what might have been and now
cannot be. Memory will be busy. "Ah! that cursed
memory!" he cries. It brings back all the gentle
pleadings of his mother in that pure home long ago; it
brings back all his father's counsels; it brings back the
words which were spoken from the pulpit, and all the
conversations with godly friends. He remembers how
he wavered—"Shall it be the strait and hallowed road,
or shall it be the broad road of destruction?" He
remembers all the pleas and counterpleas, and how
with open eyes he chose the way which, as he saw,
went down to death. And now? Now it is irrevocable.
He said he would take his luck, and he has taken it.
He said God would not punish a poor creature like
him. God does not punish him. No, there is God
making level all his paths now as of old. This punishment
is not God's; it is his own. His own iniquities
have taken the wicked; he is held with the cords of his
sin.
Here then is the plain, stern truth,—a law, not of
Nature only, but of the Universe. As you look into
a fact so solemn, so awful; as the cadence of the
chapter closes, do you not seem to perceive with a new
clearness how men needed One who could take away
the sins of the world, One who could break those cruel
bonds which men have made for themselves?
VI.
CERTAIN EXAMPLES OF THE BINDING CHARACTER
OF OUR OWN ACTIONS.
"The surety ... the sluggard ... and the worthless person."—Prov.
vi. 1, 6, 12.
From the solemn principle announced at the close
of the last chapter the teacher passes, almost
unconscious of the thought which determines his selection
of subjects, to illustrate the truth by three examples,—that
of the Surety, that of the Sluggard, that of the
Worthless Man. And then, because the horrors of
impurity are the most striking and terrible instance of
all, this subject, coming up again at v. 20, like the dark
ground tone of the picture, finally runs into the long
and detailed description of chap. vii.
These three examples are full of interest, partly
because of the light they throw on the habits and moral
sentiments of the time in which this Introduction was
written, but chiefly because of the permanent teaching
which is luminous in them all, and especially in the
third.
We may spend a few minutes upon the first. The
young man finding his neighbour in monetary difficulties,
consents in an easy-going way to become his
surety; he enters into a solemn pledge with the creditor,
probably a Phœnician money-lender, that he will himself
be responsible if the debtor is not prepared to pay
at the appointed time. He now stands committed; he
is like a roe that is caught by the hunter, or a bird that
is held by the fowler, in the hand of his neighbour.
His peace of mind, and his welfare, depend no longer
upon himself, but upon the character, the weakness, the
caprice of another. This is a good illustration of the
way in which a thoughtless action may weave cruel
bands to bind the unwary. Looking at the matter from
this point of view, our book strongly and frequently
denounces the practice of suretiship. To become surety
for another shows that you are void of understanding.
So foolish is the action that it is compared to the surrender
of one's own garments, and even to the loss of
personal freedom. A proverb declares: "He that is
surety for a stranger shall smart for it, but he that
hateth suretiship is sure."See Prov. xvii. 18, xx. 16, repeated in xxvii. 13, and especially
xi. 15.
If then the young man has immeshed himself in
obligations of this kind, he is recommended to spare no
pains, not to stand upon a false pride, but to go with
all urgency, with frank abasement, to the man for whom
he has pledged his credit, and at all costs to get released
from the obligation. "Be thou not," says Wisdom,
"one of them that strike hands, or of them that are
sureties for debts: if thou hast not wherewith to pay,
why should he take away thy bed from under thee?"Prov. xxii. 26, 27.
We feel at once that there is another side to the
question. There may be cases in which a true brotherliness
will require us to be surety for our friend. "An
honest man is surety for his neighbour, but he that is
impudent will forsake him," says Ecclesiasticus. And
from another point of view an injunction has to be
given to one who has persuaded his friend to stand as
his surety,—"Forget not the friendship of thy surety,
for he hath given his life for thee. A sinner will
overthrow the good estate of his surety, and he that is
of an unthankful mind will leave him in danger that
delivered him." But confining ourselves to the standpoint
of the text, we may well raise a note of warning
against the whole practice. As Ecclesiasticus himself
says, "Suretiship hath undone many of good estate, and
shaken them as a wave of the sea: mighty men hath
it driven from their houses, so that they wandered
among strange nations. A wicked man transgressing
the commandments of the Lord shall fall into suretiship."Eccles. xxix. 14, 16, 17, 18, 19.
We may say perhaps that the truly moral course in
these relations with our fellows lies here: if we can
afford to be a surety for our neighbour, we can clearly
afford to lend him the money ourselves. If we cannot
afford to lend it to him, then it is weak and foolish,
and may easily become wicked and criminal, to make
our peace of mind dependent on the action of a third
person, while in all probability it is hurtful to our friend
himself, because by consenting to divide the risks with
the actual creditor we tend to lessen in the debtor's
mind the full realization of his indebtedness, and thus
encourage him in shifty courses and unnerve his manly
sense of responsibility. The cases in which it is wise
as well as kind to become bail for another are so rare
that they may practically be ignored in this connection;
and when these rare occasions occur they may safely
be left to the arbitrament of other principles of conduct
which in the present instance are out of view. Here
it is enough to emphasise what a miserable chain
thoughtlessness in the matter of suretiship may forge
for the thoughtless.
We may now pass to our second illustration, the
poverty and ruin which must eventually overtake the
Sluggard. "I went by the field of the slothful, and by
the vineyard of the man void of understanding; and, lo,
it was all grown over with thorns. The face thereof
was covered with nettles, and the stone wall thereof
was broken down. Then I beheld, and considered well:
I saw, and received instruction."Prov. xxiv. 30-34; see for a fuller treatment of the subject
Lecture XX.
And there is the
lazy owner of this neglected farm murmuring, "Yet a
little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands
to sleep." There seem to be in every community a
certain number of people who can only be described as
constitutionally incapable: as children they are heavy
and phlegmatic; at school they are always playing
truant, and exerting themselves, if at all, to escape
the irksome necessity of learning anything; when they
enter into life for themselves they have no notion of
honest effort and steady persistency, but directly their
employment becomes distasteful they quit it; and at
length, when they end their days in the workhouse, or
in those shameful haunts of sin and vice to which sloth
so easily leads, they have the melancholy reflection to
take with them to the grave that they have proved
themselves an encumbrance of the earth, and can be
welcomed in no conceivable world. Now the question
must force itself upon our attention, Might not these
incapables be rescued if they were taken young enough,
and taught by wholesome discipline and a wise education
what will be the inevitable issue of their lethargic
tendencies? Might not the farm of the sluggard be
impressed on their very eyeballs as a perpetual and
effective warning?
Leaving this important question to social reformers,
we may note how beautifully this book employs the
examples of insect life to teach and stimulate human
beings. "The ants are a people not strong. Yet they
provide their meat in summer.... The locusts have no
king. Yet go they forth all of them by bands."Prov. xxx. 25-27.
"Go
to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be
wise: which having no chief, overseer,It is the word used in Exod. v. 6 of those who directed the tasks
of the Israelites in Egypt.
or ruler, provideth
her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food
in the harvest."Prov. vi. 6-8.
By this little touch the book of
Proverbs has turned the magnificent fields of modern
scientific observation, and all the astonishing revelations
of the microscope, into a school of moral and spiritual
discipline for human life. Thus the ants swarm in the
woods and the fields as if to rebuke the laziness and
thriftlessness of man. They work night and day; they
store their galleries with food; they capture and nourish
aphides, which they use as a kind of domestic cattle.
The vast and symmetrical mounds, which they rear as
habitations and barns, are, relatively to the size of the
builders, three or four times larger than the pyramids.
By what mysterious instinct those long lines of
labourers march and work in unison; by what half-human
impulses they form in serried hosts and engage
in deadly battles prolonged through several days; by
what ludicrous freaks they are led to imitate men,
spending their lives in pampered luxury, dependent
upon slaves, until at last in their helplessness they are
mastered by their bondservants in revolt; by what
heavenly motive they are stirred to feed and nourish
and nurse one another in sickness and trouble,—we
need not here enquire, for we are only told to go to
the ant in order to learn her ways of ceaseless activity.
But in this brief precept we seem to receive a hint of
the boundless instruction and warning to be derived
from the humbler inhabitants of this earth which man
claims as his own.
Let us pass to the third illustration of the theme.
The surety is the victim of easygoing thoughtlessness,
the sluggard is the victim of laziness and incapacity;
but now there appears on the scene the thoroughly
worthless character, the man of Belial, and after his
portrait is drawn in a few touches, his sudden and
hopeless ruin is announced in a way which is all the
more striking because the connection between the sin
and its punishment is left to be guessed rather than
explained.Prov. vi. 12-15.
The description of this person is wonderfully
graphic and instructive, and we must dwell for
a moment on the details. We see him, not in repose,
but busy going from place to place, and talking a great
deal. His lips are shaped continually to lie,—"he
walketh with a froward mouth." There is no straightforwardness
about him; he is full of hint, suggestion,
innuendo; he gives you always the idea that he has
an accomplice in the background; he turns to you and
winks in a knowing way; he has a habit of shuffling
with his feet, as if some evil spirit forbade him to stand
still; you constantly catch him gesticulating; he points
with his thumb over his shoulder, and nods significantly;
he is never better pleased than when he can give the
impression of knowing a great deal more than he cares
to say. He delights to wrap himself in mystery—to
smile blandly and then relapse into a look of inscrutability—to
frown severely and then assume an
air of gentle innocence. He is in the habit of beckoning
one into a corner, and making a whispered communication
as if he were your particular friend, as if he had
taken a fancy to you directly he saw you, and was therefore
eager to give you some information which nothing
would induce him to divulge to anyone else; if you
are foolish enough to share his confidences, he gives
you very soon, when others are standing by, a cunning
leer, as if to intimate that you and he are old acquaintances,
and are in the secret, which the rest do not
know.Cf. the proverb xvi. 30—"He that shutteth his eyes, it is to devise
froward things: he that compresseth his lips bringeth evil to pass."
The fact is that his heart is as deceitful as his lips;
he cannot be true on any terms. If some simple and
open course occurred to his mind he would shun it
instinctively, because it is in devising evil that he lives
and moves and has his being. His friendliest approaches
fill an honest man with misgiving, his words
of affection or admiration send a cold shudder through
one's frame. His face is a mask; when it looks fair
you suspect villainy; when it looks villainous, and then
only, you recognize that it is true. Wherever he goes
he makes mischief, he causes divisions; he is the
Iago of every play in which he takes a part, the Judas
of every society of which he is a member. He manages
to sow suspicion in the mind of the least suspicious,
and to cast a slur on the character of the most innocent.
When he has created discord between friends he is
delighted. If he sees them disposed to a reconciliation,
he comes forward as a mediator and takes care
to exasperate the differences, and to make the breach
irreparable. Like Edmund in King Lear, he has a
genius for setting men at variance, and for so arranging
his plots that each party thinks he hears with his own
ears and sees with his own eyes the proof of the other's
perfidy. But, unlike Edmund, he does the mischief,
not for any special good to himself, but for the mere
delight of being an agent of evil.
It is this kind of man that is the pest of commerce.
He introduces dishonest practices into every business
that he touches. He makes it a principle that in
selling you are to impose on the customer, avail yourself
of his ignorance or prejudice or weakness, and
hide everything which might incline him to draw back;
while in buying you are to use any fraud or panic or
misrepresentation which might induce the seller to
lower the price.Cf. Prov. xx. 14: "It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer: but
when he is gone his way, then he boasteth."
When he has been in a business for
a little while the whole concern becomes tainted, there
is a slime over everything; the very atmosphere is fetid.
It is this kind of man that is the bane of every
social circle. In his presence, all simplicity and innocence,
all charity and forbearance and compassion,
seem to wither away. If you are true and straightforward
he manages to make you ridiculous; under his
evil spell you seem a simpleton. All genial laughter
he turns into sardonic smiles and sneers; all kindly
expressions he transforms into empty compliments
which are not devoid of a hidden venom. He is often
very witty, but his wit clings like an eating acid to
everything that is good and pure; his tongue will lodge
a germ of putrescence in everything which it touches.
It is this kind of man that is the leaven of hypocrisy
and malice in the Christian Church; he intrigues and
cabals. He sets the people against the minister and
stirs up the minister to suspect his people. He undertakes
religious work, because it is in that capacity he
can do most mischief. He is never better pleased than
when he can pose as the champion of orthodoxy, because
then he seems to be sheltered and approved by the
banner which he is defending.
"Therefore shall his calamity come suddenly."It is probably assumed that warnings and corrections have been given him in vain—cf. Prov. xxix. 1: "He that being often reproved
hardeneth his neck shall suddenly be broken, and that without
remedy."
It
is because the character is so incurably base, so
saturated with lies and insincerities, that there can be
no gradations or temperings in his punishment. One
who is less evil may be proved and tested with slight
troubles, if possibly he may be stirred to amendment.
But this utterly worthless person is quite unaffected
by the smaller trials, the tentative disciplines of life.
He cannot be chastised as a son; he can only be
broken as a vessel in which there is an intrinsic flaw;
or as a building, which has got the plague in its very
mortar and plaster.
We are told that in Sierra Leone the white ants
will sometimes occupy a house, and eat their way into
all the woodwork, until every article in the house is
hollow, so that it will collapse into dust directly it is
touched. It is so with this deceitful character, so
honeycombed, and eaten through, that though for
years it may maintain its plausible appearance in the
world, few people even suspecting the extent of the
inward decay, on a sudden the end will come; there
will be one touch of the finger of God, and the whole
ill-compacted, worm-devoured thing will crumble into
matchwood: "He shall be broken, and that without
remedy."
But while we are thus watching this worthless soul
overtaken with an inevitable calamity, we are reminded
that not only are our eyes upon him, but the Lord also
sees him. And to that calm and holy watcher of the
poor sinful creature there are six things which appear
specially hateful—seven which are an abomination of
His soul.Prov. vi. 16-19.
Is there not a kind of comfort in the thought
that the Lord watches and knows the whole story of
that miserable life, not leaving it to us to condemn, but
taking upon Himself the whole responsibility? He
knows whether there is a reason in nature for these
bad hearts; He knows too what power outside of
nature can change and redeem them. But at present
we want only to mark and consider these seven
things which are abominable to God—the seven prominent
traits of the character which has just been
depicted. We seem to need some spiritual quickening,
that we may observe these hateful things not only with
our own natural repugnance, but with something of the
holy hatred and the inward loathing which they produce
in the Divine mind.
1. Haughty eyes. "There is a generation, Oh how
lofty are their eyes! And their eyelids are lifted up."Prov. xxx. 13. See Lecture XIII. for the teaching of the Proverbs
on Pride.
And to that generation how many of us belong, and what
secret admiration do we cherish for it, even when we
can honestly disclaim any blood relationship! That
haughty air of the great noble; that sense of intrinsic
superiority; that graciousness of manner which comes
from a feeling that no comparison can possibly be
instituted between the great man and his inferiors;
that way of surveying the whole earth as if it were
one's private estate; or that supreme satisfaction with
one's private estate as if it were the whole earth!
This lofty pride, when its teeth are drawn so that it
cannot materially hurt the rest of mankind, is a subject
of mirth to us; but to the Lord it is not, it is hateful
and abominable; it ranks with the gross vices and the
worst sins; it is the chief crime of Satan.
2. A lying tongue, though it "is but for a moment."Prov. xii. 19.
It is the sure sign of God's intense hatred against
lies that they recoil on the head of the liar, and are
the harbingers of certain destruction. We dislike
lies because of their social inconvenience, and where
some social convenience is served by them we connive
at them and approve. But God hates the lying
tongue, whatever apparent advantage comes from it.
If we lie for personal gain He hates it. If we lie from
mere weakness, He hates it. If we lie in the name
of religion, and in the fashion of the Jesuit, for the
welfare of men and the salvation of souls, He hates
it none the less. The abomination does not consist
in the motive of the lie, but in the lie itself.
3. Hands that shed innocent blood. So hateful are
they to Him that He could not let David His chosen
servant build Him a house because this charge could
be laid against the great king. The soldier in the
battle-field hewing down the man who is innocent,
and the man who in carelessness or greed is wearing
the poor, who are dependent on him, down to death,
and the man who in a passion rises up and murders
his fellow,—these are very hateful to the Lord. There
at the beginning of the world's history, in the blood
of righteous Abel crying to the Lord, and in the mark
set on the guilty brow of Cain, the heart of God was
clearly and finally shown. He has not changed. He
does not shed innocent blood Himself; He cannot
away with them that shed it.
4. Hateful too to Him is the devising heart, even
where courage or opportunity fails of realizing the
device. There are so many more murderers in the
world than we see, so many cruel and wicked deeds
restrained by the police or by a dominant public
sentiment, which yet lie deep in the wicked imaginations
of our hearts, and are abominable to God,
that we may be thankful if we do not see as He sees,
and may wonder at the forbearance of His compassion.
5. Feet that be swift in running to mischief. Feet listless
in the ways of brotherly service or holy worship,
but swift, twinkling with eager haste, when any mischief
is toward, are marked by God—and hated.
6. And a false witness is abominable to Him, the
poisoner of all social life, the destroyer of all justice
between man and man. Again and again in this book
is censure passed upon this unpardonable crime.See Prov. xii. 17; xiv. 5, 25; xix. 5, 9. A crime, it may be remembered,
which would be much more common and much more fatal
in a primitive state of society, where on the one hand legal procedure
was less cautious and less searching, and on the other hand the
inward sanctions of truth which Christianity has brought home to
the modern conscience were but feebly perceived.
7. Finally, as the blessing of Heaven descends on the
peacemaker, so the hatred of God assails the man who
sows discord among brethren.
Such is the character that God abominates, the
character which binds itself with cords of penalty and
falls into irretrievable ruin. And then, after this disquisition
on some of the vices which destroy the
individual life and disturb society, our author turns
again to that snaring vice which is so much the more
destructive because it comes under the guise, not of
hate, but of love. Those other vices after all bear their
evil on their faces, but this is veiled and enchanted
with a thousand plausible sophistries; it pleads the
instincts of nature, the fascinations of beauty, the
faults of the present social state, and even advances
the august precepts of science. Surely in a way where
such a danger lurks we need a commandment which
will shine as a lamp, a law which will be itself a
light (ver. 23).
VII.
REALISM IN MORAL TEACHING.
"I looked forth through my lattice; and I beheld."—Prov. vii. 6.
The three chapters which close the introduction
of our book (vii.-ix.) present a lively and picturesque
contrast between Folly and Wisdom—-Folly more
especially in the form of vice; Wisdom more generally
in her highest and most universal intention. Folly is
throughout concrete, an actual woman, pourtrayed with
such correctness of detail that she is felt as a personal
force. Wisdom, on the other hand, is only personified;
she is an abstract conception; she speaks with human
lips in order to carry out the parallel, but she is not a
human being, known to the writer. As we shall see in
the next Lecture, this high Wisdom never took a human
shape until the Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ;
Folly, unhappily, had become incarnate in myriads of
instances; scarcely any city or place where men congregate
was, or is, without its melancholy example. It
follows from this difference between the two that the
picture of Folly is a piece of vigorous realism, while
the account of Wisdom is a piece of delicate idealism.
Folly is historical, Wisdom is prophetic. In this
chapter we are concerned with facts which the author
witnessed from the window of his house looking forth
through the lattice.Prov. vii. 6.
In the next chapter we shall
touch on ideas which he had not seen, and could not
have seen unless it were in lofty vision looking out
through the lattice of the soul. In the present chapter
we have an opportunity of noticing the immense value
and power of pictorial delineation and concrete images
in moral teaching; in the next we shall experience the
peculiar fascination and inspiration of beautiful abstract
conceptions, of disembodied ideals which, so far as we
know at the time, are not capable of actual realization.
It is important to remember this difference in order
to understand why Wisdom, the shadowy contrast to
that Mistress Folly who was only too concrete and
familiar, shaped itself to the writer's mind as a fair and
stately woman, a queenly hostess inviting simple ones
to her feast; though, as Christians have learnt, the
historical embodiment of Wisdom was a man, the Word
of God, who of God was made unto us wisdom.
Now before we take our stand at the window and
look through the lattice into the street, we must notice
the exhortations to the young man to make wisdom
and understanding his intimate friends, with which the
chapter begins. The law is to be kept as the apple of
the eye, which is so sensitive, so tender, and at the
same time so surpassingly important, that the lid has to
shield it by a quick instinctive movement outrunning
thought, and the hand has to be ready at all times to
come to its succour. The commandments are to be
written on the fingers, like engraved rings, which would
serve as instant reminders in unwary moments; the
very instruments through which the evil would be
done are to be claimed and sealed and inscribed by the
righteousness which can preserve from evil, while in
the secret tablets of the heart the holy truths are to be
written; so that if, in the business of life, the writing
on the fingers may get blurred or effaced, the principles
of righteousness may yet be kept like priceless archives
stored in the inviolable chambers of the inner man.
Wisdom is to be treated as a sister,Prov. vii. 4.
not as if there
were a natural kinship, but on the ground of the
beautiful influence which a true sister, a pure woman
soul, exercises over a young man's life. It is given
to a sister again and again, by unfailing sympathy and
by sweet comprehending ways, not teasing nor lecturing,
but always believing and hoping and loving, to weave a
magical spell of goodness and truth around a brother
who is exposed to dangerous temptations; she will
"maintain for him a saving intercourse with his true
self;" when the fires of more ardent affections are
burning low, or extinguished in doubt or disgust, she
will be with him like a calm impersonal presence,
unobtrusive, unforgotten, the more potent because she
makes no show of power. Such a lovely fraternal relation
is to be maintained with Wisdom, constant as
a tie of blood, firm as a companionship from earliest
infancy, yet exalted and enthusiastic in its way, and
promising a lifelong attraction and authority.
This blessed kinship with Understanding should save
the young man from such a fate as we are now to
contemplate.
It is twilight, not yet absolutely dark, but the shuddering
horror of the scene seems to quench the doubtful
glimmer of evening and to plunge the observer suddenly
into midnight.Prov. vii. 9.
There is a young man coming
round the corner of the street. His is no manly
walk, but an idle, effeminate saunter—a detail which
is not brought out in the English Version.Prov. vii. 8. The term צָעַד describes a special kind of motion,
e.g., the slow pacing of the oxen that bare the ark (2 Sam. vi. 15), or
the imagined efforts of idols to move (Jer. x. 5); it is therefore
unfortunate to render it by the generic word "go." The affected
dignity and sauntering insouciance of a dandy are immediately suggested
by it, and the shade of meaning is fairly well preserved in the
English "saunter."
He is a
dandy and sadly empty-headed. Now all young men,
good and bad alike, pass through a period of dandyism,
and it has its uses; but the better the stuff of which the
man is made, the more quickly he gets over the crisis,
and returns to his senses. This young man is "void
of understanding;" his dandyism will be chronic. His
is a feeble will and a prurient mind; but his special
weakness consists in this, that he thinks he can always
resist temptation, and therefore never hesitates to thrust
himself in its way. It is as if one were to pride himself
on being able to hang on with his fingers to the rim
of a well: he is always hanging there, and a touch will
send him in. One who is in his own opinion weaker
would give the dangerous place a wide berth, and
nothing but sheer force would bring him to the edge.
This young dandy has nothing to say for himself.
A tempter need not be at the trouble to bring any
sound arguments, or to make the worse appear the
better reason; to this poor weakling the worse the
reason is the better it will appear. As you see him
lolling down the path with his leering look and his
infinite self-satisfaction—good-natured, but without any
other goodness; not with bad intentions, but with
everything else bad—you can foresee that he will be
blown over as easily as a pleasure skiff on a stormy
ocean; if you have a compassionate heart you mourn
over him at once, for you see the inevitable.
The woman has come out to meet him—like a bird-catcher
who has been watching for the unwary bird.
Now he should escape at once, for her very attire warns
him of her intentions. But this is just his weakness;
he delights to place himself in such a position; he
would say that it is the proof of his manliness that
he can resist. She approaches him with a smirk and
a smile, with an open countenance but a closed heart.
She utters a sound, moving and pathetic like the
murmur of harp-strings;This is the meaning of the word translated 'clamorous.'
it comes from that inward
tumult of passion in the woman's nature which always
flutters the heart of a weak youth.So says the Greek version of ver. 10: ἣ ποιεῖ νέων ἐξίπτασθαι καρδίας.
She is a wild
undisciplined creature; she always hankers after the
forbidden; the quiet home ways are insufferable to her;
out in the streets, with their excitement, their variety,
their suggestions, their possibilities, she forgets, if she
does not quiet, her restlessness. The poor woman-nature
which, rightly taught and trained, might make the
beauty and sweetness of a home, capable of sanctified
affections and of self-sacrificing devotion, is here entirely
perverted. The passion is poisoned and now poisonous.
The energy is diseased. The charms are all spurious.
She goes abroad in the blackness of night because in
even a faint light her hideousness would appear; under
the paint and the finery she is a hag; her eyes are
lustreless but for the temporary fire of her corruptions;
behind that voice which croons and ripples there is a
subdued moan of despair—the jarring of harp-strings
which snap and quiver and shudder and are silent for
ever. The wise man looks at her with compassionate
loathing, God with pity which yearns to save; but this
foolish youth is moved by her as only a fool could be
moved. His weak understanding is immediately overcome
by her flatteries; his polluted heart does not
perceive the poison of her heartless endearments.
She throws her arms round him and kisses him, and
he makes no question that it is a tribute to the personal
attractions which he has himself often admired in his
mirror. She would have him believe that it was he
whom she had come out specially to seek, though it
would have been just the same whoever had caught
her eye; and he, deceived by his own vanity, at once
believes her. She has a great deal to say; she does
not rely on one inducement, for she does not know
with whom she has to do; she pours out therefore all
her allurements in succession without stopping to take
breath.
First, she holds out the prospect of a good meal.
She has abundant meat in the house, which comes from
the sacrifice she has just been offering, and it must be
eaten by the next day, according to the commandment
of the Law.See Lev. vii. 16.
Or if he is not one to be attracted merely
by food, she has appeals to his æsthetic side; her
furniture is rich and artistic, and her chamber is perfumed
with sweet spices. She perceives perhaps by
now what a weak, faint-hearted creature, enervated by
vice, unmanly and nervous, she has to do with, and
she hastens to assure him that his precious skin will
be safe. Her goodman is not at home, and his absence
will be prolonged; he took money with him for a long
journey, and she knows the date of his return. The
foolish youth need not fear, therefore, "that jealousy
which is the rage of a man;" he will not have to offer
gifts and ransom to the implacable husband, because
his deed will never be known. How hollow it all
sounds, and how suspicious; surely one who had a
grain of understanding would answer with manly scorn
and with kindling indignation. But our poor young
fool, who was so confident of himself, yields without a
struggle; with her mere talk, playing upon his vanity,
she bends him as if he were a water-weed in a stream—her
appeals to his self-admiration drive him forth as
easily as the goads urge an ox to the slaughter-house.
And now you may watch him going after her to
destruction!
Is there not a pathos in the sight of an ox going to
the slaughter? The poor dumb creature is lured by
the offer of food or driven by the lash of the driver.
It enters the slaughter-house as if it were a stall for
rest and refreshment; it has no idea that "it is for its
life." The butcher knows; the bystanders understand
the signs; but it is perfectly insensible, taking a
transitory pleasure in the unwonted attentions which
are really the portents of death. It is not endeared to
us by any special interest or affection; the dull, stupid
life has never come into any close connection with ours.
It has never been to us like a favourite dog, or a pet
bird that has cheered our solitary hours. It gave us
no response when we spoke to it or stroked its sleek
hide. It was merely an animal. But yet it moves our
pity at this supreme moment of its life; we do not like
to think of the heavy blow which will soon lay the
great slow-pacing form prostrate and still in death.
Here is an ox going to the slaughter,—but it is a
fellow-man, a young man, not meant for ignominious
death, capable of a good and noble life. The poor
degraded woman who lures him to his ruin has no such
motive of serviceableness as the butcher has. By a
malign influence she attracts him, an influence even
more fatal to herself than to him. And he appears
quite insensible,—occupied entirely with reflections on
his glossy skin and goodly form; not suspecting that
bystanders have any other sentiment than admiration
of his attractions and approval of his manliness, he
goes quietly, unresistingly, lured rather than driven,
to the slaughter-house.
The effect of comparison with dumb animals is
heightened by throwing in a more direct comparison
with other human beings. Transposing the words,
with Delitzsch, as is evidently necessary in order to
preserve the parallelism of the similitude, we find this
little touch: "He goeth after her straightway, as a fool
to the correction of the fetters,"—as if the Teacher would
remind us that the fate of the young man, tragic as it
is, is yet quite devoid of the noble aspects of tragedy.
This clause is a kind of afterthought, a modification.
"Did we say that he is like the ox going to the slaughter?—nay,
there is a certain dignity in that image, for the ox
is innocent of its own doom, and by its death many will
benefit; with our pity for it we cannot but mingle a
certain gratitude, and we find no room for censure;
but this entrapped weakling is after all only a fool, of
no service or interest to any one, without any of the
dignity of our good domestic cattle; in his corrupt and
witless heart is no innocence which should make us
mourn. And the punishment he goes to, though it is
ruin, is so mean and degrading that it awakes the jeers
and scorn of the beholders. As if he were in the
village stocks, he will be exposed to eyes which laugh
while they despise him. Those who are impure like
himself will leer at him; those who are pure will avert
their glance with an ill-disguised contempt." There,
then, goes the ox to the slaughter; nay, the mere empty-headed
fool to the punishment of the fetters, which
will keep him out of further mischief, and chain him
down to the dumb lifeless creation to which he seems
to belong.
But the scorn changes rapidly to pity. Where a
fellow-creature is concerned we may not feel contempt
beyond that point at which it serves as a rebuke, and
a stimulus to better things. When we are disposed
to turn away with a scornful smile, we become aware
of the suffering which the victim of his own sins will
endure. It will be like an arrow striking through the
liver. Only a moment, and he will be seized with the
sharp pain which follows on indulgence. Oh the
nausea and the loathing, when the morning breaks
and he sees in all their naked repulsiveness the things
which he allowed to fascinate him yester-eve! What a
bitter taste is in his mouth; what a ghastly and livid
hue is on the cheek which he imagined fair! He is
pierced; to miserable physical sufferings is joined a
sense of unspeakable degradation, a wretched depression
of spirits, a wish to die which is balanced in
horrid equilibrium by a fear of death.
And now he will arise and flee out of this loathly
house, which seems to be strewn with dead men's bones
and haunted by the moaning spirits of the mighty host
which have here gone down into Sheol. But what
is this? He cannot flee. He is held like a bird in
the snare, which beats its wings and tries to fly in
vain; the soft yielding net will rise and fall with its
efforts, but will not suffer it to escape. He cannot flee,
for if he should escape those fatal doors, before to-morrow's
sun sets he will be seized with an overmastering
passion, a craving which is like the gnawing
of a vulture at the liver; by an impulse which he cannot
resist he will be drawn back to that very corner;
there will not be again any raptures, real or imagined,
only racking and tormenting desires; there will be no
fascination of sight or scent or taste; all will appear as
it is—revolting; the perfumes will all be rank and
sickly, the meat will all be blighted and fly-blown; but
none the less he must back; there, poor, miserable,
quivering bird, he must render himself, and must take
his fill of—loves? no, of maudlin rapture and burning
disgust; solace himself? no, but excite a desire which
grows with every satisfaction, which slowly and surely,
like that loathsome monster of the seas, slides its clinging
suckers around him, and holds him in an embrace
more and more deadly until he finally succumbs.
Then he perceives that the fatal step that he took
was "for his life," that is, his life was at stake. When
he entered into the trap, the die was cast; hope was
abandoned as he entered there. The house which
appeared so attractive was a mere covered way to hell.
The chambers which promised such imagined delights
were on an incline which sloped down to death.
Look at him, during that brief passage from his
foolish heedlessness to his irretrievable ruin, a Rake's
Progress presented in simple and vivid pictures, which
are so terrible because they are so absolutely true.
After gazing for a few minutes upon the story, do
we not feel its power? Are there not many who are
deaf to all exhortations, who will never attend to the
words of Wisdom's mouth, who have a consummate art
in stopping their ears to all the nobler appeals of life,
who yet will be arrested by this clear presentation of
a fact, by the teacher's determination not to blink or
underrate any of the attractions and seductions, and by
his equal determination not to disguise or diminish any
of the frightful results?
We may cherish the sweetness and the purity which
reticence will often preserve, but when the sweetness
and the purity are lost, reticence will not bring them
back, and duty seems to require that we should lay
aside our fastidiousness and speak out boldly in order
to save the soul of our brother.
But after dwelling on such a picture as this there is
a thought which naturally occurs to us; in our hearts
a yearning awakes which the book of Proverbs is
not capable of meeting. Warnings so terrible, early
instilled into the minds of our young men, may by
God's grace be effectual in saving them from the decline
into those evil ways, and from going astray in the paths
of sin. Such warnings ought to be given, although
they are painful and difficult to give. But when we
have gone wrong through lack of instruction, when a
guilty silence has prevented our teachers from cautioning
us, while the corrupt habits of society have drawn us
insensibly into sin, and a thousand glozening excuses
have veiled from our eyes the danger until it is too
late, is there nothing left for us but to sink deeper and
deeper into the slough, and to issue from it only to
emerge in the chambers of death?
To this question Jesus gives the answer. He alone
can give it. Even that personified Wisdom whose
lofty and philosophical utterances we shall hear in the
next chapter, is not enough. No advice, no counsel,
no purity, no sanctity of example can avail. It is
useless to upbraid a man with his sins when he is
bound hand and foot with them and cannot escape. It
is a mockery to point out, what is only too obvious,
that without holiness no man can see God, at a moment
when the miserable victim of sin can see nothing clearly
except the fact that he is without holiness. "The pure
in heart shall see God" is an announcement of exquisite
beauty, it has a music which is like the music of the
spheres, a music at which the doors of heaven seem
to swing open; but it is merely a sentence of doom
to those who are not pure in heart. Jesus meets the
corrupt and ruined nature with the assurance that He
has come "to seek and to save that which was lost."
And lest a mere assertion should prove ineffectual to
the materialised and fallen spirit, Jesus came and presented
in the realism of the Cross a picture of Redemption
which could strike hearts that are too gross to feel
and too deaf to hear. It might be possible to work
out ideally the redemption of man in the unseen and
spiritual world. But actually, for men whose very sin
makes them unspiritual, there seems to be no way of
salvation which does not approach them in a tangible
form. The horrible corruption and ruin of our physical
nature, which is the work of sin, could be met only by
the Incarnation, which should work out a redemption
through the flesh.
Accordingly, here is a wonder which none can explain,
but which none can gainsay. When the victim
of fleshly sin, suffering from the arrow which has
pierced his liver, handed over as it seems to despair,
is led to gaze upon the Crucified Christ, and to understand
the meaning of His bearing our sins in His own
body on the tree, he is touched, he is led to repentance,
he is created anew, his flesh comes again to him
as a little child, he can offer up to God the sacrifice of a
contrite heart, and he is cleansed.
This is a fact which has been verified again and
again by experience. And they who have marked the
power of the Cross can never sufficiently admire the
wisdom and the love of God, who works by ways so
entirely unlike our ways, and has resources at His
command which surpass our conception and baffle our
explanation.
If there is a man literally broken down and diseased
with sin, enfeebled in will and purpose, tormented by
his evil appetite so that he seems like one possessed,
the wisest counsels may be without any effect; paint in
the most vivid hues the horrible consequences of his
sin, but he will remain unmoved; apply the coercion of
a prison and all the punishments which are at the
disposal of an earthly judge, and he will return to his
vicious life with a gusto increased by his recuperated
physical strength; present to him the most touching
appeals of wife and children and friends, and while
he sheds sentimental tears he will continue to run the
downward way. But let him be arrested by the spectacle
of Christ crucified for him, let the moving thought of
that priceless love and untold suffering stir in his heart,
let his eyes be lifted never so faintly to those eyes of
Divine compassion,—and though he seemed to have
entered the very precincts of the grave, though the
heart within him seemed to have died and the conscience
seemed to be seared with a hot iron, you will
observe at once the signs of returning animation; a cry
will go up from the lips, a sob will convulse the frame,
a light of passionate hope will come into the eyes.
Christ has touched him. Christ is merciful. Christ is
powerful. Christ will save.
Ah, if I speak to one who is bound with the cords
of his sin, helplessly fettered and manacled, dead as it
were in trespasses, I know there is no other name to
mention to you, no other hope to hold out to you.
Though I knew all science, I could not effectually help
you; though I could command all the springs of human
feeling, I could not stir you from your apathy, or satisfy
the first cries of your awaking conscience. But it is
permitted to me to preach unto you—not abstract
Wisdom, but—Jesus, who received that name because
He should save His people from their sins.
VIII.
THE FIRST-BORN OF THE CREATOR.
"Doth not Wisdom cry?"—Prov. viii. 1.
In the last chapter a dark and revolting picture of
Vice was drawn. This chapter contains a lovely
and living picture of Wisdom. In this contrast, as we
have already seen, Vice can be presented as a vicious
woman, because it is unhappily only too easy to find
such an incarnation in actual experience; Wisdom, on
the other hand, cannot be presented as an actual
person, but only as a personification, because there
was, as yet, no Incarnation of Wisdom; far from it,
Solomon, the wisest of men, the framer of many wise
proverbs, had been in practical conduct an incarnation
of folly rather than of wisdom, had himself become a
proverb for a wise and understanding heart in combination
with a dark and vicious life. Yet how could
the teacher fail to feel that some day there must be an
Incarnate Wisdom, a contrast to the Incarnate Vice, a
conqueror and destroyer of it? In describing Wisdom
personified, and in following out her sweet and high-souled
utterance, the teacher unconsciously to himself
becomes a prophet, and presents, as we shall see, a
faint and wavering image of Him who of God was to
be made unto men Wisdom, of Him who was actually
to live a concrete human life embodying the Divine
Wisdom as completely as many poor stained human
lives have embodied the undivine folly of vice. The
description, then, is an adumbration of something as
yet not seen or fully understood; we must be careful
not to spoil its meaning by representing it as more, and
by attempting to press the details in explanation of the
being and the work of Christ. We shall do wisely to
look at the whole picture as it formed itself before the
eye of the writer, and to abstain from introducing into
it colours or shades of our own. Our first task must
be to follow the movement of the chapter as carefully
as possible.
Wisdom, unlike the vicious woman who lurks in the
twilight at the corner of the street which contains her
lair, stands in the open places; she makes herself as
manifest as may be by occupying some elevated position,
from which her ringing voice may be heard down
the streets and up the cross-ways, and may attract the
attention of those who are entering the city gates or
the doors of the houses. As her voice is strong and
clear, so her words are full and rounded; there is no
whispering, no muttering, no dark hint, no subtle
incitement to secret pleasures; her tone is breezy and
stirring as the dawn; there is something about it
which makes one involuntarily think of the open air,
and the wide sky, and the great works of God.Prov. viii. 1-6.
There
is the beauty of goodness in all that she says; there is
the charming directness and openness of truth; she
abhors tortuous and obscure ways; and if some of her
sayings seem paradoxes or enigmas, a little difficult
to understand, that is the fault of the hearer; to a
tortuous mind straight things appear crooked; to the
ignorant and uninstructed mind the eternal laws of
God appear foolishness; but all that she says is plain
to one who understands, and right to those who find
knowledge.Prov. viii. 7-9.
She walks always in a certain and undeviating
course—it is the way of righteousness and
judgment—and only those who tread the same path
can expect to perceive the meaning of what she says,
or to appreciate the soundness of all her counsels.Prov. viii. 20.
And now she proclaims the grounds on which she
demands the attention of men, in a noble appeal, which
rises to a passionate eloquence and deepens in spiritual
significance as it advances. Roughly speaking, this
appeal seems to fall into two parts: from ver. 10 to
ver. 21 the obvious advantages of obeying her voice are
declared, but at ver. 22 the discourse reaches a higher
level, and she claims obedience because of her essential
nature and her eternal place in the universe of created
things.
In the first part Wisdom solemnly states her own
value, as compared with the valuables which men
usually covet—silver, and gold, and precious stones.
That she is of more account than these, appears from
the fact that they are but parts of her gifts. In her
train come riches; but they differ from ordinary riches
in being durable; her faithful followers obtain substantial
wealth, and their treasuries insensibly fill.Prov. viii. 8, 9.
To
riches she adds honour, a crown which worldly riches
seldom bring, and, what is better still, the honour
which she confers is associated with righteousness,
while the spurious honour which is commonly rendered
to riches, being conferred without any moral
implication, is devoid of any moral appreciation.Prov. viii. 18.
But
after all, she herself is her own best reward; the prosperity
which accompanies her seems trivial compared
with the desirableness of her own person. Her
queenly dwelling is prudence, and at her touch all the
charmed regions of knowledge and discovery fly open;
they who dwell with her and are admitted to share her
secrets find the fruit and the increase of the intellectual
life incomparably better than fine gold or choice silver.
And what gives to her endowments their peculiar completeness
is that she requires a moral culture to go
hand in hand with mental development; and leading
her disciples to hate evil, and to avoid the arrogance
and the pride of the intellect, she rescues knowledge
from becoming a mere barren accumulation of facts,
and keeps it always in contact with the humanities and
with life. Indeed, she finds it one great part of her
mighty task to instruct the rulers of men, and to fit them
for the fulfilment of their high functions. Her queenly
prerogative she shares with all her faithful followers.
Since Wisdom is the actual arbiter of human life, the
wise man is, as the Stoics would have said, a king;
nor can any king be recognized or tolerated who is not
wise.Prov. viii. 10-16.
And all these advantages of wealth and honour,
of knowledge, and power, and righteousness, are put
within the reach of every one. Wisdom is no churl
in loving; she loves all who love her. She does
not seek to withdraw herself from men; rather she
chooses the places and the ways in which she can best
attract them. Queenly as she is, she condescends to
woo them. Her invitations are general, even universal.
And therefore if any do not find her, it is
because they do not seek her; if any do not share in
her rich gifts and graces, it is because they will not
take the trouble to claim them.Prov. viii. 17.
But now we pass on to the second ground of appeal.
Wisdom unveils herself, discloses her origin, shows her
heart, stands for a moment on her high celestial throne,
that she may make her claims upon the sons of men
more irresistible. She was the first creation of God.Prov. viii. 22. There is unfortunately an ambiguity in the word
קָנָה. It may mean either "to possess" or "to create." Cf. Gen.
xiv. 19, 22, where it is impossible to decide between "Possessor of the
earth" and "Maker of the earth." That the word might be rendered
"got" in this passage is evident from iv. 7, where it is employed; on the
other hand, the LXX. renders ἔκτισε, and the author of Ecclesiasticus
evidently took it in this sense; cf. i. 4, "Wisdom hath been created
before all things, and the understanding of prudence from everlasting."
In Gen. iv. it is rendered "gotten," but it is quite possible that the
joyful mother called her son קַיִן with the feeling that she had created
him with the help of the Lord.
Before the earth issued out of nothingness she was
there. In joyous activity, daily full of delight, she was
beside God, as an architect, in the forming of the world.
She saw the great earth shaped and clothed for the first
time in the mantle of its floods, and made musical with
the sound of its fountains. She saw the mountains and
the hills built up from their foundations. She saw the
formation of the dry land, and of the atoms of dust which
go to make the ground.Prov. viii. 26.
She saw the sky spread out as
a firm vault to cover the earth; and she saw God when
"... in His hand
He took the golden compasses, prepared
In God's eternal store, to circumscribe
This universe and all created things."Milton, Paradise Lost, vii. 225.
She saw the mighty tides of the ocean restricted to
their appointed cisterns, and the firm outlines of the
land fixed as their impassable barriers.Prov. viii. 29. It is hardly necessary to point out that the language
betrays a complete ignorance of those facts with which astronomy
and geology have made us familiar. The author puts into the lips of
Wisdom the scientific conceptions of his own time, when the earth
was regarded as a flat surface, covered by a solid circular vault, in
which the sun, and moon, and stars were fixed. The "circle upon the
flood" is probably the apparent circle which is suggested to the
observer by the horizon. No one had as yet dreamed that the mountains
were thrown up by, not settled in, the surface of the earth, nor
was it dreamed that the bounds of the sea are far from being settled,
but subject to gradual variations, and even to cataclysmal changes.
It may be observed, however, that the voyage of the Challenger seems
to have established beyond question that the great outlines of land
and ocean have remained approximately the same from the beginning.
Ocean islands are of volcanic origin or the work of the coral-insect;
but the great continents and all contained within the fringe of a
thousand-fathom depth from their shores have remained practically
unaltered despite the numerous partial upheavals or submergences.
A passage so full of spiritual and moral significance, and yet so
entirely untouched by what are to us the elementary conclusions of
science, should furnish a valuable criterion in estimating what we are
to understand by the Inspiration of such a book as this.
And this very
Wisdom, who thus presided over the formation of land,
and sea, and sky, is she who still sports with God's
fruitful earth—yes, sports, for the great characteristic of
Wisdom is her exultant cheerfulness, and it must by no
means be supposed that the foolish and the wicked have
all the gaiety and mirth as their own.Cf. x. 23.
This Wisdom
is she too who finds her peculiar delight with the sons
of men.
Is it not obvious, then, that men, who are her sons,
ought to give ear to her counsels? What could establish
a stronger claim for attention than this ancient
origin, this honourable part in laying the very foundations
of the earth, and this special interest in human
life from the beginning? Raised to this high level,
where we command so wide a prospect, are we not
forced to see that it is our duty, our interest, our joy,
to come as humble suitors to the gates of Wisdom, and
there to watch, and wait, and seek until we may obtain
admission? Must we not search after her, when in
finding her we find life and obtain favour of the Lord?
Can we not perceive that to miss her is to miss life, to
wrong our own souls—to hate her is to love death?
Evidently her eagerness to win us is entirely disinterested;
though she delights in us, she could easily
dispense with us; on the other hand, though we do not
delight in her, though we constantly turn a deaf ear to
her, and refuse to walk in her ways, she is indispensable
to us.
Such a passage as this gives rise to many reflections,
and the longer we meditate upon it the more rich and
suggestive it appears. Let us try to follow out some
of the thoughts which readily present themselves, and
especially such as are suggested by the verses which
may be described as the poem of creation.
First of all, here is the noble idea which overturns
at a touch all mythological speculations about the
origin of things—an idea which is in deep harmony
with all the best knowledge of our own time—that
there is nothing fortuitous in the creation of the world;
the Creator is not a blind Force, but an Intelligent Being
whose first creation is wisdom. He is the origin of a
Law by which He means to bind Himself; arbitrariness
finds no place in His counsels; accident has no part
in His works; in Wisdom hath He formed them all. In
all heathen conceptions of creation caprice is supreme,
law has no place, blind force works in this way or
that, either by the compulsion of a Necessity which is
stronger than the gods, or by freaks and whims of the
gods which would be contemptible even in men. But
here is the clear recognition of the principle that God's
Law is a law also to Himself, and that His law is
wisdom. He creates the world as an outcome of His
own wise and holy design, so that "nothing walks with
aimless feet." It is on this theological conception that
the possibility of science depends. Until the universe
is recognized as an ordered and intelligible system the
ordered and intelligent study of it cannot begin. As
long as the arbitrary and fortuitous are supposed to
hold sway inquiry is paralyzed at its starting-point.
It may, however, be suggested that the doctrine of
Evolution, which scientific men are almost unanimous
in accepting, is inconsistent with this idea of Creation.
By this doctrine our attention is directed to the apparently
disordered collision of forces, and the struggle
for existence out of which the order and progress of
life are educed, and it is hastily assumed that a Wise
Intelligence would not work in this way, but would
exhibit more economy of resources, more simplicity and
directness of method, and more inevitableness of result.
But may we not say that the apparent fortuitousness
with which the results are achieved is the clearest
evidence of the wise purpose which orders and directs
the process? for about the results there can be no
question; order, beauty, fitness everywhere prevail; life
emerges from the inorganic, thought from life, morality
and religion from thought. The more our attention is
called to the apparently accidental steps by which these
results are reached, the more persuaded must we become
that a great and a wise law was at work, that by the
side of the Creator, as a master workman, was Wisdom
from the beginning. Such a passage as this, then,
prepares the way for all science, and furnishes the true
conceptions without which science would be sterile. It
takes us at a step out of a pagan into a truly religious
mode of thinking; it leads us out of the misty regions
of superstition to the luminous threshold of the House
of Knowledge. It may be said with truth that many
scientific facts which are known to us were not known
to the writer; and this may raise a prejudice against
our book in those minds which can tolerate no thought
except that of the present generation, and appreciate
no knowledge which is not, as it were, brought up to
date; but the fruitful conception is here, here is the
right way of regarding the universe, here the preparation
of all science.
And now to advance to another idea which is implied
in the passage, the idea that in the very conception
of the universe human life was contemplated,
and regarded with a peculiar delight by the Wisdom of
God. The place which Man occupies in creation has
been variously estimated in different religious systems
and by different religious thinkers. Sometimes he
has been regarded as the centre of all things, the
creature for whom all things exist. Then a reaction
has set in, and he has been treated as a very insignificant
and possibly transient phenomenon in the order of
things. It is characteristic of the Bible that it presents
a balanced view of this question, avoiding extremes in
both directions. On the one hand, it very clearly
recognizes that man is a part of the creation, that he
belongs to it because he springs out of it, and rules
over it only in so far as he conforms to it; on the
other hand, it clearly insists on that relation between
man and his Creator which is hinted at here. Man is
always implicitly connected with God by some half-divine
mediator. The Wisdom of God watches with
an unmoved heart the growth of the physical world,
but into her contemplation of mankind there enters
a peculiar delight. There is that in man which can
listen to her appeals, can listen and respond. He is
capable of rising to the point of view from which she
looks out upon the world, and can even see himself in
the light in which she sees him. In a word, man, with
all his insignificance, has a sublime possibility in him,
the possibility of becoming like God; in this he stands
quite alone among created things; it is this which
gives him his pre-eminence. Thus our passage, while
it does not for a moment imply that the material
universe was made for the sake of man, or that man
in himself can claim a superiority over the other creatures
of the earth—and so far takes a view which is
very popular with scientific men—yet parts company
with the philosophy of materialism in claiming for man
a place altogether unique, because he has within him
the possibility of being linked to God by means of the
Wisdom of God.
And now we may notice another implication of the
passage. While Wisdom celebrates her high prerogative
as the first-born of the Creator and the instrument of
the creation, and urges upon men as parts of the creation
the observance of the Moral Law, she is implicitly
teaching the great truth which men have been so slow
to grasp, that the law of practical righteousness is of
a piece with the very laws of creation. To put it in
another form, the rules of right conduct are really the
rules of the universe applied to human life. Laws of
nature, as they are called, and laws of morality have
their origin in one and the same Being, and are interpreted
to us by one and the same Wisdom. It would be well
for us all if we could understand how far-reaching this
great truth is, and an intelligent study of this passage
certainly helps us to understand it. None of us, in our
wildest moments, think of pitting ourselves against the
laws of nature. We do not murmur against the law
of gravitation; we scrupulously conform to it so far as
we can, knowing that if we do not it will be the worse
for us. When heavy seas are breaking, and the spirit
of the winds is let loose, we do not venture on the
waves in a small, open boat, or if we do, we accept the
consequences without complaint. But when we come
to deal with the moral law we entertain some idea that
it is elastic and uncertain, that its requirements may be
complied with or not at pleasure, and that we may
violate its eternal principles without any serious loss or
injury. But the truth is, the Law is one. The only
difference arises from the fact that while the natural
laws, applying to inanimate objects or to creatures
which enjoy no freedom of moral life, are necessarily
obeyed, the moral rules apply to conscious reasoning
creatures, who, possessed of freedom, are able to choose
whether they will obey the law or not. Yes, the Law is
one, and breaches of the Law are punished inevitably
both in the natural and in the moral sphere. This
same Wisdom, to which "wickedness is an abomination,"
and which therefore exhorts the sons of men to walk in
the ways of righteousness, is the great principle which
ordered the physical universe and stamped upon it
those laws of uniformity and inevitableness which
Science delights to record and to illustrate.
But when we notice how the Wisdom who is here
speaking is at once the mouthpiece of the laws which
underlie the whole creation and of the laws which
govern the moral life, it is easy to perceive how this
passage becomes a foreshadowing of that wonderful
Being who of God is made unto us Wisdom as well as
Righteousness. Or, to put it in a slightly different way,
we are able to perceive how this passage is a faint and
imperfect glimpse into the nature and the work of Him
whom in New Testament phraseology we call the Son
of God—faint and imperfect, because this Wisdom,
although represented as speaking, is still only an
abstraction, a personification, and her relation both to
God and to man is described in very vague and indefinite
language; and yet, though faint and imperfect, very
true as far as it goes, for it recognizes with wonderful
distinctness the three truths which we have just been
considering, truths that have become luminous for us
in Christ; it recognizes, firstly, that the world was the
creation of Wisdom, of Reason, or, if we may use the
New Testament term, of the Word; it recognizes,
secondly, that the thought of Man was contained in the
very thought of creation, and that man was related in
a direct and unique way with the Creator; lastly, it
recognizes that goodness lies at the very root of creation,
and that therefore natural law when applied to human
life is a demand for righteousness.
It is interesting to observe that this glimpse, this
adumbration of a great truth, which was only to become
quite clear in Christ Jesus our Lord, was advanced a
little in clearness and completeness by a book which is
not generally considered to be inspired, the so-called
book of Wisdom, in a passage which must be quoted.
"For she [i.e. Wisdom] is a breath of the power of
God, and a pure influence flowing from the glory of
the Almighty; therefore can no defiled thing fall into
her. For she is the brightness of the everlasting
light, the unspotted mirror of the power of God, and
the image of His goodness. And being but one,
she can do all things; and remaining in herself, she
maketh all things new; and in all ages entering into
holy souls, she maketh them friends of God and
prophets. For God loveth none but him that dwelleth
with Wisdom. For she is more beautiful than the sun,
and above all the order of stars; being compared with
the light, she is found before it."Wisdom vii. 25-29. The book of Wisdom, a work of the second
century b.c., at one time had a place in the canon, and owes its
exclusion, in all probability, to the fact that it was written in Greek;
as there was no Hebrew original, it was evident that Solomon was
not the author. But the use which the Epistle to the Hebrews
makes of the passage quoted in the text may suggest how very unnecessary
the exclusion from the canon was.
In this passage Wisdom is still a mere impersonation,
but the language employed is evidently very near
to that which the New Testament applies to Christ.
When Philo came to treat of the idea, and wished to
describe this intermediate being between God and man,
he employed another term; changing the feminine into
the masculine, he spoke of it as the Logos. And
this expression is adopted by the Fourth Gospel in
describing the Eternal Son before He became flesh;
the Word of the fuller revelation is the Wisdom of the
Proverbs.
How far Christ recognized in this impersonation
of our book a description or representation of Himself
it is impossible to say. It is certain that on one
occasion, in defending His action against the charges
of the Pharisees, He declared, "Wisdom is justified
of her children,"Luke vii. 35; Matt. xi. 19.
a defence which can be most simply
explained by supposing that Wisdom stands for Himself.
It is certain, too, that He spoke of His own pre-existence,John viii. 58.
and that the Evangelist assigns to Him in
that life before the Incarnation a position not unlike
that which is attributed to Wisdom in our passage:
"All things were made by Him; and without Him
was not anything made that hath been made....
No man hath seen God at any time; the only begotten
Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, He hath
declared Him."John i. 3, 18.
But whether our Lord expressly
acknowledged the forecast of Himself which is contained
in the passage or not, we cannot fail to mark
with joy and wonder how strikingly all that is best
in the utterance and in the delineation of Wisdom is
produced, concrete, tangible, real, in Him.
He, like Wisdom in the book of Proverbs, appears
in the busy haunts of man, appeals to them, invites
them with large, open-armed generosity. His voice
is to the sons of men. He, like Wisdom, can say with
absolute truth, "All the words of My mouth are in
righteousness; there is nothing crooked or perverse
in them." He too could speak of His teaching as
"plain and right," and could with simple literalness
declare that His words were more precious than gold,
while obedience to Him would cause men "to inherit
substance." With what force He might claim that
even kings rule by Him we shall only know when
the kingdoms of the world have become His in their
integrity; but we can see at once how appropriate
in His lips is the beautiful saying, "I love them that
love Me, and those that seek Me early shall find Me."
With equal suitability might He, the First-born of all
creation, the beginning of the creation of God, use the
sublime language which follows. And He too could
say that His delight was with the sons of men. Yes,
how much that means to us! If His delight had not
been with us, how could ours ever have been with
Him? What a new meaning irradiates every human
being when we realize that with him, with her, is the
delight of the Son of God! What a revelation lies
in the fact, a revelation of what man was by his origin,
made in the image of God, and of what he may be in
the last event, brought to "the fulness of the measure
of the stature of Christ." We must not speak as if
He delights in us because He has redeemed us; no,
He redeemed us because He delighted in us. Is not
this a ground on which He may appeal to us, "Now
therefore, my sons, hearken unto Me; for blessed
are they that keep My ways"? And can we not say
to Him with a fervour which the cold abstraction of
Wisdom could not possibly excite, "We would watch
daily at Thy gates, waiting at the posts of Thy doors.
For when we find Thee we find life and obtain
favour of the Lord. When we sin against Thee we
wrong our own souls; when we hate Thee we love
death"?
Yes, in place of this ancient Wisdom, which, stately
and lovely as she is, remains always a little intangible
and unapproachable, Christ is made unto us Wisdom,
and He speaks to us the old words with a deeper
meaning, and new words which none but He could
ever speak.
IX.
TWO VOICES IN THE HIGH PLACES OF THE CITY.
Ch. ix., vv. 14 with 3, and 16 with 4.
After the lengthened contrast between the vicious
woman and Wisdom in chaps. vii. and viii., the
introduction of the book closes with a little picture
which is intended to repeat and sum up all that has
gone before. It is a peroration, simple, graphic, and
beautiful.
There is a kind of competition between Wisdom and
Folly, between Righteousness and Sin, between Virtue
and Vice; and the allurements of the two are disposed in
an intentional parallelism; the colouring and arrangement
are of such a kind that it becomes incredible how
any sensible person, or for that matter even the simple
himself, could for a moment hesitate between the noble
form of Wisdom and the meretricious attractions of
Folly. The two voices are heard in the high places of
the city; each of them invites the passers-by, especially
the simple and unsophisticated—the one into her
fair palace, the other into her foul and deadly house.
The words of their invitation are very similar: "Whoso
is simple, let him turn in hither: as for him that
is void of understanding, she saith to him;" but how
different is the burden of the two messages! Wisdom
offers life, but is silent about enjoyment; Folly offers
enjoyment, but says nothing of the death which must
surely ensue.Cf. for this contrast between the two xxiii. 26-28, where Wisdom
speaks, and expressly warns against her rival.
First of all we will give our attention to the Palace
of Wisdom and the voices which issue from it, and then
we will note for the last time the features and the arts
of Mistress Folly.
The Palace of Wisdom is very attractive; well built
and well furnished, it rings with the sounds of hospitality;
and, with its open colonnades, it seems of itself to invite
all passers-by to enter in as guests. It is reared upon
seven well-hewn marble pillars, in a quadrangular form,
with the entrance side left wide open.The arrangement of the house is that of an open courtyard,
surrounded with apartments, the general roof supported on the pillars
thus.
This is no
shifting tent or tottering hut, but an eternal mansion,
that lacks nothing of stability, or completeness, or
beauty. Through the spacious doorways may be seen
the great courtyard, in which appear the preparations
for a perpetual feast. The beasts are killed and
dressed; the wine stands in tall flagons ready mixed
for drinking; the tables are spread and decked. All
is open, generous, large, a contrast to that unhallowed
private supper to which the unwary youth was invited
by his seducer.Prov. vii. 14.
There are no secret chambers, no
twilight suggestions and insinuations: the broad light
shines over all; there is a promise of social joy; it
seems that they will be blessed who sit down together
at this board. And now the beautiful owner of the
palace has sent forth her maidens into the public ways
of the city: theirs is a gracious errand; they are not
to chide with sour and censorious rebukes, but they
are to invite with winning friendliness; they are to offer
this rare repast, which is now ready, to all those who
are willing to acknowledge their need of it. "Come,
eat ye of my bread, and drink of the wine which I
have mingled."Prov. ix. 5.
We were led to inquire in the last chapter how far
our Lord identified Himself with the hypostatic
Wisdom who was speaking there, and we were left
in some doubt whether He ever consciously admitted
the identity; but it is hardly a matter of doubt that
this passage was before His mind when He spoke His
parable of the Wedding Feast.Matt. xxii. 1, et seq.
And the connection is
still more apparent when we look at the Greek version
of the LXX., and notice that the clause "sent forth her
bond-servants" is precisely the same in Prov. ix. 3 and
in Matt. xxii. 3. Here, at any rate, Jesus, who describes
Himself as "a certain king," quite definitely occupies
the place of the ancient Wisdom in the book of
Proverbs, and the language which in this passage she
employs He, as we shall see, in many slight particulars
made His own.
Yes, our Lord, the Wisdom Incarnate, has glorious
ideas of hospitality; He keeps open house; His purpose
is to call mankind to a great feast; the "bread and the
wine" are prepared; the sacrifice which furnishes the
meat is slain. His messengers are not commissioned
with a mournful or a condemnatory proclamation, but
with good tidings which they are to publish in the high
places. His word is always, Come. His desire is that
men should live, and therefore He calls them into the
way of understanding.Prov. ix. 6.
If a man lacks wisdom, if he
recognizes his ignorance, his frailty, his folly, if he is
at any rate wise enough to know that he is foolish, well
enough to know that he is sick, righteous enough to
know that he is sinful, let him approach this noble
mansion with its lordly feast. Here is bread which is
meat indeed; here is wine which is life-giving, the fruit
of the Vine which God has planted.
But now we are to note that the invitation of Wisdom
is addressed only to the simple, not to the scorner.Prov. ix. 7.
She lets the scorner pass by, because a word to him
would recoil only in shame on herself, bringing a blush to
her queenly face, and would add to the scorner's wickedness
by increasing his hatred of her. Her reproof
would not benefit him, but it would bring a blot upon
herself, it would exhibit her as ineffectual and helpless.
The bitter words of a scorner can make wisdom appear
foolish, and cover virtue with a confusion which should
belong only to vice. "Speak not in the hearing of a
fool; for he will despise the wisdom of thy words."Prov. xxiii. 9.
Indeed, there is no character so hopeless as that of the
scorner; there proceeds from him, as it were, a fierce
blast, which blows away all the approaches which goodness
makes to him. Reproof cannot come near him;Prov. xiii. 1.
he cannot find wisdom, though he seek it;Prov. xiv. 6.
and as a
matter of fact, he never seeks it.Prov. xv. 12.
If one attempts to
punish him it can only be with the hope that others
may benefit by the example; it will have no effect
upon him.Prov. xix. 25.
To be rid of him must be the desire of
every wise man, for he is an abomination to all,Prov. xxiv. 9.
and
with his departure contention disappears.Prov. xxii. 10.
They that
scoff at things holy, and scorn the Divine Power, must
be left to themselves until the beginnings of wisdom
appear in them—the first sense of fear that there is a
God who may not be mocked, the first recognition that
there is a sanctity which they would do well at all
events to reverence. There must be a little wisdom in
the heart before a man can enter the Palace of Wisdom;
there must be a humbling, a self-mistrust, a diffident
misgiving before the scorner will give heed to her
invitation.
There is an echo of this solemn truth in more than
one saying of the Lord's. He too cautioned His
disciples against casting their pearls before swine, lest
they should trample the pearls under their feet, and
turn to rend those who were foolish enough to offer
them such treasure.Matt. vii. 6.
Men must often be taught in the
stern school of Experience, before they can matriculate
in the reasonable college of Wisdom. It is not good to
give that which is holy to dogs, nor to display the
sanctities of religion to those who will only put them to
an open shame. Where we follow our own way instead
of the Lord's, and insist on offering the treasures of the
kingdom to the scorners, we are not acting according
to the dictates of Wisdom, we get a blot for that goodness
which we so rashly offer, and often are needlessly
rent by those whom we meant to save. It is evident that
this is only one side of a truth, and our Lord presented
with equal fulness the other side; it was from Him we
learnt how the scorner himself, who cannot be won by
reproof, can sometimes be won by love; but our Lord
thought it worth while to state this side of the truth,
and so far to make this utterance of the ancient Wisdom
His own.
Again, how constantly He insisted on the mysterious
fact that to him that hath shall be given, and from him
that hath not shall be taken what he hath, precisely in
the spirit of this saying: "Give instruction to a wise
man, and he will be yet wiser: teach a righteous man,
and he will increase in learning."Prov. ix. 9. Cf. xviii. 15, "The heart of the prudent getteth knowledge;
and the ear of the wise seeketh knowledge."
The entrance into
the kingdom, as into the house of Wisdom, is by
humility. Except a man turn, and become as a little
child, he cannot enter. Wisdom is only justified of her
children: until the heart is humble it cannot even begin
to be wise; although it may seem to possess a great
deal, all must be taken away, and a new beginning
must be made—that beginning which is found in the fear
of the Lord, and in the knowledge of the Holy One.Prov. ix. 10.
The closing words in the invitation of Wisdom are
entirely appropriate in the lips of Jesus, and, indeed,
only in His lips could they be accepted in their fullest
signification. There is a limited sense in which all
wisdom is favourable to long life, as we saw in chap. iii.,
but it is an obvious remark, too, that the wise perish
even as the fool; one event happens to them both, and
there appears to be no difference. But the Incarnate
Wisdom, Jesus Christ, was able to say with a broad
literalness, "By Me thy days shall be multiplied, and
the years of thy life shall be increased." With Him
the outlook widened; He could speak of a new life, of
raising men up at the last day; He could for the first
time give a solution to that constant enigma which has
puzzled men from the beginning, How is it that Wisdom
promises life, and yet often requires that her children
should die? how is it that the best and wisest have
often chosen death, and so to all appearance have
robbed the world of their goodness and their wisdom?
He could give the answer in the glorious truth of the
Resurrection; and so, in calling men to die for Him,
as He often does, He can in the very moment of their
death say to them with a fulness of meaning, "By Me
thy days shall be multiplied, and the years of thy life
shall be increased."
And then how entirely is it in harmony with all His
teaching to emphasize to the utmost the individual
choice and the individual responsibility. "If thou art
wise, thou art wise for thyself: and if thou scornest,
thou alone shalt bear it." There can be no progress,
indeed no beginning, in the spiritual life, until this
attitude of personal isolation is understood. It is the
last result of true religion that we live in others; but
it is the first that we live in ourselves; and until we
have learnt to live in ourselves we can be of no use by
living in others. Until the individual soul is dealt with,
until it has understood the demands which are made
upon it, and met them, it is in no position to take its
rightful place as a lively stone in the temple of God, or
as a living member in the body of Christ. Yes, realize
this searching assurance of Wisdom, let us say, rather,
of Christ: if you are like the wise virgins in the parable,
it is for your own everlasting good, you shall enter
into the hall with the Bridegroom; but if you are like
the foolish virgins, no wisdom of the wise can avail
you, no vicarious light will serve for your lamps; for
you there must be the personal humiliation and sorrow
of the Lord's "I know you not."
If with scornful indifference to your high trust as a
servant of the Master you hide your talent, and justify
your conduct to yourself by pleading that the Master is
a hard man, that scorn must recoil upon your own
head; so far from the enlarged wealth of the others
coming to meet your deficiencies, the misused trifle
which you still retain will be taken from you and given
to them. Men have sometimes favoured the notion that
it is possible to spend a life of scornful indifference to
God and all His holy commandments, a life of arrogant
self-seeking and bitter contempt for all His other
creatures, and yet to find oneself at the end entirely
purged of one's contempt, and on precisely equal terms
with all pious and humble hearts; but against this
notion Wisdom loudly exclaims; it is the notion of Folly,
and so far from redeeming the folly, it is Folly's worst
condemnation; for surely Conscience and Reason, the
heart and the head, might tell us that it is false; and
all that is sanest and wisest in us concurs in the direct
and simple assurance, "If thou scornest, thou alone
shalt bear it."
Such is the invitation, and such the warning, of
Wisdom; such is the invitation, and such the warning, of
Christ. Leave off, ye simple ones, and live. After all,
most of us are not scorners, but only very foolish, easily
dazzled with false lights, easily misled with smooth
utterances which happen to chime in with our own
ignorant prejudices, easily seduced into by-paths which
in quiet moments we readily acknowledge to be sinful
and hurtful. The scorners are but a few; the simple
ones are many. Here is this gracious voice appealing
to the simple ones, and with a winsome liberality
inviting them to the feast of Wisdom.
At the close of ver. 12 the LXX. give a very interesting
addition, which was probably translated from a Hebrew
original. It seems to have been before our Lord's
mind when He drew the description of the unclean spirit
walking through waterless places, seeking rest and
finding none.Matt. xii. 43.
The passage is a figurative delineation
of the evils which result from making shams and
insincerities the support of life, in place of the unfailing
sureness and available strength of wisdom; it may be
rendered thus: "He who makes falsehood his support
shepherds the winds, and will find himself pursuing
birds on the wing; for it means leaving the paths of
his own vineyard, and wandering over the borders of
his own husbandry; it means walking through a waterless
wilderness, over land which is the portion of the
thirsty; he gathers in his hands fruitlessness." What
a contrast to the spacious halls and the bountiful fare
of Wisdom! A life based upon everlasting verities
may seem for the time cold and desolate, but it is
founded upon a rock, and not a barren rock either, for
it sends forth in due course corn, and wine, and oil.
The children in that house have bread enough and to
spare. But when a man prefers make-believe to reality,
and follows the apparently pleasant, instead of the
actually good, what a clutching of winds it is! what
a chase after swift-vanishing birds of joy! The wholesome
ways, fruitful, responsive to toil, are left far behind;
and here soon is the actual desert, without a drop of
water to cool the lips, or a single fruit of the earth
which a man can eat. The deluded soul consumed his
substance with harlots, and he gathers the wind. The
ways of vice are terrible; they produce a thirst which
they cannot quench; and they fill the imagination with
torturing images of well-being which are farther removed
from reality by every step we take. Wisdom bids us
to make truth our stay, for after all the Truth is the
Way and the Life, and there is no other way, no other
life.
And now comes the brief closing picture of Folly, to
which again the LXX. give a short addition. Folly is
loud, empty-headed as her victims, whom she invites
to herself, not as Wisdom invites them, to leave off their
simplicity, but rather as like to like, that their ignorance
may be confirmed into vice, and their simplicity
into brutishness. She has had the effrontery to build
her house in the most prominent and lofty place of
the city, where by good rights only Wisdom should
dwell. Her allurements are specially directed to those
who seem to be going right on in their wholesome ways,
as if she found her chief delight, not in gratifying the
vicious, but in making vicious the innocent. Her charms
are poor and tawdry enough; seen in the broad sunlight,
and with the wholesome air all round her, she would
be revolting to every uncorrupted nature; her clamorous
voice would sound strident, and her shameless brow
would create a blush of shame in others; she naturally
therefore seeks to throw a veil over herself and
a glamour over her proposals; she suggests that
secrecy and illicitness will lend a charm to what in
itself is a sorry delight. It is clandestine, therefore it
is to be sweet; it is forbidden, therefore it is to be
pleasant. Could anything be more sophistical? That
which owes its attraction to the shadows of the night
must obviously be intrinsically unattractive. It is an
argument fit only for the shades of the lost, and not
for those who breathe the sweet air and behold the
sun. Her house is indeed haunted with ghosts, and
when a man enters her portal he already has his
foot in hell. Well may the LXX. add the vehement
warning, "Spring away from her clutches; do not
linger in the place; let her not have thy name, for thou
wilt traverse another's waters; from another's waters
hold aloof, from another's fountains do not drink, in
order that thou mayest live long, and add to thy years
of life."
And now, before leaving this subject, we must briefly
remark the great change and advance which Christ has
brought into our thought of the relation between the
two sexes. This Book of Wisdom is a fair illustration
of the contempt in which woman was held by the wise
men of Israel. One would suppose that she is the
temptress, and man is the victim. The teacher never
dreams of going a step backward, and asking whose
fault it was that the temptress fell into her vicious
ways. He takes no note of the fact that women are
first led astray before they lead others. Nor does he
care to inquire how the men of his day ruined their
women by refusing to them all mental training, all
wholesome interest and occupation, shutting them up
in the corrupting atmosphere of the seraglio, and teaching
them to regard the domestic sphere, and that only
in its narrowest sense, as the proper limit of their
thought and affection. It was reserved for the Great
Teacher, the Incarnate Wisdom Himself, to redress this
age-long injustice to woman, by sternly holding up to
men the mirror of truth in which they might see their
own guilty hearts.See John viii. 1 et seq.
It was reserved for him to touch
the conscience of a city woman who was a sinner, and
to bring her from her clamorous and seductive ways
to the sweetness of penitential tears, and the rapturous
love which forgiveness kindles. It is He, and not the
ancient Wisdom, which has turned the current of men's
thoughts into juster and kindlier ways on this great
question. And thus it is that the great Christian poet
represents the archangel correcting the faulty judgment
of man.Milton, Paradise Lost, xi. 650 etc.
Adam, speaking with the usual virtuous
indignation of the stronger sex in contemplation of
the soft vision of frail women presented to his eyes,
says:—
"O pity and shame, that they, who to live well
Entered so fair, should turn aside to tread
Paths indirect, or in the midway faint!
But still I see the tenour of man's woe
Holds on the same, from woman to begin."
The correction is the correction of Christ, though
Michael is the speaker:—
"From man's effeminate slackness it begins,"
Said the angel, "who should better hold his place,
By wisdom and superior gifts received."
Our Lord draws no such pictures as these in the
book of Proverbs; they have their value; it is necessary
to warn young men against the seductions which
the vices of other men have created in woman's form;
but He prefers always to go to the root of the matter;
He speaks to men themselves; He bids them restrain
the wandering eye, and keep pure the fountains of
the heart. To that censorious Wisdom which judges
without any perception that woman is more sinned
against than sinning He would oppose His severe
command to be rid of the beam in one's own eye,
before making an attempt to remove the mote from
another's. It is in this way that He in so many
varied fields of thought and action has turned a half
truth into a whole truth by going a little deeper, and
unveiling the secrets of the heart; and in this way
He has enabled us to use the half truth, setting it in
its right relation to the whole.The fuller teaching of the book on the subject of Woman will be
found in Lect. XXXI.
X.
WEALTH.
"Treasures of wickedness profit nothing:
But righteousness delivereth from death."—Prov. x. 2.
"O'erweening statesmen have full long relied
On fleets and armies and external wealth;
But from within proceeds a Nation's health."
Wordsworth.
No moral system is complete which does not treat
with clearness and force the subject of wealth.
The material possessions of an individual or of a nation
are in a certain sense the pre-requisites of all moral life;
for until the human being has food to eat he cannot be
virtuous, he cannot even live; until he has clothing
he cannot be civilised; and unless he has a moderate
assurance of necessaries, and a certain margin of leisure
secured from the toil of life, he cannot live well, and
there can be no moral development in the full sense of
that term. And so with a nation: it must have a sufficient
command of the means of subsistence to maintain
a considerable number of people who are not engaged
in productive labour, before it can make much advance
in the noblest qualities of national life, progress in the
arts, extension of knowledge, and spiritual cultivation.
The production of wealth, therefore, if not strictly
speaking a moral question itself, presses closely upon
all other moral questions. Wisdom must have something
to say about it, because, without it, Wisdom, in
a material world like ours, could not exist.
Wisdom will be called upon to direct the energies
which produce wealth, and to determine the feelings with
which we are to regard the wealth which is produced.
Moral problems weightier still begin to emerge when
the question of Distribution presents itself. Moral
considerations lie at the root of this question; and
Political Economy, so far as it attempts to deal with it
apart from moral considerations, must always be merely
a speculative, and not a practical or a fruitful science.
If Production is in a sense the presupposition of all
moral and spiritual life, no less certainly correct moral
conceptions—may we not even say true spiritual conditions?—are
the indispensable means of determining
Distribution. For a society in which every individual
is striving with all his strength or cunning to procure
for himself the largest possible share of the common
stock, in which therefore the material possessions gravitate
into the hands of the strong and the unscrupulous,
while the weak and the honourable are left destitute—such
a society, if it ever came into existence, would be
a demoralised society. Such a demoralisation is always
probable when the means of production have been
rapidly and greatly improved, and when the fever of
getting has overpowered the sense of righteousness and
all the kindlier human feelings. Such a demoralisation
is to be averted by securing attention to the abiding
moral principles which must govern men's action in the
matter of wealth, and by enforcing these principles with
such vividness of illustration and such cogency of sanction
that they shall be generally accepted and practised.
In our own day this question of the distribution of
wealth stands in the front rank of practical questions.
Religious teachers must face it, or else they must forfeit
their claim to be the guides and instructors of their
generation.
Socialists are grappling with this question not altogether
in a religious spirit: they have stepped into a gap
which Christians have left empty; they have recognised
a great spiritual issue when Christians have seen nothing
but a material problem of pounds, shillings, and pence,
of supply and demand, of labour and capital. Where
Socialism adopts the programme of Revolution, Wisdom
cannot give in her adhesion; she knows too well that
suffering, impatience, and despair are unsafe, although
very pathetic, counsellors; she knows too well that
social upheaval does not produce social reconstruction,
but a weary entail of fresh upheavals; she has learnt,
too, that society is organic, and cannot, like Pelops in
the myth, win rejuvenescence by being cut up and cast
into the cauldron, but can advance only by a quiet and
continuous growth, in which each stage comes naturally
and harmoniously out of the stage which preceded.
But all Socialism is not revolutionary. And Wisdom
cannot withhold her sympathy and her aid where
Socialism takes the form of stating, and expounding,
and enforcing truer conceptions concerning the distribution
of wealth. It is by vigorous and earnest
grappling with the moral problem that the way of
advance is prepared; every sound lesson therefore in
the right way of regarding wealth, and in the use of
wealth, is a step in the direction of that social renovation
which all earnest men at present desire.
The book of Proverbs presents some very clear and
decisive teaching on this question, and it is our task
now to view this teaching, scattered and disconnected
though it be, as a whole.
I. The first thing to be noted in the book is its
frank and full recognition that Wealth has its advantages,
and Poverty has its disadvantages. There is no quixotic
attempt to overlook, as many moral and spiritual systems
do, the perfectly obvious facts of life. The extravagance
and exaggeration which led St. Francis to choose
Poverty as his bride find no more sanction in this Ancient
Wisdom than in the sound teaching of our Lord and His
Apostles. The rich man's wealth is his strong city,Prov. x. 15; xviii. 11.
we
are told, and as an high wall in his own imagination,
while the destruction of the poor is their poverty. The
rich man can ransom himself from death if by chance
he has fallen into difficulties, though this benefit is to
some extent counterbalanced by the reflection that the
poor escape the threats of such dangers, as no bandit
would care to attack a man with an empty purse
and a threadbare cloak.Prov. xiii. 8.
The rich man gains many
advantages through his power of making gifts; it brings
him before great men,Prov. xviii. 16.
it procures him universal friendship,
such as it is,Prov. xix. 6; xiv. 20.
it enables him to pacify the anger of
an adversary,Prov. xxi. 14.
for indeed a gift is as a precious stone in
the eyes of him that hath it, whithersoever it turneth it
prospereth.Prov. xvii. 8. More literally: "A precious stone is the gift in the
eyes of him who gets possession of it, whithersoever he turneth he
deals wisely." That is to say, the man who receives the gift, whether
a judge or a witness or an opponent, is as it were retained for the
giver, and induced to use his best faculties in behalf of his retainer.
Not only does wealth make many friends,Prov. xix. 4: "Wealth addeth many friends, but the poor—his
companion separates from him."
it also secures positions of influence and authority, over
those who are poorer, enabling a man to sit in Parliament
or to gain the governorship of a colony.Prov. xxii. 17.
It gives
even the somewhat questionable advantage of being
able to treat others with brusqueness and hauteur.Prov. xviii. 23.
On the other hand, the poor man has to use entreaties.Prov. xviii. 23.
His poverty separates him from his neighbours,
and even incurs his neighbours' hatred.Prov. xiv. 20; xix. 4.
Nay,
worse than this, his friends go far from him, his very
brethren hate him, if he calls after them they quickly
get out of his reach;Prov. xix. 7. The sense of the Authorised Version is here retained,
but it will be seen in Lecture XII. that there is good reason
for treating the third clause of the verse as a mutilated fragment
of another proverb: see p. 166.
while the necessity of borrowing
from wealthier men keeps him in a position of
continual bondage.Prov. xxii. 7.
Indeed, nothing can compensate
for being without the necessaries of life: "Better is he
that is lightly esteemed, and is his own servant, than
he that honoureth himself, and lacketh bread."Prov. xii. 9. This reading is obtained by following the LXX.,
whose translation ὁ δουλεύων ἐαυτῷ shows that they pointed וְעֹבֵד לוֹ.
Cf. Eccles. x. 27: "Better is he that laboureth and aboundeth in all
things than he that boasteth himself and lacketh bread."
Since then Poverty is a legitimate subject of dread,
there are urgent exhortations to diligence and thrift,
quite in accordance with the excellent apostolic maxim
that if a man will not work he shall not eat; while there
are forcible statements of the things which tend to
poverty, and of the courses which result in comfort and
wealth. Thus it is pointed out how slack and listless
labour leads to poverty, while industry leads to wealth.Prov. x. 4.
We are reminded that the obstinate refusal to be corrected
is a fruitful source of poverty,Prov. xiii. 18.
while the humble
and pious mind is rewarded with riches as well as
with honour and life.Prov. xxii. 4.
In the house of the wise man
are found treasures as well as all needful supplies.Prov. xxi. 20.
Drunkenness and gluttony lead to poverty, and drowsiness
clothes a man with rags.Prov. xxiii. 21.
And there is a beautiful
injunction to engage in an agricultural life, which is the
only perennial source of wealth, the only secure foundation
of a people's prosperity. As if we were back in
patriarchal times, we are thus admonished in the later
proverbs of SolomonProv. xxvii. 23-27.
:—
"Be thou diligent to know the state of thy flocks,
And look well to thy herds;
For riches are not for ever;
And doth the crown endure unto all generations?
The hay is carried, and the tender grass showeth itself,
And the herbs of the mountains are gathered in.
The lambs are for thy clothing,
And the goats are the price of the field:
And there will be goats' milk enough for thy food, for the food of thy household;
And maintenance for thy maidens."
II. But now, making all allowance for the advantages
of wealth, we have to notice some of its serious drawbacks.
To begin with, it is always insecure. If a man
places any dependence upon it, it will fail him; only in
his imagination is it a sure defence.Prov. xi. 28.
"Wilt thou set
thine eyes upon it? it is gone. For riches certainly
make themselves wings, like an eagle that flieth toward
heaven."Prov. xxiii. 5 (marg.).
But, further, if the wealth has been obtained in any
other way than by honest labour it is useless, at any rate
for the owner, and indeed worse than useless for him.Cf. the Turkish proverb: "Of riches lawfully gained the devil
takes half, of riches unlawfully gained he takes the whole and the
owner too."
As the text says, treasures of wickedness profit
nothing. In the revenues of the wicked is trouble.Prov. xv. 6, cf. xiv. 24, "A crown of the wise is their riches, but
the folly of fools, (though they be rich, remains nothing but) folly."
Got in light and fallacious ways, the money dwindles;
only when gathered by labour does it really increase.Prov. xiii. 11.
When it is obtained by falsehood—by the tricks and
misrepresentations of trade, for example—it may be
likened to a vapour driven to and fro—nay, rather to
a mephitic vapour, a deadly exhalation, the snares of
death.Prov. xxi. 6. It is evident from their translation ἐπὶ παγίδας θανάτου
that the LXX. read מוֹקְשֵׁי־מָוֶת as in Psalm xviii. 6, and this gives
a very graphic and striking sense, while the received text of the
Hebrew, מְבַקְשֵׁי־מָוֶת, is hardly intelligible.
Worst of all is it to obtain wealth by oppression
of the poor; one who does so shall as surely come
to want as he who gives money to those who do not
need it.Prov. xxii. 16.
In fact, our book contains the striking thought
that ill-earned wealth is never gathered for the benefit of
the possessor, but only for the benefit of the righteous,
and must be useless until it gets into hands which will
use it benevolently.Prov. xiii. 22; xxviii. 8.
And while there are these serious drawbacks to
material possessions, we are further called upon to
notice that there is wealth of another kind, wealth
consisting in moral or spiritual qualities, compared with
which wealth, as it is usually understood, is quite paltry
and unsatisfying. When the intrinsic defects of silver
and gold have been frankly stated, this earthy treasure
is set, as a whole, in comparison with another kind
of treasure, and is observed to become pale and dim.
Thus "riches profit not in the day of wrath, but
righteousness delivereth from death."Prov. xi. 4.
Indeed it is
only the blessing of the Lord which brings riches
without drawbacks.Prov. x. 22.
In the house of the righteous is
much treasure.Prov. xv. 6.
Better is a little with righteousness
than great treasure without right.Prov. xvi. 8.
In the light of
these moral considerations the relative positions of the
rich and the poor are reversed; it is better to be an
honest poor man than a perverse rich man; the little
grain of integrity in the heart and life outweighs all
the balance at the bank.Prov. xix. 1. The parallelism in this verse is not so complete
as in xxviii. 6. The Peshitto reads, "than he who is perverse
in his lips and is rich," but it is better to retain the text and understand:
There is a poor man walking in his integrity, and everyone
thinks that he is to be commiserated; but he is much better off than
the fool with perverse lips, though no one thinks of commiserating
this last.
A little wisdom, a little sound understanding, or
a little wholesome knowledge is more precious than
wealth. How much better is it to get wisdom than
gold. Yea, to get understanding is rather to be
chosen than silver.Prov. xvi. 16.
There may be gold and abundance
of rubies, but the lips of knowledge are a precious
jewel.Prov. xx. 15.
Nay, there are some things apparently very trifling
which will so depreciate material wealth that if a choice
is to be made it is well to let the wealth go and to
purchase immunity from these trivial troubles. Better
is a little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure
and trouble therewith. Better is a dinner of herbs
where love is than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.Prov. xv. 16, 17.
Better is a dry morsel and quietness therewith than an
house full of feasting with strife.Prov. xvii. 1.
Yes, the good will
and affectionate regard of our fellow-men are on the
whole far more valuable than a large revenue. A good
name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and
loving favour rather than silver and gold.Prov. xxii. 1. This proverb is inscribed in the cupola which lights
the Manchester Exchange. It is a good skylight, but apparently too
high up for the busy merchants on the floor of the Exchange to see
without more effort than is to be expected of them.
Indeed,
when the relations of the rich and the poor are brought
up into God's presence our whole conception of the
matter is liable to change; we observe the rich and
the poor meet together, and the Lord the maker of them
all;Prov. xxii. 2.
we observe that any slur cast on the poor or any
oppression of them is practically a reproach against
the Maker,Prov. xiv. 31; xvii. 5.
whilst any act of pity or tenderness to the
needy is in effect a service rendered to God; and more
and more we get to feel that notwithstanding the rich
man's good opinion of himself he presents rather a
sorry spectacle in the presence of the wise, even though
the wise may be exceedingly poor.Prov. xxviii. 11. Cf. an interesting addition to xvii. 6 in the LXX.—
τοῦ πιστοῦ ὅλος ὁ κόσμος τῶν χρημάτων τοῦ δὲ ἀπίστου οὐδὲ ὀβολός.
The faithful man owns the whole world of possessions, the unfaithful
owns not a farthing.
Taking into account therefore the intrinsic insecurity
of wealth, and the terrible flaws in the title which
may result from questionable ways of obtaining it, and
estimating at a right value the other things which are not
usually reckoned as wealth,—goodness, piety, wisdom,
knowledge, and love,—we can quite understand that
enlightened men might be too busy in life to make
money, too occupied with grave purposes and engrossed
with noble objects of pursuit to admit the perturbations
of mammon into their souls.It is said of Agassiz that he excused himself from engaging in a profitable
lecturing tour on the ground that he had not time to make money.
Making all allowance
for the unquestionable advantages of being rich, and
the serious inconveniences of being poor, we may yet
see reasons for not greatly desiring wealth, nor greatly
dreading poverty.
III. But now we come to the positive counsels which
our Teacher would give on the strength of these considerations
about money and its acquisition. And first
of all we are solemnly cautioned against the fever of
money-getting, the passion to get rich, a passion which
has the most demoralising effect on its victims, and
is indeed an indication of a more or less perverted
character. The good man cannot be possessed by it,
and if he could he would soon become bad.Cf. the saying of Sirach: "Winnow not with every wind and go
not into every way, for so doth the sinner that hath a double tongue."
(Eccles. v. 9).
These grave warnings of Wisdom are specially
needed at the present time in England and America,
when the undisguised and the unrestrained pursuit of
riches has become more and more recognised as the
legitimate end of life, so that few people feel any shame
in admitting that this is their aim; and the clear unimpassioned
statements of the result, which always follows
on the unhallowed passion, receive daily confirmation
from the occasional revelations of our domestic, our
commercial, and our criminal life. He that is greedy
of gain, we are told, troubleth his own house.Prov. xv. 27.
An
inheritance may be gotten hastily at the beginning,
but the end thereof shall not be blessed.Prov. xx. 21.
A faithful
man shall abound with blessings, but he that maketh
haste to be rich (and consequently cannot by any
possibility be faithful) shall not be unpunished.Prov. xxviii. 20.
He
that hath an evil eye hasteth after riches, and knoweth
not that want shall come upon him.Prov. xxviii. 22.
"Weary not
thyself," therefore, it is said, "to be rich;" which,
though it may be the dictate of thine own wisdom,Prov. xxiii. 4.
is
really unmixed folly, burdened with a load of calamity
for the unfortunate seeker, for his house, and for all
those who are in any way dependent upon him.
Again, while we are cautioned not to aim constantly
at the increase of our possessions, we are counselled
to exercise a generous liberality in the disposal of such
things as are ours. Curiously enough, niggardliness in
giving is associated with slothfulness in labour, while
it is implied that the wish to help others is a constant
motive for due diligence in the business of life. "There
is that coveteth greedily all the day long, but the righteous
giveth and withholdeth not."Prov. xxi. 26.
The law of nature,—the
law of life,—is to give out and not merely to
receive, and in fulfilling that law we receive unexpected
blessings: "There is that scattereth and increaseth yet
more, and there is that withholdeth more than is meet,
and it tendeth only to want. The liberal soul shall be
made fat; and he that watereth shall be watered also
himself."Prov. xi. 24, 25.
"He that giveth to the poor shall not lack;
but he that hideth his eyes shall have many a curse."Prov. xxviii. 27.
"He that hath pity on the poor lendeth unto the Lord,
and his good deed will He pay him again."Prov. xix. 17.
"He that
hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed; for he giveth of
his bread to the poor."Prov. xxii. 9.
Such a wholesome shunning of the thirst for wealth,
and such a generous spirit in aiding others, naturally
suggest to the wise man a daily prayer, a request that
he may avoid the dangerous extremes, and walk in the
happy mean of worldly possessions: "Give me neither
poverty nor riches; feed me with the food that is needful
for me; lest I be full and deny thee, and say, Who
is the Lord? or lest I be poor and steal, and use profanely
the name of my God."Prov. xxx. 8, 9.
It is a request not
easy to make with perfect sincerity; there are not many
who, like Emerson's grandfather, venture to pray that
neither they nor their descendants may ever be rich;
while there have been not a few who in a "show of
wisdom in will-worship and humility and severity to
the body" have sought for an unnecessary and an
unwholesome poverty. But it is a wise request; it
finds an echo in the prayer which our Lord taught
His disciples, and constantly appears inwoven in the
apostolic teaching. And if the individual is to desire
such things for himself, he must naturally desire that
such may be the lot of his fellow-creatures, and he
must make it the aim of his efforts after social reform
to indefinitely increase the number of those who occupy
this happy middle position, and have neither riches nor
poverty.
And now we have followed the lines of teaching
contained in this book on the subject of wealth, and
it is impossible to miss the wisdom, the moderation, the
inspiration of such counsels. We cannot fail to see
that if these principles were recognised universally, and
very generally practised; if they were ingrained in the
constitution of our children, so as to become the instinctive
motives and guides of action; the serious
social troubles which arise from the unsatisfactory
distribution of wealth would rapidly disappear. Happy
would that society be in which all men were aiming,
not at riches, but merely at a modest competency,
dreading the one extreme as much as the other; in
which the production of wealth were constantly
moderated and controlled by the conviction that wealth
gotten by vanity is as the snares of death; in which all
who had become the owners of wealth were ready to
give and glad to distribute, counting a wise benevolence,
which in giving to the needy really lends to the Lord,
the best investment in the world.
If these neglected principles are hitherto very faintly
recognised, we must recollect that they have never been
seriously preached. Although they were theoretically
taught, and practically lived out, in the words and
the life of Jesus Christ, they have never been fully
incorporated into Christianity. The mediæval Church
fell into the perilous doctrines of the Ebionites, and
glorified poverty in theory while in practice it became
an engine of unparalleled rapacity. Protestantism has
generally been too much occupied with the great principle
of Justification by Faith to pay much attention to
such a writing as the Epistle of St. James, which Luther
described as "a letter of straw"; and thus, while we
all believe that we are saved by faith in Christ Jesus,
it seldom occurs to us that such a faith must include
the most exact and literal obedience to His teachings.
Christian men unblushingly serve Mammon, and yet
hope that they are serving God too, because they believe
on Him whom God sent—though He whom God
sent expressly declared that the two services could not
be combined. Christian men make it the effort of a
lifetime to become rich, although Christ declared that
it was easier for a camel to enter the eye of a needle
than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven;
and when they hear that Christ required an intending
follower to sell all that he had and give to the poor,
they explain it away, and maintain that He does not
require such a sacrifice from them, but simply asks
them to believe in the Atonement.
In this way Christians have made their religion
incredible, and even ridiculous, to many of the most
earnest spirits of our time. When Christ is made unto
them Wisdom as well as Redemption, they will see
that the principles of Wisdom which concern wealth
are obligatory upon them, just because they profess to
believe in Christ.
XI.
GOODNESS.
"The righteousness of the upright shall deliver them."—Prov. xi. 6.
"An unjust man is the abomination of the righteous, and he who goes
right in his way is the abomination of the wicked."—Prov. xxix. 27.
The book of Proverbs abounds with sayings which
have the sound of truisms, sayings which repeat,
with innumerable variations and shades of colouring,
that wickedness is an evil, hateful to God and to men,
and that righteousness is a blessing not only to the
righteous themselves, but to all with whom they are
connected. We are disposed to say, Surely no reasonable
person can question such an obvious truth; but
on reflection we remember that the truth was not perceived
by the great religions of antiquity, is not recognised
now by the vast majority of the human race, and
even where it is theoretically admitted without question
is too frequently forgotten in the hurry and the pressure
of practical life. There is good reason therefore
why the truism, as we are inclined to call it, should
be thrown into the form of maxims which will find a
hold in the memory, and readily occur to the mind on
occasions of trial. And as we pass in review what
Proverbial Religion has to say upon the subject, we
shall perhaps be surprised to find how imperfectly we
have apprehended the supreme importance of goodness,
and how insidiously teachings, which were originally
meant to enforce it, have usurped its place and treated
it with contumely. It will begin to dawn upon us that
the truth is a truism, not because it is carried out in
practice, but only because no one has the hardihood to
question it; and perhaps we shall receive some impulse
towards transforming the conviction which we cannot
dispute into a mode of conduct which we cannot decline.
To begin with, our book is most unflinching in its
assertions that, notwithstanding all appearances to the
contrary, wickedness is a mistake, a source of perpetual
weakness and insecurity, always in the long run producing
ruin and death; while righteousness is in itself
a perpetual blessing, and is weighted with beautiful and
unexpected fruits. The very reiteration becomes most
impressive.
The hope of the righteous shall be gladness; but the
expectation of the wicked shall perish.Prov. x. 28.
The righteous
shall never be removed, but the wicked shall not dwell
in the land.Prov. x. 30.
The house of the wicked shall be overthrown,
but the tent of the upright shall flourish.Prov. xiv. 11. Cf. Prov. xii. 7: "Overthrow the wicked; and
they are not (i.e., there is no rising again for them), but the house
of the righteous shall stand."
The
wicked earneth deceitful wages, but he that soweth
righteousness hath a sure reward.Prov. xi. 18.
A man shall not
be established by wickedness, while the root of the
righteous shall never be moved.Prov. xiii. 3.
The wicked really
falls by his own wickedness, and is swept away by
his own violence.Prov. xi. 5, 6; xxi. 7.
He sows iniquity and reaps
calamity.Prov. xxii. 8.
His crooked way, his malignant thoughts,
the hatred against his neighbour, the guile in his heart,
and the flood of evil things which comes out of his lips,
have one issue—destruction.Prov. xxi. 7, 8, 10, 15; xxvi. 24,
26; xv. 28.
When he comes to die,
his expectation perishes, all the hope of iniquity ends in
disappointment.Prov. xi. 7.
His lamp goes out not to be relit.Prov. xiii. 9; xxiv. 20.
Meanwhile, the light of the righteous man rejoices,
because he attains unto life as surely as the wicked
works towards death.Prov. xi. 19.
It is true that the appearance of things is different.
Hand joins in hand to promote evil.Prov. xi. 21.
Men follow out
what seems right in their own hearts, evil as they are.Prov. xiv. 12; xvi. 5, 25; xxi. 2.
Success seems to attend them, and one is tempted to
envy the sinners, and to fret at their ways.Prov. xxiii. 17, 18; xxiv. 1, 19.
But the
envy is misplaced; the evil man does not go unpunished;
the wicked are overthrown and are not.Prov. xii. 7.
The way which seemed right in a man's eyes proves to
be the way of death.Prov. xiv. 12; xvi. 25.
A righteous man falleth seven
times and riseth up again; but the wicked are overthrown
by calamity,Prov. xxiv. 15, 16.
and the righteous are obliged to
look upon their fall.Prov. xxix. 16.
On the other hand, goodness is its own continual
reward. While treacherous men are destroyed by
their perverseness, the upright are guided by their own
integrity.Prov. xi. 3.
While the sinner is overthrown by his
wickedness, righteousness guardeth him that is upright
in the way.Prov. xiii. 6. Cf. Prov. xiv. 14: "The backslider in heart shall be
sated from his own ways, and the good man from himself." Though
probably we ought to read, with Nowack, מִמְּעֲלָלָיו, which would give
a completer parallelism: "The backslider shall be sated from his own
ways, and the good man from his own doings."
If the righteous gets into trouble he is
delivered, while the wicked falls into his place:Prov. xi. 8. Cf. Prov. xxviii. 18.
there
is a kind of substitution; a ransom is paid to enable
the righteous to escape, and the ransom is the person
of the wicked.Prov. xxi. 18.
Not only does the righteous come out
of trouble,Prov. xii. 13.
but, strictly speaking, no mischief really
happens to him; it is only the wicked that is filled with
evil.Prov. xii. 21.
The righteous eats to the satisfying of his own
soul, but the belly of the wicked shall want.Prov. xiii. 25.
The
good man walks on a highway and so preserves his
soul.Prov. xvi. 17; xix. 16.
Mercy and truth shine upon him because he
devises good.Prov. xiv. 22.
He only followed after righteousness
and mercy, but he found life, righteousness, and
honour.Prov. xxi. 21.
His heart is flooded with joy, he actually
sings as he journeys on.Prov. xxi. 15; xxix. 6. Unless, with Delitzsch, we are to read
בְּפֶשַׂע for בְּפֶשַׁע, and יָרוּצ for יָרוּן, which would give: "In the steps
of a bad man lie snares, but the righteous runs and rejoices."
He seems like a tree in the
green leaf, a tree of life, the fruits of which cannot fail to
be attractive; so that he unconsciously wins favour.Prov. xi. 27, 30.
The fruit does not fail, because the root is alive.Prov. xii. 12.
And if in actual life this blessedness of the good man
does not appear, if by reason of the evil in the world
the righteous seem to be punished, and the noble to be
smitten,Prov. xvii. 26: "To punish the righteous is not good, nor to smite
the noble for their uprightness."
that only creates a conviction that the fruit
will grow in another life; for when we have closely
observed the inseparable connection between goodness
and blessedness, we cannot avoid the conviction that
"the righteous hath hope in his death."Prov. xiv. 32.
Yes, practical
goodness is the source of perpetual blessing, and it cannot
be altogether hidden. Even a child maketh himself
known by his doings, whether his work be pure and
right.Prov. xx. 11.
To the good we must assign the supremacy;
the evil must bow before them and wait at their gates.Prov. xiv. 19.
And it is easy to understand why it appears so incongruous—so
abnormal, like a troubled fountain and a
corrupted spring, when the righteous give way to the
wicked.Prov. xxv. 26.
Nor is the blessing of goodness at all limited to the
good man himself. It falls on his children too. A
just man that walketh in his integrity, blessed are his
children after him.Prov. xiv. 26: "In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence:
and his children shall have a place of refuge." So Prov. xx. 7: "A
just man that walketh in his integrity: blessed are his children after
him."
It reaches even to the third generation.
A good man leaveth an inheritance to his
children's children.Prov. xiii. 22.
The righteous is a guide to his
neighbour also.Prov. xii. 26.
He is a joy to his sovereign; he
that loveth pureness of heart, for the grace of his lips
the king shall be his friend.Prov. xxii. 11. Cf. Prov. xvi. 13.
His character and his
well-being are a matter of public, even of national
concern, for there is something winning in him; he
acts as a saving influence upon those who are around
him.Prov. xi. 31.
Therefore, when the righteous increase the
people rejoice,Prov. xxix. 2.
when they triumph there is great glory.Prov. xxviii. 12.
When it goeth well with the righteous the city rejoiceth,
just as when the wicked perish there is shouting. By
the blessing of the upright the city is exalted, just as
it is overthrown by the mouth of the wicked.Prov. xi. 10, 11.
Yes,
righteousness exalteth a nation, while sin is a reproach
to the whole people.Prov. xiv. 34.
It is the grand public interest to see the wicked perish
in order that the righteous may increase:Prov. xxviii. 28.
for the way
of the wicked causes other people to err.Prov. xii. 26.
His lips
are like a scorching fire;Prov. xvi. 27.
his presence brings a general
atmosphere of contempt, ignominy, and shame.Prov. xviii. 3.
When
the wicked rise men hide themselves,Prov. xxviii. 28.
when they bear
rule the people sigh.Prov. xxix. 2.
Well may the national feeling
be severe on all those who encourage the wicked in
any way. He that saith unto the wicked, Thou art
righteous, peoples shall curse him, nations shall abhor
him; but to them that rebuke him shall be delight, and
a good blessing shall come upon them.Prov. xxiv. 24, 25.
It is a sure
sign that one is forsaking the law when one ceases to
contend with the wicked and begins to praise them.Prov. xxviii. 4.
Blessing to himself, blessing to his children, his
neighbours, his country, is the beautiful reward of the
good man; ruin to himself, a spreading contagion of
evil to others, and general execration, is the lot of
the wicked. Well may the former be bold as a lion,
and well may the latter flee when no man pursues, for
conscience makes cowards of us all.Prov. xxviii. 1.
But at present we have not touched on the chief
blessedness of the good, and the chief curse of the evil,
on that which is really the spring and fountain-head of
all. It is the great fact that God is with the righteous
and against the wicked, that He judges men according to
their integrity or perverseness, and accepts them or
rejects them simply upon that principle. By looking
at this lofty truth we get all our conceptions on the
subject cleared. The perverse in heart are an abomination
to the Lord; such as are perfect in their way are
His delight.Prov. xi. 20.
A good man shall obtain favour of the
Lord, but a man of wicked devices will He condemn.Prov. xii. 2.
Evil devices are an abomination to the Lord,Prov. xv. 26.
and so is
the wicked, but He loveth the righteous.Prov. xv. 9.
To justify
the wicked or to condemn the righteous is equally
abominable to Him.Prov. xvii. 15, 26; xviii. 5.
He considers the house of
the wicked, how the wicked are overthrown to their
ruin.Prov. xxi. 12, where "one that is righteous" seems to mean God
Himself; see the margin of R.V.
He overthrows the words of the treacherous man,
while His eyes preserve him that hath knowledge.Prov. xxii. 12.
He
weighs the heart and keeps the soul and renders to
every man according to his work.Prov. xxiv. 12.
Thus His way is
a stronghold to the upright, but a destruction to the
workers of iniquity.Prov. x. 29.
He does not regard prayer so
much as righteousness; he that turneth away his ear
from hearing the law, even his prayer is an abomination.Prov. xxviii. 9.
Sacrifice goes for nothing in His sight if the life is
not holy. To do justice and judgment is more acceptable
to the Lord than sacrifice.Prov. xxi. 3.
The sacrifice of the wicked
is an abomination: how much more when he bringeth
it with a wicked mind?Prov. xxi. 27.
Yes, it is an abomination
to the Lord, just as the prayer of the upright is His
delight. The Lord is far from the wicked, but He
heareth the prayer of the righteous.Prov. xv. 8, 29.
When the foolish
sinner offers a sin-offering instead of relinquishing his
sin, the very offering mocks him, for it is only the
righteous who find favour with the Lord.Prov. xiv. 9. This seems to be the meaning of this difficult verse,
which should be translated: The sin-offering mocks fools, but among
the righteous is favour.
It is this solemn truth, the truth of God's own way
of regarding goodness and wickedness, which makes
earnestness on the subject essential. If goodness were
only pleasing to man, if sin were only an offence against
creatures like ourselves, ordinary prudence would
require us to be good and to avoid evil, but higher
sanction would be wanting. When, however, the
matter is taken up into the Divine presence, and we
begin to understand that the Supreme Ruler of all
things loves righteousness and hates iniquity, visits the
one with favour and the other with reprobation, quite
a new sanction is introduced. The wicked man, who
makes light of evil, to whom it is as a sport, appears to
be nothing short of an absolute fool.Prov. x. 23.
In God's presence
it is not difficult to perceive that goodness is wisdom,
the only wisdom, the perfect wisdom.
But now it may occur to some of us that it is surely
nothing very wonderful to lay this stress upon the
close connection between goodness and God-pleasing.
Is it not, we are inclined to say, the most obvious and
unquestioned of facts that God requires goodness at
our hands, and is angry with the wicked every day?
It is not very wonderful to us, because Revelation
has made it familiar, but none the less it is a truth
of Revelation, and if we were to ask in what the
Inspiration of this book consists, no simpler and truer
answer could be given than that it teaches, as we have
just seen, the alliance of God with righteousness and
the abhorrence in which He holds wickedness.
Yes, a truism, but it was a discovery which the world
was very slow to make, and it is still a principle on
which the world is very unwilling to act.
The main characteristic of all heathen religions is
that their gods do not demand righteousness, but certain
outward and formal observances; sacrifices must be
offered to them, their vindictive temper must be propitiated,
their anger averted; if the dues of the gods
are paid, the stipulated quantity of corn and wine and
oil, the tithes, the firstfruits, the animals for the altar,
the tribute for the temple, then the worshipper who
has thus discharged his obligations may feel himself
free to follow out his own tastes and inclinations. In
the Roman religion, for example, every dealing with
the gods was a strictly legal contract; the Roman
general agreed with Jupiter or with Mars that if the
battle should be won a temple should be built. It was
not necessary that the cause should be right, or that
the general should be good; the sacrifice of the wicked,
though offered with an evil intent, was as valid as the
sacrifice of the good. In either case the same amount
of marble and stone, of silver and gold, would come to
the god.
In the Eastern religions not only were goodness and
righteousness dissociated from the idea of the gods, but
evil of the grossest kinds was definitely associated with
them. The Phœnician deities, like those of the Hindoos,
were actually worshipped with rites of murder and lust.
Every vice had its patron god or goddess, and it was
forgotten by priest and people that goodness could be
the way of pleasing God, or moral evil a cause of offence
to Him.
Even in Israel, where the teaching of Revelation was
current in the proverbs of the people, the practice
generally followed the heathen conceptions. All the
burning protests of the inspired prophets could not
avail to convince the Israelite that what God required
was not sacrifice and offering, but to do justice, to
love mercy, and to walk humbly with Him. Again and
again we find that the high places were frequented and
the ritual supported by men who were sensual, unjust,
and cruel. The Sabbath Day was kept, the feasts
were duly observed, the priests were handsomely
maintained, and there, it was supposed, the legitimate
claims of Jehovah ceased. What more could He
desire?
This is surely the most impressive proof that the
Truth which is under consideration is far from being
obvious. Israel himself, the chosen channel for communicating
this truth to the world, was so slow to
understand and to grasp it, that his religious observances
were constantly degenerating into lifeless ceremonies
devoid of all moral significance, and his religious
teachers were mainly occupied in denouncing his conduct
as wholly inconsistent with the truth.
So far from treating the truth as a truism, our Lord
in all His teaching laboured to bring it out in greater
clearness, and to set it in the forefront of His message
to men. He made it the very keynote of the Gospel
that not every one who says, Lord, Lord, shall enter
into the kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the will
of His Father in heaven. He painted with exquisite
simplicity and clearness the right life, the conduct
which God requires of us, and then likened every one
who practised this life to a man who builds his house
on a rock, and every one who does not practise it to
a man who builds his house on the sand. He declared,
in the spirit of all that we have just read from the
book of Proverbs, that teachers were to be judged by
their fruits, and that God would estimate our lives not
by what we professed to do, but by what we did; and
He took up the very language of the book in declaring
that every man should be judged according to his
works.Matt. xvi. 27.
In every word He spoke He made it plain
that goodness is what God loves, and that wickedness
is what He judges and destroys. In the same way
every one of the Apostles insists on this truth with a
new earnestness. St. John more especially reiterates
it, in words which sound even more like a truism than
the sayings of this book: "He that doeth righteousness
is righteous even as He is righteous;" and, "If ye know
that He is righteous, ye know that every one also that
doeth righteousness is begotten of Him."1 John iii. 7, 10; ii. 29.
The Gospel itself is accompanied by a new and more
earnest assertion of this cardinal truth, that God loves
goodness, and that He judges men according to their
works. And even now, after many centuries of Christian
faith, and notwithstanding all the teachings of the Bible
and the witness of the Spirit, it is very difficult for many
of us to understand that religion is goodness, and
religion without goodness is impiety of the worst kind.
It is supposed by some, in face of all the accumulated
truth and wisdom of the ages which have passed since
this book was written, that God's last and highest
message is a dispensation from practical righteousness—that
the Gospel of Grace means God's willingness to
accept men because they believe, apart from the actual
goodness to which all faith is calculated to lead; as if
the Gospel were an announcement that God had entirely
changed His nature, and that all the best and noblest
teachings of His Spirit in the past were set aside by
His final revelation. Behind some figment or other,
some perverted notion of imputed righteousness, men
try to hide their guilty countenance, and to persuade
themselves that now, in virtue of the Cross, they can
see God without holiness, without purity of heart.
Heaven has been treated as a place where men can
enter who work abomination and make a lie; and in
order to secure a full acceptance for our dogma we try
to depreciate goodness as if it were a thing of little
worth, and even come to look with some suspicion on
those who are only good—only moral, I think we call
it—and do not hold our own views of speculative truth.
Meanwhile religious teachers "tell the wicked they are
righteous," and earn the curse of the nation, because
they thereby enable men to be hard and cruel and
unjust and selfish and proud and contemptuous, and
yet to esteem themselves as justified by faith. Others
"justify the wicked," accepting a verbal profession in
place of a virtuous practice; and that, as we have seen,
is abominable to the Lord.
Justification by faith loses all its meaning and all its
value unless it is fully admitted that to be just is the
great end and aim of religion. Salvation becomes a
delusion unless it is perceived that it means righteousness.
Heaven, and the saints' everlasting rest, become
worthless and misleading ideas unless we recognise
that it is the abode of goodness, and that saints are
not, as we sometimes seem to imply, bad people
regarded as holy by a legal fiction, but people who are
made good and are actually holy.
Strong as the language of our book is upon the
subject, it is not possible to bring out in mere proverbial
sayings the eternal necessity of this great truth.
Goodness and blessedness are actually identical, the
reverse and the obverse sides of the same coin. If a
man is made good he is made blessed; but if he is
made blessed to all appearance, and not good, the
blessedness proves to be an illusion. It could not
possibly avail to be justified by faith, unless we were
made just by faith; a sore body is not healed by covering
it up, a dead man is not quickened by a smiling
mask. There have been many people who counted
themselves the elect, and made no question that they
were saved, though they remained all the time inwardly
wicked; they were miserable, sour, discontented, censorious,
a burden to themselves, an eyesore to others;
they were persuaded that they would be happy in
heaven, and they supposed that their constant wretchedness
was due to their being pilgrims in a strange land;
but the fact was they would be more wretched still in
heaven, for nowhere is evil such a curse as in a place
where good prevails; their misery arose from their own
wicked hearts, and in the next world, their hearts still
being wicked, their misery must continue and increase.
May God grant us a clear vision in this matter, that
we may see the due relation of things! Goodness is
the principal thing—for it faith itself and all religion
exists. God is goodness—man is evil; what God
means by saving us is to make us good like Himself.
That we must be saved by faith means that we must
be made good by faith, not that we must take faith in
place of goodness. That righteousness is imputed to
us by the goodness of God means that the goodness of
Christ is reckoned as ours for the purpose of making
us good, not in order to spare us the necessity of being
good. And in this way, and this only, we must
estimate one another. What a man believes in his
heart we can never fully know; but whether he is
good or not is a matter plain as the day. It is easy
to bandy words of reproach, to call men unbelievers,
sceptics, atheists; but there is only one wise way of
speaking and thinking. If we see goodness, let us
thank God, for there, be sure, His Spirit is;"If ye know that He is righteous," says St. John, "ye know that
every one also that doeth righteousness is begotten of Him." (1
John ii. 29).
if we
see the lovely graces which shine in our Lord Jesus
Christ gleaming, however fitfully, in our fellow-men, let
us recognise Christ there. And where we see wickedness,
let no consideration of outward Christian profession
or orthodoxy of belief restrain us from fully recognising
that it is evil, or from courageously contending against it.
XII.
THE TONGUE.
"A man shall be satisfied with good by the fruit of his mouth:
and the doings of a man's hands shall be rendered unto him."—Prov.
xii. 14.
"In the transgression of the lips is a snare to an evil man: but the
righteous shall come out of trouble."—Prov. xii. 13.
"A fool's vexation is presently known: but a prudent man concealeth
shame."—Prov. xii. 16.
"He that uttereth truth showeth forth righteousness, but a false
witness deceit."—Prov. xii. 17.
"The lip of truth shall be established for ever: but a lying tongue
is but for a moment."—Prov. xii. 19.
"Lying lips are an abomination unto the Lord: but they that deal
truly are His delight."—Prov. xii. 22.
"There is that speaketh rashly like the piercings of a sword: but
the tongue of the wise is health."—Prov. xii. 18.
"A prudent man concealeth knowledge: but the heart of fools
proclaimeth foolishness."—Prov. xii. 23.
"The words of the wicked are a lying in wait for blood: but the
mouth of the upright shall deliver them."—Prov. xii. 6.
"Heaviness in the heart of a man maketh it stoop; but a good
word maketh it glad."—Prov. xii. 25.
There is nothing which seems more insubstantial
than speech, a mere vibration in the atmosphere
which touches the nerves of hearing and then dies
away. There is no organ which seems smaller and
less considerable than the tongue; a little member
which is not even seen, and, physically speaking, soft
and weak. But the word which issues out of the lips
is the greatest power in human life. That "soft tongue
breaketh the bone."Prov. xxv. 15.
Words will change the currents
of life: look for instance at a great orator addressing his
audience; how miraculous must it seem to a deaf man
watching the speaker that the quiet opening of a mouth
should be able to produce such powerful effects upon
the faces, the movements, the conduct of the listeners!
We are coming to consider the importance of this
diminutive organ, the ill uses and the good uses to which
it may be turned, and the consequent necessity of fitly
directly and restraining it.
On the use of the tongue depend the issues of a
man's own life. It may be regarded as a tree which
bears fruits of different kinds, and such fruits as his
tongue bears a man must eat. If his words have been
good, then he shall be satisfied with good by the fruit
of his mouth.Prov. xiii. 2.
"A man's belly shall be filled with the
fruit of his mouth, with the increase of his lips shall he
be satisfied."Prov. xviii. 20.
The fruits which grow on this tongue-tree
are death and life—the tongue produces them—and
he that loves the tree shall according to his love eat the
one fruit or the other; if he loves death-bearing speech
he shall eat death; if he loves life-bearing speech he
shall eat life.Prov. xviii. 21.
So deadly may be the fruit of the tongue
that the mouth of the fool is regarded as a present
destruction.Prov. x. 14.
So wholesome may be the fruit of the
tongue that the tongue of the wise may be actually
denominated health.Prov. xii. 18.
In the case of the fool it is always very obvious how
powerfully the tongue affects the condition of the
speaker. His lips are always coming into strife, and his
mouth is always calling for stripes. It is his destruction,
and his lips are the snare of his soul.Prov. xviii. 6, 7.
In the
transgression of the lips always lies the snare for the
evil man: ultimately all men are in effect condemned
out of their own mouths.Prov. xii. 13.
The tongue proves to be a
rod for the back of the proud and foolish owner of it,
while the good man's tongue is a constant life-preserver.Prov. xiv. 3.
As an old proverb says, a fool's tongue is
always long enough to cut his own throat. On the
other hand, where the tongue is wisely used it always
brings back joy to the speaker in the end.Prov. xv. 23.
Thus whoever
keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps his soul
from troubles,Prov. xxi. 23.
but the man who does not take the pains
to hear, but gives his testimony falsely, shall perish.Prov. xxi. 28.
While the use of the tongue thus recoils on the speaker
for good or for evil, it has a wide influence also on
others. "He that hath a perverse tongue falleth into
mischief,"Prov. xvii. 20.
but when speech is good, and such as it
ought to be, "the words of a man's mouth are like deep
waters, a gushing brook, a well of wisdom."Prov. xviii. 4.
Thus it is of vast and obvious importance how we
use our tongue. If our speech is gracious we shall
win the friendship of the king,Prov. xxii. 11.
and it is a pleasant
thing if we "keep the words of the wise within us and
if they be established together upon our lips."Prov. xxii. 18.
It is
better for us to be poor than perverse or untruthful in
our speech.Prov. xix. 1, 22.
Our teacher, especially our Divine Lord,
will rejoice inwardly and deeply "when our lips speak
right things."Prov. xxiii. 16.
We are now cautioned against some of the evil
purposes to which the tongue may be turned, and as
all the heads of evil are passed in review we realize
why St. James spoke of the tongue as "the world of
iniquity" (iii. 6); and how profound was our Lord's
teaching that out of the mouth proceed the things which
defile a man (Matt. xv. 18).
First of all, the tongue is a fruitful source of Quarrelling
and discord. A fool cannot hide his vexation,
but must immediately blurt it out with the tongue.Prov. xii. 16.
When he is angry he must utter it all at once,Prov. xxix. 11.
though
a wise man would keep it back and still it, so concealing
shame. No one is more certain to come to grief
than "he who provokes with words."Prov. xix. 7. All the Proverbs in this selection are in the form
of a distich. This affords a fair presumption that this verse with its
three clauses is mutilated; and the presumption is confirmed by the
fact that the third clause adds nothing of value, even if it be intelligible
at all, to the sense. There is good reason, therefore, for believing that
this third clause is the half of a distich which has not been preserved
in its integrity; all the more because the LXX. have a complete proverb
which runs thus: ὁ πολλὰ κακοποιῶν τελεσιουργεῖ κακίαν, ὃς δὲ ἐρεθίζει
λόγους οὐ σωθήσεται. "He that does much evil is a craftsman of iniquity,
and he that uses provoking words shall not escape." Perhaps in
the Hebrew text which was before the Greek translators מְנַדֵּף
appeared instead of מְרַדֵּף, and לֹא הָיָה instead of לֹא־הֵמָּה.
These irritating
taunts and threats are like coals to hot embers, and
wood to fire;Prov. xxvi. 21.
in their absence the contention would
quickly die out. It is therefore the wise counsel of
Agur to one who has done foolishly in exalting himself,
or has even entertained for a moment the arrogant or
quarrelsome thought, "Hand on thy mouth!" for speech
under such circumstances produces strife as surely as
churning produces butter from milk, or a blow on the
nose blood.Prov. xxx. 32, 33.
Rash, inconsiderate, angry words are like
the piercings of a sword.Prov. xii. 18.
If only our wrathful spirit
made us immediately dumb, anger would never go far,
it would die out as a conflagration dies when there is
no wind to fan the flames.
But again, the tongue is the instrument of Lying;
one of its worst disservices to man is that when it is
well balanced, so that it easily wags, it often betrays
him into untruths which his heart never contemplated
nor even approved. It is the tongue which by false
witness so often condemns the innocent.Prov. xii. 17.
A worthless
witness mocketh at judgment; and the mouth of the
wicked swalloweth iniquity.Prov. xix. 28.
And though such a witness
shall not in the long run go unpunished, nor
shall the liar escape,Prov. xix. 5, rep. ver. 9.
yet, as experience shows, he may
have brought ruin or calamity on others before vengeance
falls upon him. The false witness shall perish,Prov. xxi. 28.
but often not before he has like a mace or a hammer
bruised and like a sword or a sharp arrow pierced his
unfortunate neighbour.Prov. xxv. 18.
It is the tongue which glozes
over the purposes of hate, and lulls the victim into a
false security; the fervent lips and the wicked heart are
like a silver lining spread over an earthen vessel to
make it look like silver; the hatred is cunningly concealed,
the seven abominations in the heart are hidden;
the pit which is being dug and the stone which is to
overwhelm the innocent are kept secret by the facile talk
and flatteries of the tongue; the more the tongue lies in
its guileful machinations the more the heart hates the
victims of its spite.Prov. xxvi. 23-28.
A righteous man hates lying, but
the wicked, by his lies, brings disgrace and shame.Prov. xiii. 5.
The
lie often appears to prosper for a moment,Prov. xii. 19.
but happily
it is an abomination to the Lord,Prov. xii. 22.
and in His righteous
ordering of events he makes the falsehood which was
as bread, and sweet to the lips, into gravel which breaks
the teeth in the mouth.Prov. xx. 17.
The curse which is causeless
is frustrated, and so also is the empty lie; it wanders
without rest, without limit, like a sparrow or a
swallow.Prov. xxvi. 2.
Closely allied to lying is Flattery; and to this vile
use the tongue is often put. Flattery is always a
mistake. It does not attain its end in winning the
favour of the flattered; for in the long run "he that
rebuketh a man shall find more favour than he that
flattereth with the tongue."Prov. xxviii. 23.
If it is believed, as often
unfortunately it is, it proves to be a net spread in the
path, which may trip up, and may even capture and
destroy, the unwary walker.Prov. xxix. 5.
Another evil use of the tongue is for Whispering and
tale-bearing. "He that goeth about as a tale-bearer
revealeth secrets"—he is not to be trusted, it is better
to have nothing to do with him. Disclosing the secret
of another is a sure way of incurring reproach and
lasting infamy. Such a habit is a fruitful source of
rage and indignation, it brings black wrath to the
countenance of him whose secret has been published,
just as a north wind spreads the rain clouds over the
sky.Prov. xi. 13 and xx. 19; xxv. 2, 23. Cf. "Whoso discovereth
secrets loseth his credit and shall never find friend to his mind"
(Eccles. xxvii. 16).
The temptation to tattling is great; the business
of a gossip brings an immediate reward; for the
corrupt heart of man delights in scandal as an epicure
in tit-bits: "The words of a whisperer are as dainty
morsels which go down into the chamber of the belly."Prov. xviii. 8, rep. xxvi. 22.
But what mischief they do! They separate bosom
friends, sowing suspicion and distrust.Prov. xvi. 28.
Where there
is already a little misunderstanding, the whisperer
supplies wood to the fire and keeps it burning; apart
from him it would soon die out.Prov. xxvi. 20.
But if he thinks
there is any prospect of a reconciliation he will be
constantly harping on the matter; one who seeks love
would try to hide the transgression, but the scandalmonger
is a foe to love and the unfailing author of
enmity.Prov. xvii. 9.
But there is Mischief, more deliberate and more
malignant still, which the tongue is employed to plot,
to plan and to execute. "With his mouth the godless
man destroyeth his neighbour."Prov. xi. 9.
"The words of the
wicked are a lying in wait for blood."Prov. xii. 6.
"The mouth
of the wicked poureth out evil things,"Prov. xv. 28.
blasphemies,
obscenities, curses, imprecations. "A froward man
scattereth abroad strife."Prov. xvi. 28.
He deceives, and in bitter
raillery declares that he was only jesting; he is like
a madman casting firebrands, arrows, and death.Prov. xxvi. 18, 19.
We
know what it is to hear a man pouring out foul, abusive,
and impious language, until the very atmosphere seems
enflamed with firebrands, and arrows fly hither and
thither through the horrified air. We know, too, what
it is to hear the smooth and well-turned speech of the
hypocrite and the impostor, which seems to oppress
the heart with a sense of decomposition; righteousness,
truth, and joy seem to wither away, and in the choking
suffocation of deceit and fraud life itself seems as if
it must expire.
It is a relief to turn from those worst uses of the
tongue to the more pardonable vices of Rashness and
Inopportuneness of speech. Yet these too are evil
enough in their way. To pass a judgment before we are
in possession of the facts, and before we have taken the
pains to carefully investigate and consider them, is a
sign of folly and a source of shame.Prov. xviii. 13.
So impressed is
our teacher with the danger of ill-considered speech that
he says, "Seest thou a man that is hasty in his words?
there is more hope of a fool than of him."Prov. xxix. 20.
And even
where the utterance of the tongue is in itself good it
may be rendered evil by its untimeliness; religious
talk itself may be so introduced as to hinder the cause
of religion; pearls may be cast before swine: "Speak
not in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the
wisdom of thy words."Prov. xxiii. 9.
There must be some preparation
of spirit before we can wisely introduce Divine and
heavenly things, and circumstances must not be chosen
which will tend to make the Divine things seem mean
and contemptible. It may be good to rebuke an evildoer,
or to admonish a friend; but if the opportunity
is not fitting, we may make the evildoer more evil,—we
may alienate our friend without improving him.
Considering then what mischief may be done with
the tongue, it is not to be wondered at that we are
cautioned against excessive speech. "In the multitude
of words there wanteth not transgression, but he that
refraineth his lips doeth wisely."Prov. x. 19.
"He that guardeth
his mouth keepeth his life; who opens wide his lips
gets destruction, and a fool spreadeth out folly."Prov. xiii. 3, 16.
"In
all labour is profit, the talk of the lips tends only to
poverty."Prov. xiv. 23.
"Wisdom rests in the heart of the understanding,
but even in the inward part of fools all is
blabbed."Prov. xiv. 33.
"In the fool are no lips of knowledge"
because he is always talking.Prov. xiv. 7. There is a quaint and pertinent passage in Lyly's
Euphues:—"We may see the cunning and curious work of Nature,
which hath barred and hedged nothing in so strongly as the tongue,
with two rowes of teeth, and therewith two lips, besides she hath placed
it farre from the heart, that it should not utter that which the heart had
conceived; this also should cause us to be silent, seeinge those that
use much talke, though they speake truly, are never beleeved."
"The tongue of the
wise uttereth knowledge aright, but the mouth of fools
poureth out folly."Prov. xv. 2.
"A fool hath no delight in understanding,
but only that his heart may reveal itself."Prov. xviii. 2.
One who is always pouring out talk is sure to be
pouring out folly. The wise man, feeling that all his
words must be tested and weighed, is not able to talk
very much. When your money is all in copper, you
may afford to throw it about, but when it is all in gold
you have to be cautious. A Christian feels that for
every idle word he utters he will have to give account,
and as none of his words are to be idle they must
be comparatively few; the word that kindles wrath, the
lie, the whisper, the slander, can therefore find no place
on his lips.
This brings us to the Good and beautiful uses of the
tongue, those uses which justify us in calling the
tongue of the wise Health.Prov. xii. 18.
First of all the tongue has
the gracious power of soothing and restraining anger.
It is the readiest instrument of peace-making. Gentleness
of speech allays great offences,Eccl. x. 4.
and by preventing
quarrels, disarming wrath, and healing the wounds of
the spirit, it maintains its claim to be a tree of life.Prov. xv. 4. מַרְפֵּא is best rendered here and in Eccl. x. 4 by
"gentleness." It is just that quality of humility and submission and
tranquillity which our Lord blessed as meekness.
If in the tumult of passion, when fiery charges are
made and grievous provocations are uttered, the tongue
can be held in firm restraint, and made to give a soft
answer, the storm will subside, the angry assailant
will retire abashed,Prov. xv. 1.
and the flaming arrows will be
quenched in the buckler of meekness which opposes
them. Nor is the tongue only defensive in such cases.
The pleasant words, spoken out of a kindly and gentle
nature, have a purifying effect;Prov. xv. 26.
they cleanse away the
defilements out of which the evil passions sprang; they
purge the diseased humours which produce the irritations
of life; they supply a sweet food to the poor
hearts of men, who are often contentious because
they are hungry for sympathy and love. Pleasant
words are as a honeycomb, sweet to the soul, health to
the bones.Prov. xvi. 24.
They must be true words, or they will
not in the end be pleasant, for, as we have seen, the
sweet bread of falsehood turns to gravel in the mouth.
But what a different world this would become if we all
spoke as many pleasant words as we honestly could,
and were not so painfully afraid of showing what
tenderness and pity and healing actually exist in our
hearts! For another beautiful use of the tongue is to
comfort the mourners, of whom there are always so
many in the world. "Heaviness in the heart of a
man maketh it stoop." There are these stooping,
bowed-down hearts everywhere around us. We wish
that we could remove the cause of sorrow, that we
could effectually change the conditions which seem
unfavourable to joy; but being unable to do this, we
often stand aloof and remain silent, because we shrink
from giving words without deeds, pity without relief.
We forget that when the heart is heavy it is just "a
good word that maketh it glad."Prov. xii. 25.
Yes, a word of
genuine sympathy, a word from the heart,—and in
trouble no other word can be called good,—will often
do more to revive the drooping spirit than the grosser
gifts of material wealth. A coin kindly given, a
present dictated by a heart-felt love, may come as a
spiritual blessing; on the other hand, money given
without love is worthless, and seldom earns so much
as gratitude, while a word in season, how good it is!Prov. xv. 23.
It is better than silver and gold; the discouraged and
despondent heart seems to be touched with the delicate
finger of hope, and to rise from the ashes and the dust
with a new purpose and a new life. It must, of course,
be in season. "As vinegar upon nitre so is he that
sings songs to a sad heart."Prov. xxv. 20.
But the seasonable
word, spoken just at the right moment and just in the
right tone, brief and simple, but comprehending and
penetrating, will often make the sad heart sing a song
for itself.
Great stress is to be laid on this seasonableness of
speech, whether the speech be for comfort or reproof.
A word fitly spoken, or to preserve the image implied
in the original, a word that runs on its wheels in the
just and inevitable groove, is compared to a beautiful
ornament consisting of golden apples set in an appropriate
framework of silver filigree.Prov. xxv. 11.
In such an
ornament the golden apples torn from their suitable
foil would lose half their beauty, and the silver
setting without the apples would only suggest a void
and a missing. It is in the combination that the
artistic value is to be found. In the same way, the
wisest utterance spoken foolishlyCf. Eccles. xx. 20: "A wise sentence shall be rejected when
it cometh out of a fool's mouth, for he will not speak it in due
season."
jars upon the
hearers, and misses the mark, while a very simple
saying, a platitude in itself, may by its setting become
lovely and worthy. The best sermon in a social
gathering will seem out of place, but how often can the
Christian man by some almost unobserved remark
correct unseasonable levity, rebuke unhallowed conversation,
and lead the minds of the company to nobler
thoughts. The timely word is better than the best
sermon in such a case.
The use of the tongue in Reproof is frequently referred
to in these proverbs. "A wise reprover upon
an obedient ear" is compared to "an earring of gold,
an ornament of fine gold."Prov. xxv. 12.
And rebuke is, as we
have seen, preferred before flattery.Prov. xxviii. 23.
But how wise
we must be before our tongue can fitly discharge this
function! How humble must the heart be before it
can instruct the tongue to speak at once with firmness
and tenderness, without a touch of the Pharisee in its
tone, to the erring brother or the offending stranger!
A rebuke which springs not from love but from vanity,
not from self-forgetfulness but from self-righteousness,
will not be like an earring of gold, but rather like an
ornament of miserable tinsel chafing the ear, the cause
of gangrene, a disfigurement as well as an injury. But
if we live in close communion with Christ, and daily
receive His stern but tender rebukes into our own
souls, it is possible that we may be employed by Him
to deliver timely rebukes to our fellow-men.
There are two other noble uses of the tongue to which
reference is constantly made in our book; the Instruction
of the ignorant, and the Championship of the distressed.
With regard to the first, we are told that "the lips of
the wise disperse knowledge," while of course the heart
of the foolish not being right cannot possibly impart
rightness to others.Prov. xv. 7.
It is only the wise in heart that
can claim the title of prudent, but where that wisdom
is "the sweetness of the lips increaseth learning."Prov. xvi. 21.
"The heart of the wise instructeth his mouth and
addeth learning to his lips."Prov. xvi. 23.
The lips of knowledge
are compared to a precious vessel which is more valuable
than gold or rubies.Prov. xx. 15.
To teach well requires
earnest preparation, "the heart of the righteous studieth
to answer."Prov. xv. 28.
But when the right answer to the pupil
is discovered and given it is beautifully compared to
a kiss on the lips.Prov. xxiv. 26.
But never is the tongue more divinely employed than
in using its knowledge or its pleadings to deliver those
who are in danger or distress. "Through knowledge
the righteous may often be delivered."Prov. xi. 9.
The mouth of
the upright will deliver those against whom the wicked
are plotting.Prov. xii. 6.
It is a great prerogative of wise lips
that they are able to preserve not themselves only but
others.Prov. xiv. 3.
The true and faithful witness delivers souls.Prov. xiv. 5, 25.
It is this which gives to power its one great attraction
for the good man. The ruler, the judge, the person
of social consideration or of large means is in the
enviable position of being able to "open his mouth for
the dumb, in the cause of all such as are left desolate,
to judge rightly and minister judgment to the poor and
needy."Prov. xxxi. 8, 9.
The Press—that great fourth estate—which represents
for us the more extended use of the tongue in modern
times, illustrates in the most vivid way the service
which can be rendered where speech is fit, and also the
injury that can be done where it is rash, imprudent,
dishonest, interested, or unjust.
After thus reviewing some of the good uses of the
tongue, and observing how they depend on the state
of the heart,Note the intimate connection between conduct and speech in
such a proverb as xvii. 4. When we do evil we are always ready
to listen to evil talk, when we talk deceitfully we are preparing to go
on to worse deeds of evil, to listen to tongues of destruction. Note,
too, how in xii. 5 the thoughts and the counsels of the heart come
before the words and the mouth in v. 6.
we cannot help again laying stress on the
need of a wise self-control in all that we say. He that
refraineth his lips doeth wisely. A man of understanding
holdeth his peace.Prov. xi. 12.
"He that spareth his words
hath knowledge."Prov. xvii. 27.
"Even a fool when he holdeth his
peace is counted wise, when he shutteth his lips he
is prudent."Prov. xvii. 28. Cf. the old Norse proverb:—
"An unwise man when he comes among the people
Had best be silent: no one knows
That he nothing knows unless he talks too much."
If only the uninstructed and foolish
person has sense enough to perceive that wisdom
is too high for him he will not open his mouth in the
gate,Prov. xxiv. 7.
and so in listening he may learn. "Of thine
unspoken word thou art master," says an Indian
proverb, "but thy spoken word is master of thee."
We are to be swift to hear, but slow to speak: we are
to ponder all that we hear, for it is only the simple that
believes every word, the prudent man looks well to his
going.Prov. xiv. 15.
As St. James says, summing up all the teaching
that we have reviewed, "If any man thinketh
himself to be religious, while he bridleth not his tongue,
but deceiveth his heart, this man's religion is vain."James i. 26.
And now there is only one other point to be noticed,
but it is one of vast importance. As we realize the
immense power of the tongue and the great issues
which depend on its right or wrong employment; as
we sum up all the evil which its tiny unobserved movements
can accomplish, and all the rich blessings which
it is, under right supervision, capable of producing; and
as from personal experience we recognise how difficult
it is to bridle the unruly member, how difficult it is to
check the double fountain so that it shall send forth
sweet waters only, and no bitter, we may be awed into
an almost absolute silence, and be inclined to put away
the talent of speech which our Lord has given to us,
not daring to use it lest in using we should abuse it.
But here is the answer to our misgiving: the plans and
preparations of our hearts belong to us, but the answer
of the tongue is from the Lord.Prov. xvi. 1.
This most uncontrollable
organ of the body can be put under our Lord's
control. He is able to give us "a mouth and wisdom,"
and to make our words not our own but the utterance
of His Holy Spirit. There may be "an ocean round
our words which overflows and drowns them," the
encircling influences of God, turning even our faultiest
speech to good account, neutralising all our falterings
and blunderings, and silencing our follies and
perversities.
Shall we not put our lips under our Lord's control,
that the answer of our tongue may be from Him? While
we seek daily to subject our hearts to Him, shall we
not in a peculiar and a direct manner subject our
tongues, to Him? for while a subjected heart may keep
the mouth from speaking evil, if the tongue is to speak
well and to be employed for all its noble uses it must
be immediately moved by God, our lips must be touched
with a coal from the altar, our speech must be chastened
and purified, inspired and impelled, by Him.
XIII.
PRIDE AND HUMILITY.
"A wise son heareth his father's instruction, but a scorner heareth
not rebuke."—Prov. xiii. 1.
"Poverty and shame shall be to him that refuseth correction, but
he that regardeth reproof shall be honoured."—Prov. xiii. 18.
"By pride cometh only contention, but with the well advised is
wisdom."—Prov. xiii. 10.
"Whoso despiseth the word bringeth destruction on himself; but
he that feareth the commandment shall be rewarded."—Prov. xiii. 13.
This last proverb appears in another form, as, "He that giveth
heed unto the word shall find good, and whoso trusteth in the Lord
happy is he."—Prov. xvi. 20.
By a proud man we mean one who esteems himself
better than others; by a humble man we mean
one who counts others better than himself. The proud
man is so convinced of his intrinsic superiority that
if appearances are against him, if others obtain more
recognition, honour, wealth than he, the fault seems to
him to lie in the evil constitution of the world, which
cannot recognize merit; for his own intrinsic superiority
is the axiom which is always to be taken for granted;
"his neighbours therefore find no favour in his eyes,
and he even desires their calamity and ruin," in order,
as he would put it, that every one may be set in his
due place.Prov. xxi. 10.
Meanwhile he is always boasting of
possessions, dignities, and gifts which do not yet, but
some day will, appear to the public eye. He is like
clouds which overcast the sky, and wind which frets the
earth, without bringing any wholesome rain.Prov. xxv. 14.
If, on the
other hand, appearances are with him, if wealth, dignity,
and honour fall to his share, he is affably convinced of
his own supreme excellence; the proof of his own conviction
is written large in his broad acres, his swelling
dividends, and his ever-increasing troops of flatterers
and friends; and he moves smoothly on to—what?—strange
to say, little as he thinks it, to destruction, for
"Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit
before a fall."Prov. xvi. 18, 19.
If he only knew he would say, "Better
is it to be of a lowly spirit with the meek than to
divide the spoil with the proud;"Prov. xvi. 18, 19.
for "before destruction
the heart of man is haughty, and before honour
goeth humility."Prov. xviii. 12.
The event shows, if not in this
world, yet the more surely in the next, that it is well
to "let another man praise thee, and not thine own
mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips."Prov. xxvii. 2.
When our eyes are open to see things as they are,
we are no longer in the least impressed by the "proud
and haughty man whose name is scorner working in
the arrogance of pride."Prov. xxi. 24.
We may not live to see it,
but we are quite persuaded that "a man's pride shall
bring him low, but he that is of a lowly spirit shall
obtain honour."Prov. xxix. 23.
"Seest thou a man wise in his own
conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him."Prov. xxvi. 12.
Now what are the evil effects of pride, and what are
the blessings that follow on humility?
First of all, pride cuts a man off from all the salutary
effects of reproof, rebuke, criticism, and counsel, without
which it is not possible for any of us to become wise.
"A wise son" is the result of "a father's correction,"
says the text, and such a son makes his father glad;Prov. xiii. 1; xv. 20.
but the pride in a child's heart will often prevent him
from receiving even the correction of a father, and will
lead him to despise his mother. And if the parents
have not firmness and wisdom enough to overcome this
childish resistance, it will grow with years, and prove
more and more disastrous. "He is in the way of life
that heedeth correction, but he that forsaketh reproof
erreth."Prov. x. 17.
If he had loved reproof he would have
acquired knowledge, but hating it he becomes brutish.Prov. xii. 1.
It is evident then that this pride is folly. He is a fool
that despises his father's correction, but he that regardeth
reproof getteth prudence.Prov. xv. 8.
He that refuseth
correction despiseth his own soul, but he that hearkeneth
to reproof getteth understanding.Prov. xv. 32.
When we are grown up, and no longer under the
tutelage of parents who love us, pride is still more
likely to harden our hearts against criticism and
counsel. The word of warning falls on the proud ear
in vain, just because it is the word of warning, and
often does the wilful heart mourn as it suffers the
penalty of its stubbornness.Prov. xiii. 13 should be translated: "Whoso despiseth the word
(sc. of warning and rebuke) shall be under a pledge to it (i.e. he has
contracted an obligation to the word by hearing it, and in case of
disobedience will have to redeem this implicit pledge by suffering and
remorse), but he that feareth the commandment shall be rewarded."
A man who refuses
correction is a synonym for poverty and shame.Prov. xiii. 17.
These
words which we in our pride despise might be an
incalculable benefit to us. Even the most witless
criticism may be useful to a humble mind, even the
most unjust attacks may lead us to wholesome self-searching,
and to a more careful removal of possible
offences. While if the criticism is fair, and prompted
by a kind heart, or if the rebuke is administered by one
whose wisdom and justice we respect, it is likely to do
us far more good than praise and approval. "A rebuke
entereth deeper into one that hath understanding than
a hundred stripes into a fool."Prov. xvii. 10.
"Better is open rebuke
than love that is hid."Prov. xxvii. 5.
If we were wise we
should value this plain and honest speaking much more
than the insipid flattery which is often dictated by
interested motives.Prov. xxviii. 23.
In fact, praise is a very questionable
benefit; it is of no use at all unless we carefully
test it, and try it, and accept it with the greatest caution,
for only a small part of it is pure metal, most of it is
mere dross;Prov. xxvii. 21: "The fining pot is for silver and the furnace for
gold, and a man for the mouth of his praise." This somewhat
obscure aphorism is most simply explained thus:—A man should
make his conscience a kind of furnace, in which he tries all the
laudatory things which are said of him, accepting only the refined
and pure metal which results from such a test, and rejecting the
dross. This is simpler than, with Delitzsch, to explain, "a man is
tested by the praise which is bestowed upon him as silver and gold
are tested in the fire."
and praise that is not deserved is the
most dangerous and deleterious of delights. But rebuke
and criticism cannot do us much harm. Many
great and noble men have been ruined by admiration
and popularity, who might have thriven, growing greater
and nobler, in the fiercest and most relentless criticism.
Donatello, the great Florentine sculptor, went at one
time of his life to Padua, where he was received with
the utmost enthusiasm, and loaded with approbation
and honours. But soon he declared his intention of
returning to Florence, on the ground that the sharp
assaults and the cutting criticisms which always assailed
him in his native city were much more favourable to
his art than the atmosphere of admiration and eulogy.
In this way he thought that he would be stimulated
to greater efforts, and ultimately attain to a surer
reputation. In the same spirit the greatest of modern
art critics has told us how valuable to him were the
criticisms which his humble Italian servant made on
his drawings. Certainly, "with those who allow themselves
to be advised is wisdom."Prov. xiii. 10.
"He that trusteth
in his own heart," and cannot receive the advice of
others, "is a fool; but whoso walketh wisely he shall
be delivered," sometimes perhaps by the humble suggestions
of very simple people.Prov. xxviii. 26.
Yes, "with the lowly is wisdom:"Prov. xi. 2.
they "hearken
to counsel,"Prov. xii. 15b.
and in doing so they get the advantage of
many other wits, while the proud man is confined strictly
to his own, and however great his capacity may be, it
is hardly probable that he will sum up all human wisdom
in himself. The lowly gives heed to the word, no
matter who speaks it, and finds good;Prov. xvi. 20.
he abides
among the wise, because he is always ready to learn;
consequently, he becomes wise, and eventually he gets
the honour which he deserves.Prov. xv. 31, 33.
It is in this way that
people of lowly station and very moderate abilities
often come to the front. "A servant that deals wisely
has rule over a son that causes shame, and has part in
the inheritance among the brethren."Prov. xvii. 2.
To a crafty son
no good shall be, but to a servant who is wise his
actions shall prosper and his way be made straight.This is an addition of the LXX. to xiii. 13, and may represent an
original Hebrew text. For the idea cp. Eccles. x. 25, "Unto the
servant that is wise shall they that are free do service."
The consciousness of not being clever, and a wise
diffidence in our own judgment, will often make us very
thankful to learn from others and save us from the
follies of wilfulness; and thus very much to their own
astonishment the humble find that they have outdistanced
their more brilliant competitors in the race,
and, walking in their humility, unexpectedly light upon
recognition and admiration, honour and love.
This first point, then, becomes very clear in the light
of experience. One of the most injurious effects of
Pride is to cut off its miserable victim from all the
vast help and service which rebuke and criticism can
render to the humble. One of the sweetest results of
a genuine humility is that it brings us to the feet of
all wise teachers; it multiplies lessons for us in all the
objects which surround us; it enables us to learn even
from those who seem to be too captious to teach, or too
malevolent to be even wise. The humble mind has all
the wisdom of the ages as its possession, and all the
folly of fools as an invaluable warning.
Secondly, by pride comes nothing but strife,Prov. xiii. 10.
and
he loveth transgression that loveth strife; he that
raiseth high his gate, i.e., builds a lofty house, seeketh
destruction.Prov. xvii. 19.
It is the pride of monarchs and nations
which produces war; the sense of personal dignity which
is always sudden and quick in quarrel; the feeling of
swollen self-importance which is afraid to make peace
lest it should suffer in the eyes of men. And in the
affairs of private life our pride, rather than our sense of
right, usually creates, fosters, and embitters divisions,
alienations, and quarrels. "I am perfectly innocent,"
says Pride; "I bear no resentment, but it would be
absurd for me to make the first advances; when those
advances are made, I am willing to forgive and to
forget." "I think I am innocent," says Humility, "but
then I may have been very provoking, and I may have
given offence without knowing it; in any case, I may
as well make an offer of apology; if I fail, I fail."
Nor is this the only way in which strife grows out
of pride, for "by pride comes nothing but strife." All
the foolish extravagances of social competition are to
be traced to the same source. One man "raises high
his gate," builds a fine house, and furnishes it in the
best way. He flatters himself that his "little place"
is tolerably comfortable, and he speaks with some contemptuous
pity of all his neighbours' houses. Immediately
all his neighbours enviously strive to excel him,
and pride vies with pride, heartburnings are many and
bitter. Then there comes on the scene one who in
wealth and ostentation of wealth exceeds them all, and
the first man is now racked with envy, strains every
nerve to outdo the insolent intruder, suffers his debts
to far exceed his assets, and soon incurs the inevitable
crash. That is how pride works in one very obvious
department of social life. But it is the same in every
other department. Who can calculate the miseries
which are produced by the grotesque assumptions of
poor mortals to be superior to their fellow-mortals?
Parents will mar their children's lives by refusing their
consent to marriages with those who, for some perfectly
artificial reason, are held to be beneath them; or will
still more fatally ruin their children's happiness by
insisting on alliances with those who are held to be
above them. Those who prosper in the world will
heartlessly turn their backs on relations who have not
prospered. Men who earn their living in one particular
way, or in no particular way, will loftily contemn those
who earn their living in another particular way. Those
who dress in the fashion will look in another direction
when they pass people who do not dress in the fashion,
though they may be under deep obligations to these
slighted friends. This is all the work of pride. Then
there are the sneers, the taunts, the sarcasms, the proud
man's scorn, like "a rod in the mouth" indeed,Prov. xiv. 3.
which
falls with cutting cruelty on many tender backs and
gentle faces. The overbearing temper of one who
"bears himself insolently and is confident"Prov. xiv. 16.
will sometimes
take all the sweetness out of life for some delicate
woman, or shrinking child, or humble dependent, bruising
the poor spirit, rending the terrified heart, unnerving
and paralysing the weaker and more helpless nature.
From first to last this haughty spirit is a curse and
a torment to everyone, and not least to itself. It is
like a cold and biting wind. It is like an erosive acid.
It produces more sorrows than the north wind produces
icicles. It mars more lives than anyone but God is
able to count. It breaks the hearts of the humble, it
excites the passions of the wrathful, it corrupts the
conduct of the weak. It ruins children, it poisons
social life, it inflames differences, and plunges great
nations into war.
If it were permitted to enter heaven, it would turn
heaven into hell, it would range the hosts of heaven in
envious cliques and mutually scornful castes, it would
make the meek spirit sigh for earth, where there was at
least the hope of death, and would turn the very presence
and power of God into a constant object of envy and an
incentive to rebellion. It is obvious, then, that pride
cannot enter heaven, and the proud man, if he is to
enter, must humble himself as a little child.
Third—and this leads us to contemplate the worst
result of Pride and the loveliest outcome of Humility—"Every
one that is proud of heart is an abomination to
the Lord; though hand join in hand he shall not be
unpunished."Prov. xvi. 5.
"The Lord will root up the house of
the proud; but He will establish the border of the
widow."Prov. xv. 25.
In a word, Pride is hateful to God, who
resists the proud and gives grace to the humble. The
proud man, whether he knows it or not, comes into
direct conflict with God: he may not intend it, but he is
pitting himself against the Omnipotent. That hardening
of the face is a sign of evil, just as the patient humble
ordering of the way is a sign of righteousness.Prov. xxi. 29.
In that
high look and proud heart there seems to be something
dignified, flashing, and luminous; it is undoubtedly
much admired by men. By God it is not admired; it is
regarded merely as the lamp of the wicked, and as sin.Prov. xxi. 4.
The light, such as it is, comes from hell; it is the same
light that burned on the faces of the apostate angels
"o'erwhelmed with floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous
fire." The proud man dares the thunderbolts of God.
He scorns men whom he sees, and in doing so he scorns
God whom he has not seen; the men whom he consciously
scorns cannot, but the God whom he unwittingly
scorns will, take vengeance upon him. He has
hardened his heart, he has grown great in his own eyes,
he has despised the creatures made in God's image; he
will suddenly be cut off, and that without remedy.
On the other hand, by humility men learn to know
and to fear the Lord.Prov. xxii. 4. The probable rendering is, "The outcome of
humility is the fear of the Lord, riches, honour, and life."
God reveals Himself to the
humble heart, not as a King of Terrors, but kind and
good, with healing in His wings, leading the contrite
spirit to implicit trust in Himself, and "whoso trusteth
in the Lord, happy is he."Prov. xvi. 20.
When we realize this we
cannot wonder that so few people seem to know God;
men are too proud; they think of themselves more
highly than they ought to think, and consequently they
do not think at all of Him; they receive honour one
of another, and eagerly desire such honour, and consequently
they cannot believe in Him, for to believe in
Him implies the desire of no honour except such as
comes from Him.
It is a strange truth that God should dwell in a
human heart at all, but it is almost self-evident that
if He is to dwell in any human heart it must be in
one which has been emptied of all pride, one which
has, as it were, thrown down all the barriers of self-importance,
and laid itself open to the incoming Spirit.
If we cling to ever so little of our natural egotism; if we
dwell on any imagined excellence, purity, or power of
our own; if we are conscious of any elation, any springing
sense of merit, which would set us, in our own
judgment, on some equality with God,—how could
the High and Lofty One that inhabiteth Eternity enter
in? That thought of vanity would seek to divide our
nature with Him, would enter into negotiations for a
joint occupation, and the insulted Spirit of God would
depart.
If in ordinary human affairs "before destruction the
heart of man is haughty, and before honour goeth
humility;"Prov. xviii. 12.
if even in our dealings with one another
happiness and success and prosperity depend on the
cultivation of a modest spirit, how much more when we
come to deal with God must haughtiness appear the
presage of destruction, and humility the only way of
approach to Him!
It is not possible to think too humbly of yourself, it
is not possible to be too lowly, you cannot abase yourself
too much in His Holy Presence. Your only
attitude is that of Moses when he took off his shoes
because the place he stood on was holy ground; or that
of Isaiah when he cried out that he was "a man of
unclean lips." To those who know you your humiliations
may sound excessive,—as we are told the
disciples of St. Francis remonstrated with him for his
self-depreciationThe answer of the saint was very characteristic. Could he
really believe that he was so vile as he said, when he compared
himself with others who were obviously worse? "Ah," he said,
"it is when I recount all God's exceptional mercies to me that I seem
to myself the worst of men, for others have not had such favours at
His hands."
—but not to God or to your own heart.
And He, if He has set His love upon you, and purposes
to make you a temple for His indwelling, will use
method after method of humbling you to prepare for
His entrance. Again and again you will say, Surely
now I am low enough, am I not humbled in the dust?
But His hand will still be upon you, and He will show
you heads of pride which have yet to be levelled down.
In the last humbling you will find that there is rising
within you a certain pride in the humility itself. That
also will He subdue. And some day, if you are willing,
you shall be lowly enough for the Most High to dwell
in, humble enough to offer a perpetual incense of
praise.
XIV.
THE INWARD UNAPPROACHABLE LIFE.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger doth not
intermeddle with its joy."—Prov. xiv. 10.
"Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful, and the end of mirth is
heaviness."—Prov. xiv. 13.
"Yes! in the sea of life enisled,
With echoing straits between us thrown,
Dotting the shoreless watery wild,
We mortal millions live alone.
The islands feel the enclasping flow,
And then their endless bounds they know."
Matthew Arnold.
We know each other's appearance, it is true, but
there for the most part our mutual knowledge
ceases. Some of us unveil nothing of ourselves to
anyone; some of us unveil a little to all; some a good
deal to a few; but none of us can unveil all even to the
most intimate friend. It is possible to live on terms
of complete confidence and even close intimacy with a
person for many years, to become thoroughly acquainted
with his habits, his turns of expression, his modes of
thought, to be able to say with a certain infallibility
what course he will take in such and such circumstances—and
yet to find by some chance uplifting of a curtain
in his life that he cherished feelings which you never
even suspected, suffered pains of which you had seen
no trace, and enjoyed pleasures which never came to
any outward expression.
How true this is we realize at once if we turn inwards
and review all the thoughts which chase each
other through our brain, and all the emotions which
throb in our heart for a single day, and then deduct
those which are known to any human being, known or
even suspected; the sum total we find is hardly affected
at all. We are quite startled to discover how absolutely
alone we live, how impossible it is for a stranger, or
even for an intimate friend, to meddle with more than
a fragment of our inner life. This is not because we
have any wish to conceal, but rather because we are
not able to reveal, our silent unseen selves; it is not
because others would not like to know, but because
they have not the instruments to investigate, that
within us which we on our part are quite helpless to
express.
For instance, "the desire accomplished is sweet to
the soul,"Prov. xiii. 19.
yet no one can know how sweet but he
who cherished the desire. When a man has laboured
for many years to secure an adequate maintenance for
his family, and at length finds himself in easy circumstances,
with his children growing up around him well
and happy, no one besides himself can in the least gauge
the sense of satisfaction, contentment, and gratitude
which animates his heart, because no one can realize
without actual experience the long and anxious days,
the sickening fears, the blighted hopes, the rigorous
sacrifices, through which he passed to attain his end.
Or, when an artist has been toiling for many years to
realize upon canvas a vision of beauty which floats
before the inward eye, and at last succeeds, by some
happy combination of colours, or by some dexterous
sweep of the brush, or by some half-inspired harmony
of form and composition, in actually bodying forth to
the senses that which has haunted his imagination, it
is hopeless for any one else to understand the thrilling
joy, the light-hearted ecstasy, which are hidden rather
than expressed by the quiet flush on the cheek and
the sparkling glance of the eye.
The mystical joy of a love which has just won an
answering love; the deep-toned joy of the mother in the
dawning life of her child; the joy of the poet who feels
all the beauty of the earth and the sky pulsing through
his nerves and raising his heart to quick intuitions and
melodious numbers; the joy of the student, when the
luminous outlines of truth begin to shape themselves
before his mind in connected form and startling beauty;
the joy of one who has toiled for the restoration of lost
souls, and sees the fallen and degraded awaking to
a new life, cleansed, radiant and strong; the joy of
the martyr of humanity, whose dying moments are lit
with visions, and who hears through the mysterious
silences of death the voices of those who will one day
call him blessed,—joys like these may be described in
words, but they who experience them know that the
words are, relatively speaking, meaningless, and they
who do not experience them can form no conception
of them. "When the desire cometh it is a tree of life,"Prov. xiii. 12.
which suddenly springs up in the garden of the heart,
puts forth its jubilant leaves of healing, flashes with
white wings of scented blossom, and droops with its
full offering of golden fruit, as if by magic, and we are
surprised ourselves that those around us do not see
the wonder, do not smell the perfume, do not taste
the fruit: we alone can sit under its branches, we
alone can catch the murmur of the wind, the music of
achievement, in its leaves.
But this thought becomes very pathetic when we
think of the heart's bitterness, which the heart alone
can know,—the hope deferred which makes it sick,Prov. xiii. 12.
the broken spirit which dries up the bones,Prov. xvii. 22.
the spirit
which for so long bore a man's infirmity, and then at
last broke because it could bear no more, and became
itself intolerable.Prov. xviii. 14.
The circumstances of a man's life
do not give us any clue to his sorrows; the rich have
troubles which to the poor would seem incredible, and
the poor have troubles which their poverty does not
explain. There are little constitutional ailments, defects
in the blood, slight deformities, unobserved disabilities,
which fill the heart with a bitterness untold and unimaginable.
There are crosses of the affections, disappointments
of the ambitions; there are frets of the
family, worries of business; there are the haunting
Furies of past indiscretions, the pitiless reminders of
half-forgotten pledges. There are weary doubts and
misgivings, suspicions and fears, which poison all inward
peace, and take light out of the eye and elasticity
out of the step. These things the heart knows, but
no one else knows.
What adds to the pathos is that these sorrows are
often covered with laughter as with a veil, and no one
suspects that the end of all this apparently spontaneous
mirth is to be heaviness.Prov. xiv. 13.
The bright talker, the merry
jester, the singer of the gay song, goes home when the
party separates, and on his threshold he meets the
veiled sorrow of his life, and plunges into the chilly
shadow in which his days are spent.
The bitterness which surges in our brother's heart
would probably be unintelligible to us if he revealed it;
but he will not reveal it, he cannot. He will tell us
some of his troubles, many of them, but the bitterness
he must keep to himself.
How strange it seems! Here are men and women
around us who are unfathomable; the heart is a kind
of infinite; we skim the surface, we cannot sound the
depths. Here is a merry heart which makes a cheerful
countenance, but here is a countenance unclouded and
smiling which covers a spirit quite broken.Prov. xv. 13.
Here is a
cheerful heart which enjoys a continual feast,Prov. xv. 15b.
and finds
in its own merriment a medicine for its troubles;Prov. xvii. 22.
but
we cannot find the secret of the cheerfulness, or catch
the tone of the merriment, any more than we can comprehend
what it is which is making all the days of the
afflicted evil.Prov. xv. 15.
We are confined as it were to the superficial effects,
the lights and shadows which cross the face, and the
feelings which express themselves in the tones of the
voice. We can guess a little of what lies underneath,
but our guesses are as often wrong as right. The
index is disconnected, perhaps purposely, from the
reality. Sometimes we know that a heart is bitter,
but do not even surmise the cause; more often it is
bitter and we do not know it. We are veiled to one
another; we know our own troubles, we feel our own
joys, that is all we can say.
And yet the strangest thing of all is that we hunger
for sympathy; we all want to see that light in the eyes
of our friends which rejoices the heart, and to hear
those good things which make the bones fat.Prov. xv. 30.
Our
joy is eager to disclose itself, and often shrinks back
appalled to find that our companions did not understand
it, but mistook it for an affectation or an illusion.
Our sorrow yearns for comprehension, and is constantly
doubled in quantity and intensity by finding that it
cannot explain itself or become intelligible to others.
This rigid and necessary isolation of the human heart,
along with such a deep-rooted desire for sympathy, is
one of the most perplexing paradoxes of our nature;
and though we know well that it is a fact, we are
constantly re-discovering it with a fresh surprise. Forgetting
it, we assume that every one will know how
we need sympathy, though we have never hung out
the signals of distress, and have even presented a most
repellent front to all advances; forgetting it, we give
expression to our joy, singing songs to heavy hearts,
and disturbing others by unseasonable mirth, as if
no icy channels separated us from our neighbours'
hearts, making our gladness seem frigid and our
merriment discordant before it reaches their ears.
Yes the paradox forces itself on our attention again;
human hearts are isolated, alone, without adequate
communication, and essentially uncommunicative, yet
all of them eagerly desiring to be understood, to be
searched, to be fused. Is it a paradox which admits
of any explanation? Let us see.
It has been very truly said, "Man is only partially
understood, or pitied, or loved by man; but for the
fulness of these things he must go to some far-off
country." In proportion as we are conscious of being
misunderstood, and of being quite unable to satisfy our
longing for sympathy and comprehension at human
fountains, we are impelled by a spiritual instinct
to ask for God; the thought arises in us that He,
though He be very far off, must, as our Creator,
understand us; and as this thought takes possession
of the heart a tremulous hope awakes that perhaps
He is not very far off. There lie before us now
some beautiful sayings which are partly the expression
of this human conviction, and seem partly to be
inspired by the Divine response to it. "If thou
sayest, Behold, we knew not this man; doth not
He that weigheth the heart consider, and he that
keepeth the soul, doth not He know?"Prov. xxiv. 12, marginal reading.
"The hearing
ear, and the seeing eye, the Lord hath made even
both of them."Prov. xx. 12.
How obvious is the inference that
the Maker of the ear and the eye hears those silent
things which escape the ear itself, and sees those
recesses of the human heart which the human eye is
never able to search! "The eyes of the Lord are in
every place, keeping watch upon the evil and the good."Prov. xv. 3.
"Sheol and Abaddon are before the Lord: how much
more then the hearts of the children of men."Prov. xv. 11.
He
sees in the heart what the heart itself does not see.
"All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes, but
the Lord weigheth the spirits."Prov. xvi. 2, rep. xxi. 2.
In fact, the spirit
of man itself, the consciousness which clears into self-consciousness,
and becomes in moral matters conscience,
this "spirit, is the lamp of the Lord, searching all the
innermost parts of the belly,"Prov. xx. 27.
so that a "man's goings
are of the Lord;" and he is often moved by this indwelling
spirit and guided by this mysterious lamp in
a way which "he can hardly understand."Prov. xx. 24.
This intimacy of knowledge is not without its most
solemn, and even terrible, side. It means of course
that the Lord knows "the thoughts of the righteous
which are just, and the counsels of the wicked which
are deceit."Prov. xii. 5.
It means that out of His minute and
infallible knowledge He will render to every man
according to his works, judging with faultless accuracy
according to that "desire of a man which is the measure
of his kindness," recognizing the "wish of the poor
man," which, though he has not power to perform it, is
more valuable than the boasted performances of those
who never act up to their power of service.Prov. xix. 22.
It means
that "the Lord trieth the hearts just as the fining pot
tries the silver, and the furnace the gold."Prov. xvii. 3.
It means
that in thought of such a searching eye, such a comprehensive
understanding on the part of the Holy One,
none of us can ever say, "I have made my heart
clean, I am pure from my sin."Prov. xx. 9.
All this it means, and there must be some terror in
the thought; but the terror, as we begin to understand,
becomes our greatest comfort; for He who
thus understands us is the Holy One. Terrible would
it be to be searched and known in this minute way
by one who was not holy, by one who was morally
indifferent, by one who took a curious interest in
studying the pathology of the conscience, or by one
who had a malignant delight in cherishing vices and
rewarding evil thoughts. Though we sometimes desire
human sympathy in our corrupt passions and unhallowed
desires, and are eager for our confederates in
sin to understand our pleasures and our pains,—and
out of this desire, it may be observed, comes much
of our base literature, and all of our joining with a
company to do evil,—yet after all we only desire this
confederacy on the understanding that we can reveal
as little, and conceal as much, as we like; we should
no longer be eager to share our feelings if we understood
that in the first contact our whole heart would
be laid bare, and all the intricacies of our mind would
be explored. We must desire that He who is to search
us through and through should be holy, and even though
He be strict to mark iniquity, should be one who tries
the heart in order to purify it. And when we are
awakened and understand, we learn to rejoice exceedingly
that He who comes with His lamp to search
the inmost recesses of our nature is He who can by
no means tolerate iniquity, or pass over transgression,
but must burn as a mighty fire wherever He finds the
fuel of sin to burn.
Have we not found a solution of the paradox? The
human heart is isolated; it longs for sympathy, but
cannot obtain it; it seems to depend for its happiness
on being comprehended, but no fellow-creature can
comprehend it; it knows its own bitterness, which no
one else can know; it broods over its own joys, but
no one can share them. Then it makes discovery of
the truth that God can give it what it requires, that
He fully understands, that He can enter into all these
silent thoughts and unobserved emotions, that He can
offer an unfailing sympathy and a faultless comprehension.
In its need the lonely heart takes refuge in
Him, and makes no murmur that His coming requires
the searching, the chastisement, and the purging of
sin.
No human being needs to be misunderstood or to
suffer under the sense of misunderstanding. Let him
turn at once to God. It is childish to murmur against
our fellows, who only treat us as we treat them; they
do not comprehend us, neither do we comprehend
them; they do not give us, as we think, our due,
neither do we give them theirs; but God comprehends
both them and us, and He gives to them and to us
accurately what is due.
No human being is compelled to bear his bitterness
alone, for though he cannot tell it or explain to his
fellows, he can tell it, and he need not explain it, to
God. Is the bitterness an outcome of sin, as most of
our bitterness is? Is it the bitterness of a wounded
egotism, or of a remorseful conscience, or of spiritual
despondency? Or is it the bitterness which springs
from the cravings of an unsatisfied heart, the thirst for
self-completeness, the longing for a perfect love? In
either case God is perfectly able and willing to meet
the need. He delights to turn His knowledge of our
nature to the purpose of cleansing and transforming
the sinful heart: "By His knowledge shall My righteous
servant justify many," He says. He is ready, too, to
shed abroad His own rich love in our hearts, leaving
no room for the hankering desire, and creating the
peace of a complete fulfilment.
No human being need imagine that he is unappreciated;
his fellow-men may not want him, but God
does. "The Lord hath made every thing for His own
purpose, yea, even the wicked for the day of evil."Prov. xvi. 4. This strange saying, interpreted in the light of the
Gospel, cannot mean that wicked people are actually made in order
to exhibit the righteousness and judgment of God in their punishment
on the day of wrath, though that was probably the thought in the
mind of the writer. But it reminds us of the truth that every human
being is a direct concern of the Maker, who has His own wise
purpose to fulfil in even the most inconsiderable and apparently
abortive life.
He
apprehends all that is good in your heart, and will not
suffer a grain of pure gold to be lost; while He sees too
every particle of evil, and will not suffer it to continue.
He knows where the will is set upon righteousness,
where the desire is turned towards Him, and will
delicately encourage the will, and bountifully satisfy
the desire. He sees, too, when the will is hardened
against Him, and the desire is set upon iniquity, and
He is mercifully resolved to visit the corrupt will and
the evil desire with "eternal destruction from the face of
the Lord, and from the glory of His might,"—mercifully,
I say, for no torture could be more terrible and hopeless
than for the evil man to live eternally in the
presence of God.
Finally, no human being need be without a sharer
of his joy: and that is a great consideration, for joy
unshared quickly dies, and is from the beginning
haunted by a vague sense of a shadow that is falling
upon it. In the heart of the Eternal dwells eternal joy.
All loveliness, all sweetness, all goodness, all truth,
are the objects of His happy contemplation; therefore
every really joyful heart has an immediate sympathiser
in God; and prayer is quite as much the means by
which we share our gladness as the vehicle by which
we convey our sorrows to the Divine heart. Is it not
beautiful to think of all those timid and retiring human
spirits, who cherish sweet ecstasies, and feel glowing
exultations, and are frequently caught up in heavenly
raptures, which the shy countenance and stammering
tongue never could record? They feel their hearts
melt with joy in the prospect of broad skies and sunlit
fields, in the sound of morning birds and rushing
streams; they hear great choirs of happy spirits
chanting perpetually in heaven and in earth, and on
every side of their obscure way open vistas of inspired
vision. No stranger meddles with their joy, or even
knows of it. God is not a stranger; to Him they tell
it all, with Him they share it, and their joy is part of
the joy of the Eternal.
XV.
A PASSIONATE DISPOSITION.
"A soft answer turneth away wrath: but a grievous word stirreth
up anger." In the LXX. there is another clause inserted at the beginning,
Ὀργὴ ἀπόλλυσι καὶ φρονίμους, ἀπόκρισις δὲ ὑποπίπτουσα
ἀποστρέφει θυμόν, λόγος δὲ λυπηρὸς ἐγείρει ὀργάς."—Prov. xv. 1.
"A meek tongue is a tree of life: but perverseness therein is a
breaking of the spirit."—Prov. xv. 4.
"A wrathful man stirreth up contention: but he that is slow to
anger appeaseth strife."—Prov. xv. 18.
Bad temper causes more suffering than the modified
severity with which we judge it would imply. It
is in a home what toothache is in the body: the pain is
insufferable and yet it is not treated as serious. A
passionate man or woman spreads a pervading sense of
irritation in the house or in the workshop, and all the
other occupants of the place are as if they dwelt in a
country subject to earthquakes; life for them is divided
between anxiety to avoid the explosion and a painful
effort to repair its devastations. We are not severe
enough on these faults of temper in ourselves or in others;
we are too prone to excuse them on the ground of temperament,
as if we were no more responsible for outbreaks
of passion than for the colour of our hair or the
tone of our complexion. It will, therefore, do us good
to see what the Wise Man says on the subject.
First of all, we have several proverbs which remind
us how irritating an angry disposition is: it is the constant
occasion of strife; it grows itself by each fresh
annoyance that it gives, so that it quickly becomes ungovernable,
and thus "the wrathful man aboundeth in
transgression."Prov. xxix. 22.
A fierce ungovernable temper will set
a whole city in a flame,Prov. xxix. 8.
and lead to disasters of national
and even world-wide extent. However peaceful and
happy a community may be, if a choleric man enters
it, signs of combustion will soon begin to appear.
There are always hot embers which wise men are
earnestly trying to damp down,Prov. xxix. 8.
there are trivial
irritations, petty annoyances, incipient envies, which
are only too easily inflamed; the cool spirit and the
conciliatory word and the ingenious diversion of
thought will keep the embers choked until the heat
dies away, but "as coals to hot embers, and wood to
fire, so is a contentious man to inflame strife."Prov. xxvi. 21.
We may well be cautioned to give such an inflammatory
character a wide berth; "Make no friendship
with a man that is given to anger; and with a wrathful
man thou shalt not go: lest thou learn his ways, and
get a snare to thy soul."Prov. xxii. 24.
Even a sweet temper may
be chafed into peevishness by constant irritations;
with passionate people the gentlest become passionate
in self-defence. When this unbridled, ill-disciplined
nature approaches, we should avoid it as if it were a
bear robbed of her whelps, for such is this fool in his
folly.Prov. xvii. 12.
This leads us to notice that anger and folly are very
closely allied. The passionate nature is constantly
betrayed into actions which sober wisdom must condemn,—"He
that is soon angry will deal foolishly....
He that is slow to anger is of great understanding: but
he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly."Prov. xiv. 17, 29.
Any one
with a grain of sense will put a check upon his rising
temper; his discretion makes him slow to anger, and
he never feels to have won such true glory as when
he bridles his wrath and passes by an offence without
a sign of annoyance or resentment.Prov. xix. 11. "When Lanfranc was prior of Bec he ventured to
oppose Duke William's Flemish marriage. In a wild burst of wrath
William bade his men burn a manor house of Bec and drive out Lanfranc
from Norman ground. He came to see the work done, and found
Lanfranc hobbling on a lame horse towards the frontier. He angrily
bad him hasten, and Lanfranc replied by a cool promise to go faster out
of his land if he would give him a better steed. 'You are the first
criminal that ever asked gifts from his judge,' retorted William, but
a burst of laughter told that the wrath had gone, and William and
Lanfranc drew together again."—Green's Conquest of England, p. 551.
You may almost
be sure that a man is wise if you find that he has a
cool spirit.Prov. xvii. 27.
When you see a person who cautiously
avoids the ground where strife is apt to be excited,
and builds his house on a spot where contention is
impossible, you instinctively respect him, for you
know it betokens wisdom; but when you see a man
always getting involved in quarrels, always showing
his teeth,This word הִתְנַּלָּע, which only occurs here (xx. 3) and in xvii. 14
and xviii. 1, would seem from the cognate root in Arab. and Syr. to
mean "setting the teeth together," which is a much more vivid and
specific idea than quarrelling.
you rightly conclude that he is a fool.Prov. xx. 3.
"A
fool uttereth all his anger: but a wise man keepeth it
back and stilleth it."Prov. xxix. 11.
If we are naturally irritable or
splenetic, wisdom will incline us to avoid occasions
which excite us, and to keep a watchful guard over our
spirits where the occasions are inevitable. If we
neglect such precautions we shall justly be counted
fools, and the consequent outbreaks of passion will
lead us into fresh exhibitions of folly, and more completely
justify the harsh judgment which has been
passed upon us.
But not the least sign of the folly which is inherent
in passion is the shocking effect which it has upon
those who give way to it. As the LXX. version says
at the beginning of this chapter, "Anger destroys even
the wise." And one whose spirit is without restraint
is forcibly compared to a city that is broken down and
has no wall;Prov. xxv. 28.
every foe can go up and possess it,
every thoughtless child can fling a firebrand into it;
the barest word, hint, smirk, shrug of the shoulders,
any unintentional slight or reflection, nay, even silence
itself, will suddenly set the powder-train on fire, and
the consequent explosion will be more destructive to
the city itself than to those who are outside. "A man
of great wrath shall bear the penalty," and, poor fellow,
perhaps it is best that he should, for if you deliver
him from the consequence of his passion, that will only
encourage him in further outbreaks, and so he will
become worse, and your deliverance will be an endless
task.Prov. xix. 19.
Our great King Henry II. was subject to fits of
uncontrollable passion, in which he would roll on the
floor and bite the dust, impotent with rage; and all
the sorrows of his life and reign, falling heavily upon
him in his later years, were occasioned by this unhappy
temper. At the present time we are told that the
Chinese frequently indulge in fits of passionate wrath,
which react terribly upon their health and make them
physically ill. The wrathful man does mischief to
many, but his wrath is like an old arquebus, which,
when it is fired, hurts the bearer almost as much as
the enemy. It may fail to hit the mark, but it is sure
to knock down the marksman.
Probably here the plea will be urged that we cannot
help our temper, and it may be said, the suffering which
it brings upon us is the best proof that it is an infirmity
rather than a vice. Now this excuse cannot be allowed
to pass; a certain good bishop on one occasion hearing
it urged, in extenuation of a man's conduct, that he had
such an unfortunate temper, exclaimed, "Temper, why
temper is nine-tenths of Christianity!" If we are not
to be blamed for bad temper, then there is no fault or
defect or vice which we cannot shift off our own
shoulders and lay to the charge of our constitution.
But our constitution is no excuse for sin; the most
that can be urged is that if we are constitutionally
inclined to any particular sin we must seek for a special
strength to fortify us against it. If in building a city
an ancient engineer had one side more exposed than
the rest, protected by no natural escarpments of rock
or bends of the river, there he would concentrate all
his skill to make the wall impregnable. If you find
that one of your bodily organs betrays a tendency to
disease, you are careful to avoid the exposure, or the
strain, or the derangement, which would unfavourably
affect it. If your lungs are delicate you shun fogs and
chills; if your heart is feeble you are careful to avoid
any sudden excitement; if your eyes are weak you
notice very particularly by what light you read, and
are sensitive to the least weariness in those delicate
instruments. In the same way, if your special infirmity
lies in the temper; if you are easily provoked, or apt
to fall into sullenness; if a sudden annoyance excites
an uncontrollable passion in your mind, or drops into
your heart seeds of bitterness which rapidly grow and
become ineradicable; you have your work cut out for
you; your daily task will be to avoid the things which
produce such ill effects, and to cultivate the habits
which lessen the virulent action of these irritant poisons.
Few of us realize how wonderfully our constitution is
subjected to our own control, and how much we ourselves
have to do with the making of it.
You know, we will suppose, that you are easily
entangled in a quarrel; you must then prepare yourself
before you go out into the business of the day,—"Go
not forth hastily to strive, lest.... What wilt
thou do in the end, when thy neighbour hath put thee
to shame?"Prov. xxv. 8.
This realization of what will probably
result from your hasty temper will act as a check upon
it, and you will be inclined, if you have any ground
of offence against your neighbour, to go quietly and
debate it with him alone.Prov. xxv. 9.
Or if the contention has
been sprung upon you unawares, take care that over
the floodgates of your passion has been written this
wholesome warning, "The beginning of strife is as
when one letteth out water: therefore leave off contention,
before there be any setting of the teeth."Prov. xvii. 14. See note 4, p. 205.
Knowing your danger you must summon to your aid
all the heroism of your nature, and remember that this
is the time and the occasion to exercise it. Others
have to win their spurs on the battlefield; this is your
battlefield, and here your spurs are to be won. Others
have to win kingdoms or capture cities; here is the
kingdom where you are to reign, this is the city which
you are to take. "He that is slow to anger is better
than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he
that taketh a city."Prov. xvi. 32.
Get at some grand root principle like this: "Hatred
stirreth up strifes: but love covereth all transgressions."Prov. x. 12.
Ah, yes, if you are disposed to be angry with men, fill
your spirit with love to them; that will soothe your
irritable nerves, and will flow over their transgressions
so that they cease to annoy you because you cease to
see them; when we are fervent in love to one another,
the love covers a multitude of sins.1 Peter iv. 8.
Where love comes
into the soul we are more anxious to convert those who
offend us than to be angry with them.James v. 20.
Love saves us
from the self-vaunting which exposes us to the annoyances,
and provokes the attacks, of the malignant;1 Cor. xiii. 4.
and
it enables us to bear all things, almost without a ruffle
or a perturbation. Strange to say, passionate temperaments
are often very affectionate; let them cultivate
the love in themselves, and it will be the destruction
of the evil temper. And where the evil passion comes
from a true moroseness, then the fruit can only be
destroyed with the root, and the root can only be
destroyed when love is shed abroad in the heart.
Or possibly your anger is not of the passionate kind,
but rather stern and resentful, arising from an exaggerated
sense of self-importance. A meekThis meaning
of מַרְפֶּא,
as was observed in Lecture XII., p. 172,
seems to yield the best sense in these two passages (cp. xii. 18; xiii.
17), as in Eccl. x. 4, "gentleness allayeth great offences," which is a
good commentary on our text.
heart is not
wrathful, and it is the life of the flesh; but where
meekness fails, envy enters as rottenness of the bones,
and with envy, hatred and malice.Prov. xiv. 30.
A meekThis meaning
of מַרְפֶּא,
as was observed in Lecture XII., p. 172,
seems to yield the best sense in these two passages (cp. xii. 18; xiii.
17), as in Eccl. x. 4, "gentleness allayeth great offences," which is a
good commentary on our text.
tongue
not only checks wrath in itself, but soothes it in others;
it is a tree of life, just as perverseness in it is a breaking
of the spirit.Prov. xv. 4.
If you thought less of yourself, you
would not so frequently feel your dignity offended; you
would not require this weapon of wrath always at hand
to leap forth and avenge your outraged pride. From
the meek heart vengeance dies away. "Say not thou,
I will recompense evil: wait on the Lord, and He shall
save thee."Prov. xx. 22.
You are sudden and quick in quarrel,
because you think of yourself more highly than you
ought to think; and because others do not share your
opinion of yourself, you must summon all your artillery
of wrath to make them bend the stubborn knee and
offer you the due tribute of deference or admiration.
For if bad temper comes often from constitutional
infirmities which must be carefully watched and controlled,
it comes just as frequently from that subtle
enemy of our souls, Pride.
But now we come to the important question, How
are our evil passions to be cured? And we must
frankly admit that our book has no suggestions to
offer. Its tendency is to regard our disposition as
fixed, our temperament as irreversible, our character
as unchangeable. It points out with crystalline clearness
the mischief of wrath and the merit of meekness,
but it never so much as entertains the possibility that
the wrathful man might become meek, the passionate
man patient and gentle.
We have in our analysis of the evil observed that
in order to avoid it we must be vigilant to mark and
control the first risings of passion; we have noted too
that if we were truly loving, anger would die away,
and if we were truly humble, the resentments which
stir our anger would have nothing to feed upon. But
the main difficulty is, how are we to become watchful,
since it is the special characteristic of a hasty temper
that it overpowers our sentinels before it assaults the
city? And how are we to become loving and humble?
It is only throwing the difficulty back a step or two,
and showing us how insuperable it is, to say that we
must become good in one direction in order to escape
the evil which lies in another direction. It does not
help the Ethiopian to become a European to tell him
that Europeans have white skins instead of black; nor
can a leopard change his kind because he learns that
his spots are his distinctive mark.
There must be a deeper message than that of the
Proverbs to solve this practical difficulty; though we
may well feel that the book is invaluable in setting
before us how greatly we need a deeper message. No
infirmity of human nature proves more forcibly than
the one with which we are dealing that "some thing
out of Nature" must come in if a change is to be
effected. "We must be born again;" it is only a
regenerate heart which will have the impulse and the
ability to watch against the eruption of a passionate
disposition. It is only a regenerate heart which can
love in such a way that irritations cease to fret, or
that can be humble enough to escape the exasperations
of wounded pride. Many of us think lightly of these
particular faults, and scarcely designate ill-temper a
sin at all; but however we may regard it, the wrathful
disposition requires nothing less than Christ, and Him
crucified, to cure it, and God deemed it worth while to
send His only-begotten Son in order to effect the cure.
In Christ Jesus are forces, moral and spiritual, strong
enough to control the most uncontrollable rage and to
soothe the most irritable temper; and as we can point
to no other power which is sufficient for such a change,
so few things manifest so strikingly the blessed presence
of Christ in the heart as the softened and gentle
temper, the removal of all those explosive elements
which before He entered were constantly causing
trouble and suffering and alarm.
Here is an example taken from a country where the
knowledge of the Gospel is comparatively recent. A
Japanese gentleman living at Fujioka, who was much
addicted to the use of sáke, a strong intoxicant, which
produced the worst results on his temper, was led
through reading a tract on the subject to renounce the
evil habit, and to accept Jesus Christ as his Saviour.
In proportion as the Divine power mastered him he
became a new creature. One day his wife had been
careless about some silkworms' eggs, which had become
partially destroyed, and she trembled with fear that
he would become enraged when he discovered it, and
punish her severely, as he had done before. But to her
great astonishment, when he found out what had happened
he remained perfectly calm, and then said, "We
can distribute them among our poor neighbours, and
so they will have a larger crop. Thus it will perhaps
be better than if we had sold them and taken all the
money ourselves." His wife was so impressed with
this change of character that she said, "This is the
result of Christianity; I want to become a Christian
too." She sought and found, and her whole family
sought and found. And not only so, but the neighbours
were struck by this "living epistle," and shortly
afterwards when the missionary went to Fujioka
there were ten persons awaiting baptism. At the
present time a good Christian Church is growing up
in the place.Missionary Review of the World, Feb. 1889, p. 143.
Where the Lord Jesus Christ reigns evil passions
subside and die away. "Learn of Me: for I am meek
and lowly of heart." "Blessed are the meek: for they
shall inherit the earth." One who is born again, one
whose life is hidden with Christ in God, is necessarily
meek, meek as the Lord Himself: not, as we well know,
devoid of noble anger or fiery indignation, for indeed
it is only the meek heart from which all personal pretensions
have been eradicated, and to which no personal
feeling can be attributed, that is able to pour out vials
of wrath, undeterred and unquenchable, upon all that
is base and mean, impure and false, corrupt and cruel;
but meek in this beautiful sense, that it never takes
offence, never suspects evil, never resents any wrong
except moral wrong that is done to others, or spiritual
wrong done to God. All the tinder on which angry
passions feed has been removed by the Cross of Christ,
and therefore the only wrath which can be entertained
is such wrath as God feels,—the deep intense glow of
consuming indignation against sin.
For our evil tempers, then, our passion, our wrath,
our sullen pride, our fretful irritability, our outbreaks
of sarcasm, our malignant sneers, there is only one
possible cure; we must bring the heart, out of which
all the evil comes, to Jesus Christ, that He may create
it anew; we must accept our failures as evidence of
an imperfect surrender, and come afresh with a more
insistent cry, and a more perfect faith, that He may
reign in our hearts as undisputed Lord, checking, subduing,
warring down, every evil motion there.
XVI.
A JUST BALANCE.
"A just balance and scales are the Lord's: all the weights of
the bag are His work."—Prov. xvi. 11.
"A false balance is an abomination to the Lord: but a just weight
is His delight."—Prov. xi. 1.
"Divers weights, and divers measures, both of them alike are an
abomination to the Lord."—Prov. xx. 10.
"Divers weights are an abomination to the Lord; and a false
balance is not good."—Prov. xx. 23.
The sixteenth chapter opens—and we may annex
to it the last verse of chap. xv.—with a series of
sayings which are grouped together on the principle
that the name of the Lord occurs in each. There is
no obvious connection between the successive verses,
and some of them have been already touched on in
previous lectures, but it will be worth while to glance
at the series as a whole.
The Lord's presence must be recognised and reverenced
before we can make any progress in wisdom, and
in His presence we must humble ourselves before we
can expect any honour.Prov. xv. 33.
We are entirely dependent
upon Him; although our hearts may form plans, we
cannot utter anything aright unless He controls our
tongue.Prov. xvi. 1.
However self-satisfied we may be with our
own ways, however convinced we may be of our own
innocence, He weighs our spirit, and will often find a
guilt which our conceit ignores, an impurity which our
vanity would hide.Prov. xvi. 2.
We should do well, therefore, to
commit all our works to Him, in order that He may
revise and correct our purposes and establish those
which are good.Prov. xvi. 3.
We cannot think too much of His
all-inclusive wisdom and knowledge; everything lies
in His hands and is designed for His ends; even the
wicked who rebel against Him—men like Pharaoh,
Nebuchadnezzar, Judas, Elymas—must in their inevitable
punishment glorify His righteousness and truth.Prov. xvi. 4. See note 430, p. 201.
For punishment is absolutely sure; the proud are an
abomination to Him, and though they combine to oppose
His will and to escape the penalty, it will be quite in
vain.Prov. xvi. 5.
On the other hand, where He sees mercy and
truth He will purge iniquity, and when men fear Him
they will depart from evil.Prov. xvi. 6.
When His smile is upon
them and He approves their ways, He will make their
path plain, pacifying their enemies, and making their
hearts glad.Prov. xvi. 7.
He will guide them, even directing
their steps, in such a manner that their own imperfect
counsels shall turn to a happy and successful issue.Prov. xvi. 9. Cf. Prov. xix. 21: "There are many devices in a
man's heart; but the counsel of the Lord, that shall stand."
"Whoso trusteth in the Lord, happy is he."Prov. xvi. 20.
Indeed
we cannot exaggerate the minute observation of the
Lord; no detail escapes His eye, no event is beyond
His control; even what is generally called Chance
is but another name for His unmarked and unknown
direction; the very lot—that lot which settles contentions
and separates the strongProv. xviii. 18. John Paton, the missionary to the New Hebrides,
uncertain whether to go back to Scotland and plead for more missionaries,
and receiving no light from human counsel, says, "After
many prayers and wrestlings and tears, I went alone before the Lord,
and on my knees cast lots with a solemn appeal to God, and the
answer came 'Go home.' In my heart I believe that ... the Lord
condescended to decide for me the path of duty, otherwise unknown;
and I believe it the more truly now, in view of the aftercome of thirty
years of service to Christ that flowed out of the steps then deliberately
and devoutly taken." See the Autobiography, Second Part (Hodder
and Stoughton, 1889).
—cast into the lap
is actually disposed by Him;Prov. xvi. 33.
much more, therefore,
are the deliberate transactions of commerce—those
subtle bonds of the cash nexus which twine man
to man and nation to nation—under His constant inspection
and a subject of His most interested concern,—"a
just balance and scales are the Lord's: all the
weights of the bag are His work."
It is, then, as part of the Lord's watchful activity
and direct, detailed connection with all the affairs of
human life, that He is interested in our business and
trade. We may notice at once that this is very characteristic
of the Old Testament religion. In the
Deuteronomic Law it was written: "Thou shalt not
have in thy bag divers weights, a great and a small.
Thou shalt not have in thine house divers measures,
a great and a small. A perfect and a just weight shalt
thou have; a perfect and just measure shalt thou have:
that thy days may be long upon the land which the
Lord thy God giveth thee. For all that do such things,
even all that do unrighteously, are an abomination unto
the Lord thy God."Deut. xxv. 13-16.
Again, in the Levitical Law we
find: "Ye shall do no unrighteousness in judgment,
in meteyard, in weight, or in measure. Just balances,
just weights, a just ephah, and a just hin, shall ye have:
I am the Lord your God, which brought you out of the
land of Egypt."Lev. xix. 33, 36.
The Israelite was encouraged to think that all the
work in which he engaged was ordained by, and therefore
under the observation of, his God. "Hate not
laborious work, neither husbandry which the Most
High hath ordained," says Ecclesiasticus.Eccles. vii. 15.
And there
is a striking passage in Isaiah where the operations of
agriculture are described in detail, and all are attributed
to God, who instructs the husbandman aright and teaches
him. It all comes from the "Lord of hosts, which is
wonderful in counsel, and excellent in wisdom."Isa. xxviii. 23-29.
But at present we are concerned only with trade as
a department of industrial life, and especially with
the actual chaffering of exchange, the barter of goods
for goods, the weights and measures which settle the
quantities, and the rules which must govern all such
transactions. We should gather that the commercial
fraud of those primitive times took this comparatively
simple form: the merchant would have, let us say,
a half shekel which came a little short of the regulation
weight; or he would have a cubit measure (1 ft. 9 in.)
half an inch under a cubit; or he would have a vessel
professing to hold a hin (i.e. a little more than a gallon),
but actually holding a little less than a gallon; or he
would have a dry measure, marked as an ephah (i.e. about
three pecks), but incapable of holding the ostensible
quantity. In an ordinary way he would use these
inadequate measures, and thus nibble a little from every
article which he sold to a customer. But in the event
of a purchaser presenting himself who had a fuller
knowledge or might conceivably act as an inspector
and report the fraud to the judge, there would be a
just half shekel weight in the bag, a full cubit rule
hidden behind the counter, a hin or an ephah measure
of legal dimensions within easy reach. You may smile
at such primitive methods of deception, but it requires
many generations for a civilized society to elaborate
commercial fraud on the large scale.
Now passing at once to our own times and bringing
the truth of our text to illuminate them, I should like
to say a little to people engaged in business, whether
as employers or employed, whether the business is
wholesale or retail. And let me assure you that I am
not going to attempt a detailed examination and criticism
of your business concerns. Such an attempt
would be grossly impertinent, and might well expose
me, not only to your indignation, but to your ridicule.
No, I do not believe that it is the part of the preacher
to meddle with matters which he does not understand;
he only discredits his message by affecting an omniscience
which he cannot possibly possess. I have no
doubt that the youth who has been in a warehouse or
behind the counter for six months already knows more
of commercial habits, of trade practices, of the temptations
and difficulties which practically press upon
people in business, than I know, or am likely to know
if I live to twice my present age. I shall not therefore
insult you by attempting to point out evils and expose
abuses, to denounce particular frauds, and to hold up
any special people or classes of people to moral reprobation.
My task is quite different; it is this:—I am
to remind you, first, that God possesses that omniscience
to which I can lay no claim, and therefore is
intimately acquainted with all the transactions of your
bank, your warehouse, your office, your counter, your
workshop; and, secondly, that He regards with intense
satisfaction all fair dealing, and with vindictive indignation
every fraud, and trick, and lie. And on the
strength of this I am to ask you very earnestly to
review your lives and your practices in the light of
His judgment, and to consider how you may bring
all your doings in business into conformity with His
will.
Perhaps you will let me, as a man speaking to his
fellow-men, as a Christian, I hope, speaking to his
fellow-Christians, expand these three points a little.
First. We are all of us tempted to think that a
considerable proportion of our life is too insignificant
to attract the particular attention of God. We can
understand that He takes notice of our entrance into,
and our exit from, the world, but we think that between
the two limits He leaves us to "devise our own ways."
Or possibly we can recognise His interest in the crises
of our life, but are inclined to question His minute care
of the common and monotonous routine. He marks
what business we enter, but, when we are in it, lets us
alone. He is interested in our marriage, but, when we
are married, leaves husband and wife to adjust their
own relations. Or He marks a large business transaction
in which there is room for a really gigantic fraud,
but cannot pay any attention to a minute sale over the
counter, the trivial adulteration of a common article,
the ingenious subterfuge for disposing of a damaged or
useless stock. Is not this our unspoken but implicit
mode of reasoning? And could anything be more
illogical? The Divine Power which could create this
infinitely diversified universe must be able to mark every
tiniest detail of the tiniest object in it. Great and small
are relative terms, and have no significance to Him.
Naturalists tell us that in the scale of living creatures,
arranged according to size, the common beetle occupies
the middle point, the smallest living creature being as
much smaller as the largest is larger than it. And yet
the microscope, so far from showing that God takes less
care with the infinitesimal creations of His hand, rather
inclines us to say that the smaller the creature is, the
more delicate adjustment, the more exquisite proportions,
the more brilliant hues, does it display. Our
Lord brought home to us this minuteness of the Divine
Mind, this infinite power of embracing the veriest trifles
of the creation in His thought and care, by assuring us
that not a sparrow falls without His notice and that
the hairs of our heads are all numbered.
There is then no logical resting-place, when we are
thinking of the Mind of God. If He knows us at all,
He knows all about us. If He marks what we consider
the important things in our life, He marks equally what
we consider the unimportant things. The whole life,
with every detail from birth to death, is accurately
photographed in the light of His omniscience; and
as the exposed plate of the camera receives many
details which escape the observation of our eyes, so
the smallest and least observed transaction in the daily
business, every figure entered truly or falsely in the
ledger, every coin dropped justly or dishonestly into
the till, every bale, every packet, every thread, every
pin, which changes hands in the market, passes at once
into the observant and comprehending mind of God.It seems impossible that a general and perfect morality in
business can ever be attained apart from this apprehension of an
Omniscient Mind weighing and judging, as well as accurately observing,
everything done even in secret. In mediæval Europe, when this
faith was practically unquestioned, there was a certain honesty and
sincerity in handicrafts and in general dealing, until the Church made
the fatal blunder of granting indulgences for men's peccadilloes, and
professing to exonerate them from the consequences of the truth
which she herself in theory held.
Second. But in this exhaustive and detailed knowledge
of the way in which you are conducting your
business, His warm approval follows everything that
is honest and just, His vehement censure lights on all
that is dishonest or unjust. It may come as a great
comfort to you to know that a little business matter
which cost you a considerable struggle the other day
was duly noted and recorded by the Lord. I was not
present at the time, nor did any one who was near
you in the least surmise what was passing. But
you suddenly recognised the possibility of making a
large profit by simply adopting a very slight subterfuge;
what made the case peculiarly difficult was that
neighbouring and rival firms to your certain knowledge
did the like every day; the innocent faces of wife and
children at home seem to urge you, for what a difference
would this sum of money make to their comfort
and welfare in the coming year! you weighed the little
trick over and over again, and set it now in this light,
now in that, until at last the black began to seem grey,
and the grey almost white. After all, was it a subterfuge?
was it not merely a quite legitimate reserve, an
even laudable commercial prudence? And then, as
you wavered, some clear light of truth fell upon your
mind; you saw distinctly what was the right course,
and very quietly you took it; the prospect of gain was
surrendered, you saw the advantage pass over to your
rival; he availed himself of it, and went to church next
Sunday just the same. Sometimes you have wondered
whether after all you were not too scrupulous.
Now all that God knows; it is His delight; He has
recorded it already in His Book, and also in your own
moral nature, which is the stronger and the better for it.
On the other hand, it must be a subject of some concern
to many that the same all-observing, all-recording
Mind regards with hatred all the sharp practices by
which in business we deceive and defraud one another.
I suppose there is a way of making up books which
would pass any accountant in London, and yet would
not pass the audit of God. I suppose there are gains
which to the average commercial conscience of to-day
appear fair enough, and yet to the One who weighs the
spirits of men seem to be quite illicit. There must be
men who made their money long ago in certain ways
best known to themselves, and are now living in great
comfort; but all the time in the books of God a terrible
record stands against them, and as the eye of God falls
upon those pages, the moan of the ruined, the cry of
the fatherless and the widow, and the horrified entreaties
of the helpless come up into His ear.
We have no reason for thinking that the unjust
balance has become any less abominable to the Lord
because the eager and relentless competition of modern
industrial life has multiplied, while it has refined, the
methods of fraud, and has created a condition of things
in which, as so many people urge, questionable practices
have become actually necessary for one who would
keep his head above water. We have no reason to
think that God regards it as at all essential that any
of us should keep his head above water. The warm
and honourable reception given to Lazarus in heaven,
when his head had gone under the waters on earth,
might lead us to think that what we call failures here
may possibly be regarded as grand successes there.
But we have every reason to think that double dealing,
no matter what may be the plea, is abominable in the
sight of the Lord.
It is in vain to point to the great prosperity which
has fallen to the lot of some whose dishonourable
practices have been notorious. It is beyond a doubt
that knavery may be successful in its way and a clever
rogue may outdistance an honest dullard. The proverb
"Honesty is the best policy" is not, as some people
seem to think, in the Bible; honesty may or may not
be the best policy, according to the object which you
have in view. If your object is simply to amass
wealth, the saying will read, "Honesty is the best
policy; and where it is not, be dishonest." God does
not judge in the least by worldly prosperity. From the
parable just alluded to one would conclude that it is,
in heaven, a certain presumption against a man; there
may yet prove to be truth in the hard saying, "He
that dies rich is damned." If God hates these questionable
practices which are said to exist in modern trade,
and if He enters them all in His black books, they
who prosper by employing them are none the less
failures: their ruin is sure; their remorse will be as
inevitable as their recovery will be impossible.
Third. I come therefore now to urge upon all of
you that you should order all your business ways as in
the sight of God, and concern yourselves chiefly with
the thought how they may be in conformity with His
holy Will. Do not be content with estimating your
conduct by the judgment which other men would pass
upon it. While such an estimate might reveal many
things which would not pass muster, it is doubtful
whether their problematical censure will afford an
adequate motive for reform, and it is sure to overlook
many of the evils which they are bound to wink at,
because their own hands are not clean. Do not be
content even with estimating your conduct by the
standard of your own unaided conscience. Your conscience
may at any given time be in a degraded state;
in order to keep it quiet you may have brought it down
to the level of your conduct. A thief's conscience
seldom troubles him unless his theft is unsuccessful, in
which case it reproaches him for not being more careful
and more skilful. You may, like St. Paul, know nothing
against yourself and yet not be thereby justified. For
doubtless most of the evil practices of our time represent
a conscience that has been stupefied with sophistry and
deadened with selfishness, so that the worst culprits are
the first to put on an air of injured innocence, and those
who are least guilty suffer most just because the conscience
is still sensitive and has not yet been seared with
the usual hot iron.
No, the only safe and effectual method is to bring all
your business habits, all the practices of the counter
and the counting-house, under the searching eye of the
All-seeing One. Unless you realize that He sees and
knows, and unless you humbly submit everything to
His judgment, you are sure to go wrong; your standard
will insensibly fall, and you will insensibly fall away
even from the fallen standard. It is said that peculiar
difficulties beset you in the present day; it is said that
it was never so hard to be straightforward and aboveboard
in commercial dealings; it is said that the insane
Moloch of competition imperatively demands the blood
of our youth, and even makes assaults on the established
virtues of maturity. It may be so, though we are
generally inclined to exaggerate the peculiar temptations
of our own time in comparison with those of a former
age; but if it is so, then there is all the more urgent a
necessity that you should bring your affairs to God's
judgment, seek diligently to understand His will, and
then ask Him for a peculiar strength to enable you
to overcome these peculiar temptations. You will not
alter His judgment of your conduct by attempting to
ignore it. But by seeking to understand it, and by
laying your heart open to be influenced by it, you will
find that your conduct is perceptibly altered and apparent
impossibilities are overcome, because "by the
fear of the Lord men depart from evil."Prov. xvi. 6.
XVII.
FRIENDSHIP.
"A friend loveth at all times, and as a brother is born for adversity."—Prov.
xvii. 17. (This rendering, based upon the margin of the
R.V., yields a much better sense than the loosely connected, "And a
brother is born for adversity.")
One of the most striking contrasts between the
ancient and the modern world is in the place
which is given to Friendship by moralists and religious
teachers. In Aristotle's famous treatise on Ethics two
books out of nine are devoted to the moral bearings of
Friendship, and these books form the climax of the work,
and are the natural transition to the work on Politics,
or the science of the State. This central position given
to the subject by the greatest and most systematic
teacher of antiquity, compared with the very subordinate
part which friendship plays in Christian ethics,
is calculated to make us reflect and enquire. Is not the
explanation probably this? Our Lord gave a great new
commandment to His disciples, that they should love
one another; and though Christian men have as yet but
imperfectly understood what He meant, or carried out
what they have understood, an ideal was created which
far transcended that lower relationship of antiquity.
Greek friendship was to be merged in Christian love.
The meaning of such a change will appear if we
remember two characteristics of mere friendship, on
which Aristotle dwells. One is that it is necessarily
based upon selfishness; springing from a wish to realize
oneself in the life of another, fed by the benefit or
pleasure derived from the mutual intercourse, it lies
under the necessary limitation that we shall not wish
for our friend a good which would remove him from
us, or an improvement which would raise him too far
above us. For the second point is that friendship can
only exist between equals, and the best friendship is
that between good men who stand upon the same level
of virtue. Christian love, on the other hand, springs
from a complete abnegation of Self. It seeks nothing:
it gives all. So far from laying stress upon the equality
of conditions, it is never better pleased than when it
can raise another to a position of excellence far surpassing
its own, and instead of seeking its highest
satisfaction in intercourse with its spiritual peers,—the
good, the great, the saintly,—it attains its apotheosis
when it is allowed to embrace the weak, the sinful, the
fallen, and to lavish all its Divine resources upon those
who may never be able to repay it even with gratitude.
It is obvious, then, that friendship is on a lower
plane than Christian love, and it marks a great advance
in ideal ethics when the lesser star pales in presence
of the greater; but it may be urged with truth that
friendship still has its place in life, and deserves a
more careful attention than it receives. In the individual,
as in the race, friendship may be a prelude and
a practice of the nobler and wider relation. And there
is this further reason for trying to understand the
nature of friendship, that it is more than once in the
Bible used as a type and a figure of the relationship
which may exist between the soul and its God.
We will proceed then to examine some of the characteristics
of friendship referred to in the book of
Proverbs.
Friends, according to the original sense of the
Hebrew word, are those who delight in one another's
companionship; either they are useful to one another
because each possesses gifts which the other has not,
or they are agreeable to one another because they have
certain tastes in common. Thus there may of course
be a friendship in evil, in vice, in destructive practices;
thieves may enter into a league to carry out their antisocial
designs, and may be very true to one another;
vicious men may find a bond of friendship in the
common indulgence of their vices; and in this way
friendship, so called, may be a means of ruining the
friends. "There are friends for mutual shattering,"
just as "there is a lover that cleaves more than a
brother."Prov. xviii. 24. This sense is obtained by what appears a necessary
change in the text; we must read יֵשׁ for אִישׁ. A similar error
occurs 2 Sam. xiv. 19 and Micah vi. 10.
There may also be an interested comradeship
which is entirely hypocritical; such a friendship is
usually marked by a loud and ostentatious demonstration:
"He that blesseth his friend with a loud voice,
rising early in the morning, it shall be counted a curse
to him."Prov. xxvii. 14.
But, in the main, friendship implies a certain
amount of goodness; for it is in itself a virtue. The
suspicious, malignant nature of evil men speedily snaps
the ties which bind them together for a time; and
where honour exists among thieves it affords a strong
presumption that the thieves are the product of a wrong
social state, rather than of a naturally evil disposition.
We may then practically, in thinking of friendship,
confine our attention to that which exists between well-meaning
people, and tends on the whole to bless, to
strengthen, and to improve them. We may come to
look at some of the uses and the delights of friendship.
"As in water face answers to face, so in the heart man
answers to man."Prov. xxvii. 19.
In the heart of our friend we see
our own character reflected just as gazing into a still
pool we see the reflection of our own face. It is in
the frank and sympathetic intercourse of friendship
that we really get to know ourselves, and to realize
what is in us. We unfold to one another, we discover
our similarities and mark our differences. Points
which remained unobserved in our own hearts are
immediately detected and understood when we see
them also in our friends; faculties which remained
unused are brought into play to supplement the discovered
defects in our friend's nature. We hardly
guess what a fund of happy humour is in us until we
are encouraged to display it by observing how its
flashes light up the face we love. Our capacities of
sympathy and tenderness remain undeveloped until we
wish eagerly to comfort our friend in a sudden sorrow.
In a true friendship we find that we are living a life
which is doubled in all its faculties of enjoyment and
of service;"Sorrows by being communicated grow less and joys greater."—Bacon.
we quite shudder to think what cold,
apathetic, undeveloped creatures we should have been
but for that genial touch which unfolded us, and
warmed our hearts into genuine feeling while it brought
our minds into active play. This intellectual value
of friendship is brought out in the happy saying:
"Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the
countenance of his friend."Prov. xxvii. 17.
A friendless person has a
lack-lustre face; his talk has a dull edge; his emotions
a poor and feeble flow. That delightful readiness of
thought and expression which makes all the charm of
social intercourse, the easy tact which rubs off the
angles and smooths all the relations of life, the bright
coruscations which seem like sunlight playing over
summer seas, are usually the result of close and
intimate communion with congenial friends. Reading
may make a learned man, and without hard study few
people can accomplish much permanent good in the
world, but reading does not necessarily make a really
social man, one who brings his fellow-creatures
together in happy and helpful relationships; that
beautiful faculty is only acquired by the fostering and
stimulating influences of heart companionships. When
we have real friends, though they be only a few, we
diffuse a friendly feeling amongst others, wherever we
go. Possibly also in the simile of the iron lies a
reminder of the discipline which friendship gives to
character, a discipline which is not always unaccompanied
by pain. Friends "rub each other's angles
down," and sometimes the friction is a little distressing
to both sides. The blades are sharpened, by a few
imperceptible filings being ground off each of their
edges. The use of friendship depends very largely
on its frankness, just as its sweetness depends upon
mutual consideration. When the frankness hurts we
have to remind ourselves of the wholesome truth that
the soft speaking is not always a token of love, and the
hard sayings of our friend may be uttered at a great
personal cost, for our good rather than his. "Faithful
are the wounds of a friend: but the kisses of an enemy
are profuse."Prov. xxvii. 6.
If, however, friendship ripens through many years of
kindly growth, or if a swift elective affinity forestalls at
once the fruit of years, all the pain of mutual counsel
and correction disappears, and may be changed into a
joy very sweet to the soul. "Ointment and perfume
rejoice the heart: so doth the sweetness of a man's
friend that cometh of soul counsel."Prov. xxvii. 9.
It is a very
beautiful condition of things which is referred to in
this proverb. Two people have learnt thoroughly to
understand one another, and have become in a certain
sense one. Each recognises the service that the other
renders, and welcomes the advice or even the rebuke
which is made possible by their relationship. The
interchange of affection is naturally sweet, but as sweet,
or even sometimes sweeter, is the delicate aroma which
arises when one sees a fault in the other, and with a
tenderness begotten of affection, and a humility which
trembles to presume, speaks gently but frankly to his
friend. Never do the eyes more eagerly respond to one
another, never is the hand-clasp so firm and hearty, as
after such a passage between true friends.
But the decisive test and the most beautiful proof of
real friendship will be found in the day of adversity.
A friend is never known till needed."Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur."—Cicero.
When calamity
falls upon us, false friends make excuses and go; lip-friends
relapse into silence; but we begin then for the
first time to find out who is a friend indeed. Then it
appears that the true friend is entirely unchanged by
the changed aspect of affairs; it seems as if he had
been born into a brotherhood with us for this express
occasion. There is no wish to cry off; he seems
even to press the brotherly tie in a way which we
should not have presumed to expect, and thus he
contrives to lighten the oppressive burden of obligation
for the favour that he confers on us, by making it
appear that he was bound to act as he does by a
necessity of kinship. This seems to be the meaning
of our text. Such a friend, if he be near at hand and
in constant contact with us, is of more service than our
own brother;Prov. xxvii. 10.
and when through his timely aid or
effectual comfort we have come out of the furnace, and
our tears are dried, we say constantly to ourselves that
we doubt whether our own brother would have clung to
us so faithfully, would have borne with our querulous
murmurs so patiently, or relieved our necessities so
delicately and so liberally.Prov. xviii. 24.
If you have such a friend as this, your own or your
father's, take care to retain him; do not alienate him
by negligence or a deficient consideration. Put yourself
out of the way to show that you appreciate and
value him; do not allow a false reserve or a foolish
shyness to check your expression of gratitude. A
friendship is a delicate growth; and even when it has
become robust, it can easily be blighted. The results
of years may be lost in a few days. And if a root of
bitterness springs up, if a division occurs, it may be
quite impossible by every effort in your power to heal
the breach or to pluck up that obstinate root. "A
brother offended is harder to be won than a strong
city: and such contentions are like the bars of a
castle."Prov. xviii. 19.
The closer the intimacy had been, the tenderer
the friendship, so much the sterner will be these bars,
so much the more inexpugnable the castle. For it will
be felt, if such protestations, such interchange of affection,
such mutual delights, could have been deceptive,
mere hypocrisies or delusions, what hope can there be
that the same things broken and patched up again can
be of any worth? A difference with a chance acquaintance
is easily removed; further knowledge may improve
our opinion of one another, and even if we separate we
have no deep resentment. But a difference between true
friends may quickly become irreparable. They feel that
there is no more to know; they have seen the best and
that has proved disappointing. The resentment springs
from a sense of abused confidence and injured love.
If you have real friends then, take pains to keep
them. Watch carefully for the small beginnings of a
rupture and hasten to heal it. Think no effort is
wasted, and no apology or explanation is too humiliating,
which may avert that great calamity,—the loss
of a true soul-comrade; one whom you have learnt to
honour with the name and dignity of friend.
"The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,"
says our wise poet,
"Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel."
Such a friendship as we have been considering, rare
and beautiful as it is, forms a noble stepping-stone to
the loftier relationship of Christian love. In tone and
quality it is almost the same; it differs only in its
range and in its motive. What one man feels to
another in an ideal friendship, the Christian is called
upon, according to his capacity and opportunity, to feel
to man as man, to all his fellow-creatures. We cannot
of course fulfil all the offices of friendship to every one,
and we are not as Christians required to abate one
jot of our love to those who are our friends by affinity
and by choice. But where the heart is truly Christian
it will become more expansive, and it will be conscious
of the powerful claims which weakness, misery, solitude,
or even moral failings, make upon its friendship; it will
shrink from the selfishness inherent in all affections
which are merely selective and exclusive; it will
earnestly desire to feel an affection which is inclusive
and quite unselfish. Where is to be found the motive
for such an enlarged spirit of friendship? Whence
is to come the impulse to such a self-surrender?
Surely such a motive and such an impulse are to be
discovered only in that relation of friendship which
God Himself deigns to sustain towards the human
soul. Jehoshaphat in his prayer appeals to God on
the ground that He had given the land to "Abraham
His friend for ever."2 Chron. xx. 7.
And we read of Moses that
"the Lord spake unto him face to face, as a man
speaketh unto his friend."Exod. xxxiii. 11.
But in this position of
one who is called the father of the faithful, and of one
who was the leader of his people, we cannot but
recognise a promise and a foreshadowing of a relation
with God which was meant to become more general.
The whole tendency of the Gospel is to put every
believer in our Lord Jesus Christ on a spiritual level
with the most favoured and richly endowed of a former
dispensation. And since the Incarnate Son lived on
earth, and called the simple peasants of Galilee to be,
not His servants, but His friends, if they did whatsoever
He commanded them,John xv. 14.
we may without presumption—nay,
we must if we would not grieve Him by unbelief—accept
the mysteriously dignified position of God's
friends. The feeblest and the poorest, as well as the
strongest and most gifted, believing in Jesus Christ, in
proportion as he heartily accepts the authority and
obeys the commandment of his Lord, is a friend of
God. It is a very unequal friendship, as we must all
feel. He has all the strength, all the wisdom, all the
goodness, all the gifts; but the sense of inequality is
removed by His own gracious friendliness: He attaches
such importance to a heartfelt love that He is willing
to accept that as the fair equivalent of all that He does
and gives to us; and He remedies the terrible inferiority
of His friends by realizing His own life in them and
merging their imperfection in His perfectness, their
limitations in His infinity.
Now, shall we venture to assume that you and God
are friends; that the beautiful relation which we have
examined, the delight in mutual companionship, the
interchange of thought and feeling, the quick and
quickening response of love and comprehension, exist
between you and Him? Come and read some of these
sayings again and apply them to Him. You may gaze
into the heart of God, and as face answers to face in a
quiet pool, you may find yourself in Him,—a larger self,
a truer self, a holier self, than you could ever find
in any human fellowship, or than you had ever dared
to imagine. This familiar intercourse with God, which
has its roots in a profound reverence and its fruits
in an unutterable joy, is the new creation of a human
soul. A man will be known by his friends, and most
assuredly he will be known, if his Friend and most constant
Companion is God. He will regard that status as
his highest title and distinction, just as Lord Brooks was
so proud of knowing Sir Philip Sydney that he wished
his epitaph to be "Here lies Sir Philip Sydney's friend."
Again, in this close fellowship with God, in His
warnings and encouragements and chastisements, even
in the "faithful wounds" that He inflicts, does not the
heart perceive His sweetness as an ointment and perfume?
Does not the quiet place where these passages
of tender friendship between your soul and God occur
become redolent with a precious fragrance, as of incense
or of fresh flowers?
And then the deep meaning which the friendship
of God brings into our text, "A friend loveth at all
times, and as a brother"—yes, our Divine Brother, the
Lord Jesus Christ—"is born for adversity;" or into that
other saying, "There is a lover that cleaves more than
a brother"! Let us have no loud pharisaical ways in
blessing our Friend,Prov. xxvii. 14.
but let no effort seem too exacting
to retain unbroken this priceless blessing of the Divine
Communion!
Now, where the soul counts God its nearest and
dearest Friend,—the Friend of whom nothing in life or
death can rob it,—this effect follows by a beautiful
necessity: the chief and all-inclusive friendship being
secured, we are at leisure from ourselves to soothe and
sympathise, we are able to extend our thoughts and our
ministries of love to all around us, and to reflect in our
relations with men that exquisite relation which God
has deigned to establish with us. Our own private
friendships then produce no exclusiveness, but rather
they become the types of our feelings to others, and
the ever-springing fountainhead of friendly thoughts
and courteous deeds; while these private friendships
and our wider relations alike are all brought up into
the lofty and purifying friendship which we hold with
our God and He with us.
XVIII.
THE EVIL OF ISOLATION.
"He that separates himself follows after his own desire, but
against all sound wisdom he shows his teeth."—Prov. xviii. 1.
From the value of friendship there is a natural
and easy transition to the evil of isolation. We
must try to fathom the profound meaning which is
hidden under this simple but striking proverb. To
begin with, what are we to understand by "one that
separates himself"? This same word occurs in 2 Sam.
i. 23 concerning Saul and Jonathan, that "in their
death they were not separated." Theirs was a togetherness
which accompanied them to the grave. On the
other hand, there are people who shun all togetherness
in their lives,—they are voluntarily, deliberately
separated from their kind, and they seem for the first
time to blend with their fellows when their undistinguished
dust mixes with the dust of others in the
common grave. We are to think of a person who has
no ties with any of his fellow-creatures, who has broken
such ties as bound him to them, or is of that morbid
and unnatural humour that makes all intercourse with
others distasteful. We are to think more especially of
one who chooses this life of solitariness in order to
follow out his own desire rather than from any necessity
of circumstance or disposition; one who finds his pleasure
in ignoring mankind, and wishes for intercourse
with them only that he may vent his spleen against
them; in a word, we are to think of a Misanthrope.
We must be careful in catching the precise idea,
because there are men who shut themselves off from
their kind, rightly or wrongly, in order to seek the
common welfare. A student or an inventor, sometimes
even a teacher or a preacher, will find the
solitude of the study or the laboratory the only
condition on which he can accomplish the work to
which he is called. The loss of domestic life or of
social pleasures, the withdrawal from all the "kindly
ways of men," may be a positive pain to him, a cross
which he bears for the direct good of those whose
company he forswears, or for the cause of Truth, in
whose service alone it is possible to permanently
benefit his fellows. Such a "separation" as this—painful,
difficult, unrewarded—we must exclude from
the intention of our text, although possibly our text
might convey a warning even to these benevolent
eremites, that unless the heart is kept warm by human
sympathies, unless the mind is kept in touch with the
common cares and joys of our kind, the value of even
intellectual work will be considerably diminished,
while the worker himself must inevitably and perhaps
needlessly suffer. But, on the whole, we must except
these nobler instances of isolation, if we would feel the
full force of the judgment which is pronounced in the
text.
The misanthrope is one who has no faith in his
fellows, and shrinks into himself to escape them; who
pursues his own private ends, avoiding all unnecessary
speech with those who are around him, living alone,
dying unobserved, except for the mischief which
consciously or unconsciously he does to those who
survive him. Such an one is aptly described as
showing his teethSee note on הִתְּנַּלָּע in Lecture XV., p. 205.
in an angry snarl against all the
approaches of a true wisdom.
Shakespeare might have had this proverb before him
in that grim delineation of Richard the Third, who
boasts that he has neither pity, love, nor fear. He
was, he had been told, born with teeth in his mouth.
"And so I was," he exclaims; "which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog."
And then he explains his terrible character in these
significant lines:—
"I have no brother, I am like no brother:
And this word Love, which greybeards call divine,
Be resident in men like one another,
And not in me; I am myself alone."III. King Henry VI., Act v., Sc. 6.
Yes, Love can only exist among men who are like
one another; and no more damning indictment can
be brought against a human being than this, that he is
himself alone.
The truth is that every man is not only a "self,"
a personality, but he is a very complex being made
up of many relations with other men. He is a son, a
brother, a friend, a father, a citizen. Suppose him to
be stripped of all sonship, brotherhood, friendship,
fatherhood, and citizenship; there is left, not a man,
but a mere self, and that is his hideous condemnation.
In the same way, a woman that is neither daughter,
nor sister, nor wife, nor friend, nor ministrant, does not
deserve the grand name of woman; she is a mere self,
a point of exigent and querulous desires. The most
appalling discovery in a great city is that multitudes
have become mere selves,—hungry, hollow, ravening,
thirsty, shrivelled selves. The father and mother are
dead, or left far away, probably never known; no
one is brother to them, they are brothers to no one.
Friend has no significance to their understanding, or
means only one who, from most interested motives,
ministers to their craving appetites; they are not
citizens of London, nor of any other city; they are not
Englishmen, though they were born in England, nor
have they any other nationality,—hideous, clamorous,
esurient selves, nothing more. An old Greek saying
declared that one who lives alone is either a god or
a wild beast;ἢ θεὸς ἢ θήριον.
while, as we have already seen, there are
a few of the isolated ones who are isolated from noble
and even Divine motives, the vast majority are in this
condition because they have fallen from the level of
humanity into the roving and predatory state of wild
animals, that seek their meat by night and lurk in a
lonely lair by day.
The "sound wisdom" against which the isolated
rage is nothing less than the kindly law which makes
us men, and ordains that we should not live to ourselves
alone, but should fulfil our noble part as members
one of another. The Social Instinct is one of two or
three striking characteristics which mark us out as
human: a man by himself is only an animal, and a
very poor animal too; in size he is far beneath the
greatest of the creatures that inhabit land and sea;
he is not as swift as the winged denizens of the air;
his strength in proportion to his bulk is debility compared
with that of the tiniest insects. His distinction
in the creation, and his excelling dignity, are derived
from the social relations which make him in combination
strong, in the intercourse of speech and thought, wise,
and in the loving response of heart to heart, noble. If
by some unhappy accident a human being wanders
early from his place into the forests, is suckled by wild
beasts, and grows up among them, the result is an
animal inconceivably repulsive, fierce, cunning, and
ugly; vulpine, but without the wolf's agile grace;
bearish, but without the bear's slow-pacing dignity.
The "sound wisdom" is the wisdom of the Creator,
who from the beginning determined that it is not good
for men to live alone, and marked His conception of
the unity which should bind them together by the gift
of the woman to the man, to be bone of his bone and
flesh of his flesh.
It becomes therefore a necessity to every wise
human being to recognise, to maintain, and to cultivate
all those wholesome relationships which make
us truly human. "As a bird that wandereth from her
nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place."Prov. xxvii. 8.
Sometimes when a great ship is far off in mid-ocean,
a tired land-bird will fall panting and exhausted
upon the deck: the wings can beat no longer; the
eyes glaze; and the eager wanderer fails and dies.
The true bird-life is the life of the woods, of the
toilsomely-woven nest, of the mate and the brood
and the fledglings. In the same way on those ocean
steamers—ay, and in many a weary bye-path and
lonely desert of the earth—may be found men who
have broken away from the ties which formed their
strength and their truer being, and now fall, faint and
purposeless, to languish and to die. For true human
life is the life of our fellows, of the diligent laborious
housebuilding, of the home, of the young, of the
rising nestlings which are to form the next link in
the long chain of the generations.
Neighbourliness is the larger part of life; we are
not to go to our distant "brother's house in the day
of our calamity, for better is a neighbour that is near
than a brother far off."Prov. xxvii. 10.
Our life is rich and true
and helpful just in proportion as we are entwined with
those who live around us in bonds of mutual respect
and consideration, of reciprocal helpfulness and service,
of intimate and intelligent friendship.
It is hardly necessary to say that there is neighbourliness
and neighbourliness. Our relation to our
neighbours may be that of mere busybodies, tattlers,
and whisperers; it may be devoid of tact and consideration:
there is need therefore of a warning to
"hold back thy foot from thy neighbour's house; lest
he be sated with thee, and hate thee."Prov. xxv. 17.
But this possible
abuse does not affect the broad and salutary
principle: we are meant to live in one another; our
nature can realize itself, and accomplish its mission,
only in generous and noble relations with those who
are about us. The home is at the foundation of all;
a good son or daughter will generally make a good
man or woman; good brothers will prove good citizens,
good sisters good ministrants and teachers to the poor
and the ignorant; good fathers will be the best rulers
in Church and State. The home will be the preparation
for the larger life of the town, or the social circle,
or the state. And thus from the cradle to the grave
no man should live alone, but every one should be a
member of a larger body, holding a definite place in
a system or organism, depending on others, with others
depending on him. Nerves should run through the
body politic, motor nerves and sensory nerves; the
joys and pains of a community should be shared,
the activities of a community should be united. No
one should live to himself; all should live, and rejoice
to live, in the great co-operative society of the world,
in which personal interests are mutual interests and
the gains of each are the gains of all.
But we can hardly probe to the depths of this
Proverbial Philosophy without becoming aware that
we are touching on an idea which is the mainspring
of Christianity on its earthly and visible side. We
seem to have detected in all the preceding discussion
echoes, however faint, of the Apostolic teaching which
gave practical shape and body to the work of our Lord
Jesus Christ.
The relation of Christ, as the Son of God, to the
human race as a whole, immediately opened up the
possibility of a world-wide society in which all
nations, all classes, all castes, all degrees, all individualities,
should be not so much merged as distinctly
articulated and recognised in a complete and complex
whole. The kingdom of heaven, while borrowing
its terminology from earthly kingdoms, was unlike
any one of them because it was to include them all.
Into that kingdom all the peoples, nations, and languages
should pass.
The Catholic Church, as the first attempt to realize
this grand idea, presented for a time a certain faint and
wavering reflection of the image in the heavens. The
fault of seeking the unity of the race in a priesthood
instead of in the people was of course a fatal one to its
own ultimate success, but at least one great service was
rendered to humanity; the idea became familiar of a
Unity, in which the narrower unities of the family, the
social circle, and the nation were to find their completion.
And when the intelligence and the faith of men broke
with the Catholic Church, it was not a breach with the
Catholic idea, but merely a transition to a nobler and a
more living realization of the idea. At present the idea
is daily clearing and assuming vaster proportions;
humanity is seen to be one; the Great Father presides
over a family which may be sundered, but cannot be
really parted; over a race which is divided, but not
actually separated.
Strange and rapturous have been the emotions of
men as they have entered into the realization of this
idea, and the thrill of their vast fellowship has passed
through their hearts. Sometimes they have turned
away in bitterness of revolt from the Christian Church,
which with harsh dogmatisms and fierce anathemas,
with cruel exclusiveness and sectarian narrowness,
seems rather to check than to further the sublime
thought of the One Father, of whom all the family is
named in heaven and in earth. But whatever justification
there may be for complaint against the Church,
we cannot afford to turn our thoughts from the Son of
Man, who has redeemed the race to which we belong,
and who, as the Divine Power, is alone able to carry
out in effect the great conception which He has given
us in thought.
And now I am going to ask you for a moment to
consider how the text reads in the light of the work
and the presence and the person of Jesus Christ, who
has come to gather together in one those that are
scattered abroad.
The person of Christ is the link which binds all
men together; the presence of Christ is the guarantee
of the union; the work of Christ, which consists in
the removal of sin, is the main condition of a heart-unity
for all mankind. When therefore you put
your trust in Christ and your sinful nature is subdued,
you are incorporated into a body of which
He is the head, and you must pass out of the
narrow self-life into the broad Christ-life; you can no
longer live for yourself alone, because as the member
of a body you exist only in relation to all the other
members. "But," it is said, "am I not to seek my
own salvation, and then to work it out with fear and
trembling? am I not to withdraw from the world, and
to labour hard to make my calling and election sure?"
In a certain sense, the answer to that question is, Yes.
But then it is only in a certain sense; for you make
sure of your own salvation precisely in proportion as
you are really incorporated into Christ, and are made
a genuine member of the body: as St. John says, "We
know that we are passed from death unto life because we
love the brethren," and "if we walk in the light we have
fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ
cleanseth us from all sin." We work out our salvation
therefore only by losing the self in others; we withdraw
from the world and make our calling sure, just as our
thoughts become identified with God's thoughts, and as
our lives are passed in cheerful and victorious service.
If, then, on the ground of our humanity we are
cautioned against separating ourselves, because by so
doing we set our teeth against all sound wisdom, on
the ground of our Christianity we must be warned not
to separate ourselves, because that means to harden
our hearts against the faith itself. When we say
to ourselves, "We will live our Christian life alone,"
that is equivalent to saying, "We will not live the
Christian life at all." We do not know what the
life in heaven may be,—though from the casual
glimpses we obtain of it, we should say that it is a
great social gathering, at which we shall sit down with
Abraham and all the saints of God, a kind of marriage
festivity to celebrate the union of the Lord with His
bride,—but it is plain that the Christian life, as it is
revealed to us here, must be the life of a community, for
it is likened to a vine, from which all dead branches
are cut off, and plainly all cut-off branches are dead.
"But," say many people amongst us, "we put our
faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; we trust to Him; why
should you impose any further conditions?" Do they
put their faith in Him? Does not faith imply obedience?
Did He not require His disciples to be united
in a fellowship, and did He not give His body and His
blood as a symbol of this fellowship, and command
them to take the symbols in remembrance of Him until
He comes? Are these isolated believers obeying Him,
or are they not cutting at the root of His glorious
purpose of human fellowship in the Divine Head?
And if they are thus breaking His expressed commandment,
has He not warned them that He will say, "I
never knew you, depart from Me," although they have
taught in His name, and even cast out devils and done
many wonderful works?
And in thus reminding you of our Lord's thought,
I am not speaking only of what we call the fellowship
of the Church; for there are many who are merely
nominal members of the Church, and though their
names are enrolled they "separate themselves" and live
the life of unhallowed isolation, just as they did before
they professedly entered into the Christian society.
This is a larger question than that of Church membership;
Church membership derives its vast importance
from being a part of this larger question. Will you,
therefore, let me close with a personal appeal addressed
to each one of you?
You know that the Son of Man would make men
one; you know that He calls His disciples into a holy
family of mutual love and service, so that men may
know that they are His, and may recognise Him because
they love one another. Are you venturing to disregard
His commandment and to frustrate His will by separating
yourself for your own desire? have you fallen out
of all relations with His family, so that the sonship,
the brotherhood, the friendship, the fatherhood, the
citizenship, of the heavenly kingdom are as good as
meaningless to you? If so, may I say in the words
of the text, you are setting "your teeth against all
sound wisdom"?
XIX.
HUMAN FREEDOM.
"The foolishness of man subverteth his way;
And his heart fretteth against the Lord."—Prov. xix. 3.
There is such a valuable expansion and commentary
on this proverb in the book of Ecclesiasticus
that it seems worth while to quote it in full: "Say not,
it is through the Lord that I fell away, for the things
He hates thou shalt not do. Say not, it is He that
caused me to err, for He has no use for a sinful
man. Every abomination the Lord hates, neither is
it lovely to those that fear Him. He Himself at the
outset made Man, and left him in the power of his own
control, that, if thou wilt, thou shouldst keep His commandments,
and to do faithfully what is pleasing to
Him. He set fire and water before thee, that thou
shouldst stretch out thy hand to which thou wilt. In
front of men is life and death, and whichever a man
pleases shall be given to him. Because wide is the
wisdom of the Lord; He is mighty in power, beholding
all things; and His eyes are upon them that fear Him,
and He Himself will take note of every work of man.
He never enjoined any one to do wickedly, and He
never gave to any one licence to sin."Eccles. xv. 11-20.
It is our constant tendency to claim whatever good
we do as our own doing, and to charge whatever evil
we do on causes which are beyond our control,—on
heredity, on circumstances of our birth and upbringing,
or even on God. The Scriptures, on the other hand,
regard all our good deeds as the work which God
works within us, when our will is given to Him,
while all our evil is ascribed to our own foolish and
corrupt will, for which we are, and shall be, held
responsible. This is certainly a very remarkable
contrast, and we shall do well to take account of
it. It is not necessary to run into any extreme
statement, to deny the effects either of taints in the
blood which we receive from our parents, or of early
surroundings and education, or even the enormous
influence which other people exercise over us in later
life; but when all allowance is made for these recognised
facts, the contention of the text is that what really
subverts our lives is our own folly,—and not uncontrollable
circumstances,—and our folly is due, not to
our misfortune, but to our fault.
Now we will not attempt to deal with all the modifications
and reservations and refinements which ingenuity
might offer to this doctrine; however charity
may require us to make allowance for others on the
ground of disadvantages, it is questionable whether we
help them, and it is certain that we weaken ourselves,
by turning attention constantly from the central fact to
the surrounding circumstances; we will therefore try to
steadily look at this truth of Individual Responsibility,
and lay it to heart. When we have acquitted ourselves
of blame, and have obtained a discharge in the forum
of our own conscience, it will be time to seek other
causes of our guilt, and to "fret against the Lord."
But before we turn inwards and appeal to our own
consciousness, may we not observe how absurd it is that
the Lord should be charged with responsibility for our
sins? What do we know of the Lord except that He
hates and abominates sin? It is as the Hater of sin
that He is revealed to us in ever-clearer forms from
the first page of revelation to the last. But more, the
most powerful proof that we possess of His existence
is to be found in the voice of conscience within us;
we instinctively identify Him with that stern monitor
that denounces so vigorously and unsparingly all our
offences against holiness. The God of revelation is
from the first declared to be "He who will by no
means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the
fathers upon the children." The God of conscience is
by the very nature of the case identified with the uncompromising
sentence against evil; is it not then
obviously inconsistent to lay our sins to the charge of
God? We are more assured of His Holiness than of
His omnipotence; we cannot therefore bring His omnipotence
to impeach His holiness. We see Him as the
Avenger of sin before we see Him in any other capacity;
we cannot therefore bring any subsequent vision of
Him to discredit the first. It is surely the dictate of
plain common sense, as St. James says, that "God
cannot be tempted with evil, and He Himself tempteth
no man: but each man is tempted, when he is drawn
away by his own lust, and enticed. Then the lust,
when it hath conceived, beareth sin: and the sin, when
it is full grown, bringeth forth death."James i. 13-15.
Now our actual responsibility for our own sins, and
the troubles which result from them, will perhaps come
out in the clear light of conscience, if we regard our
conduct in the following way. We must make an
appeal to consciousness. There are actions which,
consciousness tells us, rest entirely on our own choice,
and concerning which no sophistry, however ingenious,
can furnish an adequate exculpation. There was in
these cases, as we well remember, the plain offer of an
alternative "Fire or Water, Life or Death." We knew
at the time that we were equally able to take either of
them; we felt no compulsion; there was, it is true,
a great tumult of conflicting motives, but when the
motives were balanced and the resulting verdict was
declared, we were perfectly conscious that we could, if
we chose, reverse the verdict and give our judgment
against it. Our first deviations from truth, from purity,
from charity, come up before us as we reflect; the
struggle which went on survives vividly in memory;
and when we yielded to the evil power we were conscious
at the time, as we remember still, that our will
was to blame. As the lie glided from the lips, as the
unhallowed thought was allowed to pass into act, as
the rein was thrown on the neck of the evil passion,
we knew that we were doing wrong, we felt that by an
adequate exercise of the will we could do right. Cast
your eye back on the steps by which your character
was formed, on the gradual destruction of your finer
feelings, on the steady decline of your spiritual instincts,
on the slow deadening and searing of your
moral sense. Do you not remember how deliberately
you submitted to the fascinations of that dangerous
friend, whom your conscience entirely disapproved?
how wilfully you opened and perused the pages of
that foul book, which swept over your soul like a mud-torrent
and left its slimy sediment there ever after?
how you consciously avoided the influence of good people,
made every excuse to escape the prayer, the reading,
the sermon, which was to you a conscience-stirring
influence, an appeal of God to the soul?
As you retrace those fatal steps, you will be surprised
to discover how entirely your own master you were at
the time, although the evil deeds done then have forged
a chain which limits your freedom now. If at any of
those critical moments some one had said to you, Are
you free to do just which of the two things you please?
you would have replied at once, Why, of course I am.
Indeed, if there had been any compulsion to evil, you
would have rebelled against it and resisted it. It was
really the complete liberty, the sense of power, the
delight in following your own desire, that determined
your choice. The evil companion persuaded, your conscience
dissuaded, neither compelled; when the balance
hung even you threw the weight of your will into the
scale. The book lay open; curiosity, prurience, impurity,
bade you read; your best conviction shamed you
and called you away: when the two forces pulled even,
you deliberately gave your support to the evil force.
The solemn voice of prayer and worship called you,
moving you with mystical power, waking strange
desires and hopes and aspirations; the half-mocking
voice of the earth was also in your ear, tempting, luring,
exciting, and when the sounds were about balanced,
you raised up your own voice for the one and gave it
the predominance.
Or if now in the bondage of evil you can no longer
realize that you were once free, you can look at
others who are now where you were then; notice even
when you try to tempt your younger companions into
evil, how the blush of shame, the furtive glance, the
sudden collapse of resistance, plainly proves that the
action is one consciously determined by an evil choice;
notice how your first blasphemies, your first devil-born
doubts, suggestions, and innuendoes, bring the pained
expression to the face, and raise a conflict which the
will has to decide. In this appeal to consciousness or
to observation we must be scrupulously honest with
ourselves; we must take infinite pains not to garble
the evidence to suit a foregone conclusion or to excuse
an accomplished fall. I think we may say that when
men are honest with themselves, and in proportion as
they are pure and innocent, and not yet bound hand
and foot by the bondage of their own sins, they know
that they have been free, that in the face of all circumstances
they still stood uncommitted; that if they
yielded to temptation it was their own "foolishness
that subverted their way."
But now we may pass from these inward moral
decisions which have determined our character and
made us what we are, to the ordinary actions which
form the greater part of our everyday conduct. Here
again we are generally inclined to take credit for every
course which has a happy issue, and for every unfortunate
decision to cast the blame on others. We are
reminded, however, that our misfortunes are generally
the result of our own folly; we are too impatient, too
hasty, too impetuous, too self-willed. "Desire without
knowledge is not good, and he that hasteth with his feet
misseth the way."Prov. xix. 2.
If we look back upon our mistakes
in life, it is surprising to see how many were due to our
own headstrong determination to follow our own way,
and our complete disregard of the prudent counsels
which our wiser friends ventured to offer us. "The way
of the foolish is right in his own eyes: but he that is wise
hearkeneth unto counsel."Prov. xii. 15.
"Where there is no counsel,
purposes are disappointed: but in the multitude of
counsellors they are established."Prov. xv. 22.
"Hear counsel," is
the command of this chapter, "and receive instruction,
that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end."Prov. xix. 20.
"Every
purpose is established by counsel,"—affairs of state,
whether civilProv. xi. 14.
or military,Prov. xx. 18.
—and so by counsel a
man is made strong and is able to carry out the
warfare of his own personal life.Prov. xxiv. 5, 6.
It is well for us
therefore not only to accept counsel which is proffered
to us, but to be at pains to get it, for it often lies,
like the waters of a well, deep down in a man's
mind, and requires some patience and skill in order
to elicit it.Prov. xx. 5.
Our false steps are due to a rash precipitancy which
prevents us from looking at the question on all its sides,
and learning the views of those who have had experience
and know. The calamities which befell us were foreseen
by many onlookers, and were even foretold by our
friends, but we could accept no advice, no warning.
And while therefore it is perfectly true that our own
judgment was not sufficient to ward off the evil or
prevent the faux pas, we are none the less to blame,
our own foolishness has none the less subverted our
way, for it was our own fault that we refused to be
advised, it was our own incredible folly that made us
form so wrong an idea of our wisdom.
Suppose then that in our retrospect of life and in
the estimation of our errors, we mark off all those sins
for which our conscience duly charges us with direct
responsibility, and all those blunders which might have
been avoided if we had wisely submitted to more prudent
judgments than our own, what is there that remains?
Can we point out any group of actions or any kind of
errors which are yet unaccounted for, and may possibly
be charged on some other person or thing than ourselves?
Is there yet some opening by which we may
escape responsibility? Are there any effectual and valid
excuses that we can successfully urge?
Now it appears that all these possible excuses are
netted and completely removed—and every avenue of
escape is finally blocked—by this broad consideration;
God is at hand as the wisest of Counsellors, and we
might by simple appeal to Him, and by reverently
obeying His commandments, avoid all the evils and the
dangers to which we are exposed. So far from being
able to excuse ourselves and to lay the blame on God,
it is our chief and all-inclusive fault, it is the clearest
mark of our foolishness, that we do not resort to Him
for help, but constantly follow our own devices; that
we do not rely upon His goodness, but idly fret against
Him and all His ordinances. "There are many devices
in a man's heart," but over against these feeble, fluctuating,
and inconsistent ideas of ours is "the counsel
of the Lord, which shall stand."Prov. xix. 21.
"The fear of the
Lord tendeth to life: and he that hath it shall abide
satisfied; he shall not be visited with evil."Prov. xix. 23.
There
is a way of life, there is a plain commandment, a
law of God's appointing: "He that keepeth the commandment
keepeth his soul: but he that is careless
of his ways shall die."Prov. xix. 16.
It is simply our own carelessness
that is our ruin; if we would pay the slightest
heed, if there were one grain of seriousness in us,
we should be wise, we should get understanding, and
so find good in the salvation of the soul;Prov. xix. 8.
we should
not, as we so often do, "hear instruction, only to err
from the words of knowledge."Prov. xix. 27.
We may wonder at the strong conviction with which
this truth was urged even under the Jewish law; it may
seem to us that the requirements then were so great, and
the details so numerous, and the revelation so uncertain,
that a man could scarcely be held responsible if he
missed the way of life through inadvertence or defective
knowledge. Yet even then the path was plain, and if
a man missed it he had but himself and his own folly
to blame. But how much more plain and sure is everything
made for us! Our Lord has not only declared
the way, but He is the Way; He has not only given
us a commandment to keep, but He has Himself kept
it, and offers to the believing soul the powers of an
inward life, by which the yoke of obedience becomes
easy, and the burden of service is made light. He has
become "the end of the law to every one that believeth."
He has made His offer of Himself not only general, but
universal, so that no human being can say that he is
excluded, or murmur that he is not able to "keep his
soul." His word is gone out into all the world, and
while they who have not heard it, being without a law
are yet a law unto themselves, and are responsible by
virtue of that self-witness which God has given everywhere
in Nature, in Society, and in the conscience of
man, how can we sufficiently emphasize our own
responsibility, to whom God has spoken in the latter
days by His own Son! Surely "whoso despiseth the
word bringeth destruction on himself."Prov. xiii. 13.
If even in that old and darker dispensation the light
was so clear that it was chargeable to a man's own
folly when he disobeyed,—and "judgments were prepared
for scorners, and stripes for the backs of fools,"Prov. xix. 29.
—what
must come upon us who have the clearer light
if we wilfully and foolishly disobey? The counsel of
the Lord stands sure: "There is no wisdom nor understanding
nor counsel against the Lord."Prov. xxi. 30.
No authority
of wise men, no sneers of wits, no devices of the
clever, can in the least avail to set aside His mighty
ordinance or to excuse us for disregarding it. "The
horse is prepared against the day of battle: but victory
is of the Lord."Prov. xxi. 31.
There can be no evasion, no escape.
He Himself, by His own invincible power, will bring
home to the hearts of the rebellious the evil of their
rebellion, and will send the cruel messenger against
them.Prov. xvii. 11.
Does it not behove us to remember and to consider?
to remember our offences, to consider our guilt and
the Lord's power? Here is a way of life marked out
before you, and there is the way of death; here is the
water held out to you, and there is the fire; and you
may choose. The way of life is in the Gospel of God's
dear Son; you know that its precepts are perfect,
converting the soul, and that Christ Himself is holy,
such an one as the earth never bore before or since;
you know too that this Holy One came to give His
life a ransom for many, that He invited all to come
unto Him, and promised to all who came everlasting
life. You know that He did give His life a ransom,—as
the Good Shepherd He gave Himself for the sheep,
and then took again the life which He laid down.
You know that He ever liveth to make intercession for
us, and that His saving power was not exercised for
the last time years and years ago, but this very day,
probably just at the moment that I am now speaking
to you. The way is plain, and the choice is free; the
truth shines, and you can open your eyes to it; the life
is offered, and you can accept it. What pretext can
you give for not choosing Christ, for not coming to
the truth, for not accepting the life?
Is it not clear to you that if you refuse Him that
speaketh, and your way is thus subverted,—as indeed
it must be,—it is your own folly that is to blame? You
fret against the Lord now, and you charge Him foolishly,
but some day you will see clearly that this is all a blind
and a subterfuge; you will admit that the choice was
open to you, and you chose amiss; that life and death
were offered to you, and you preferred death.
If any question might be entertained about those
who have only the light of conscience to guide them,
and have not heard of the direct relation of succour
and support which God is ready to give to those who
depend upon Him, there can be no doubt of the complete
freedom of every human being, who hears the
message of the Gospel, to accept it. You may put it
aside, you may decline to accept it on the ground of
disinclination, or because you consider the historical
evidence insufficient, but you will be the first to admit
that in doing so you exercise your discretion and
consciously choose the course which you take.
Nay, leaving all metaphysical discussion about the
freedom of the will, I put it to you simply, Can you
not, if you choose, come to Christ now?
Oh, hear counsel and receive instruction: is not the
Spirit pleading with you, counselling, teaching, warning
you? Do not harden your heart, do not turn away.
Attend to Christ now, admit Him now, that you may
be wise in your latter end.Prov. xix. 20.
XX.
IDLENESS.
"After the autumn gathering the slothful does not plough; he
asks in the harvest, and there is nothing."—Prov. xx. 4.
We have already in the sixth lecture caught a
glimpse of the sluggard, and in the ninth we
have seen in passing that diligence in work is enjoined
by the teacher; but we must give a more concentrated
attention to this subject if we would realize the stress
which this book of Wisdom lays on work as the grand
condition of life in this earnest world. They who
will not work have no place in an order of things
which is maintained by work, and in which the toil
itself is the great discipline of character and the
preparation of joy. It is no churlish or envious spirit
which pronounces a doom on the idle, but it is the
very necessity of the case; that idleness which in
moments of excessive strain we so eagerly covet is, if
it is accepted as the regular and continuous state of
the soul, a more ruinous and miserable curse than the
hardest labour. By a law which we all break at our
peril, we are required to have an honest end and a
strenuous occupation in our life; and we are further
required to labour diligently for the end, and to spare
no pains to achieve it. We have many faculties lying
dormant, and we must wake them into activity; we
have many gifts half used or not used at all; we must
turn them all to account, if we would be wholesome,
happy, and in the true sense successful.
First of all, let us look at the portrait of the sluggard
as it is delineated in some of these proverbial sayings.
We see him in bed, at the board, in the house, out of
doors. He will not get up in the morning; he turns
from side to side, just like a door which swings
backwards and forwards on its hinges, but of course
never gets any further.Prov. xxvi. 14.
"Yet a little sleep," he says,
"a little slumber, a little folding of the hands in
sleep."Prov. xxiv. 34.
Or when at last he has brought himself to
get up and to sit down to table, he is too lethargic
even to eat: "He buries his hand in the dish, and will
not so much as bring it to his mouth again;"Prov. xix. 24.
or if he
raises the morsel to his lips, he does it with an air of
indescribable languor and weariness.Prov. xxvi. 15.
Then the time
comes for him to go out to his daily duties. But
he has a number of ingenious, though utterly absurd,
excuses why he should not leave the house: "There is
a lion in the streets," he says, "a lion in the way;"Prov. xxvi. 13.
"There is a lion without; I shall be murdered in the
streets."Prov. xxii. 13.
When he is told that this is a delusion, he
is prepared to argue the matter, and to show that his
fear is well grounded; he is quite scornful of all the
people who assure him to the contrary, because they
have been out and seen for themselves: "The sluggard
is wiser in his own eyes than seven men that can
render a reason."Prov. xxvi. 16.
And when at length he is launched
on the business of the day, arriving late, his wits gone
wool-gathering, his will as inactive as his mind is
inattentive, he drags through every duty with the air
of one who is walking "through a hedge of thorns."Prov. xv. 19.
Where another person would proceed with easy
alacrity, he seems held back by invisible obstacles;
his garments are always getting caught in the briars;
there is not impetus enough to carry him over the
slightest difficulty; and after frequent and somnolent
pauses, the end of the day finds him more weary than
the busiest, though he has nothing to show but futile
efforts and abortive results.
That is a complete picture of the sluggard. We do
not of course see him fully developed very often; but
we recognise at once the several tendencies in our
own characters—the slothfulness, the listlessness, the
idle procrastination, the inertia—which may, if unresisted
and unconquered, gradually bring us nearer
to this finished portrait.
The result of this sluggishness must now be
sketched. "Love not sleep," we are told, "lest thou
come to poverty; open thine eyes, and thou shalt be
satisfied with bread."Prov. xx. 13.
The means of subsistence in
this world are the result of labour; toilers win them
from the reluctant earth and sea; the only condition
on which we can partake in them is that we should
toil, either directly in producing the means of subsistence,
or indirectly in doing for the producers
helpful service for which they are willing to exchange
the fruits of their labour. One who sleeps away the
golden hours of work, cast by slothfulness into a deep
sleep, has no claim whatever on the earth or the
community for daily food; he shall suffer hunger.Prov. xix. 15.
And if by craft or chance he is able to get his bread
without any service rendered to the workers, he shall
suffer from a soul-hunger more terrible than starvation—the
unutterable ennui, weariness, disgust, and
self-loathing which an idle and useless life inevitably
produces.
As the text reminds us, there is an alternation of
seasons. There is a time to plough, when the earth
has yielded her full autumn fruits; there is a time to
sow; there is a harvest. If a man is too lazy to plough
at the right time and to sow at the right time, his fields
will of course give him no crops: "Slothfulness catcheth
not his prey."Prov. xii. 27.
Nor must we think that God in any
grudging spirit has ordered this law of the seasons.
The appetite which forces us to labour, because "our
mouth craves it of us,"Prov. xvi. 26.
the apparent rigour with
which nature requires us to be up betimes and not
to let the opportunity slip, and the threat of poverty
which hangs over our heads if we neglect her requirements,
are all parts of a beneficent law,—the law that
by work itself our life is sweetened and our spirit is
developed. They are not to be congratulated who,
escaping the spur of appetite, and liberated by the
toil of others from the rigorous edicts of nature
which require the laborious ploughing and sowing, are
enabled to eat the bread of idleness. The hardest
worker, worn to the bone and ill-remunerated, is really
more enviable than they. The abundance of food is
a poor equivalent for the loss of discipline which the
desire of food was designed to exact through honest
and earnest work. Men come to us and say in effect,
"Behold after the autumn gathering we did not plough,
and we asked in harvest, and got all that our hearts
desired," and we are constrained to pity rather than
to congratulate them. It is not good for men to slip
through the laws of God and nature thus, for their
chastisement is heavier in the end than in the beginning.
The truth of this appears when we remember that
a worse result of slothfulness than poverty is the
spiritual rust, decay, and degradation which slothfulness
itself implies: "The desire of the slothful killeth
him, for his hands refuse to labour;"Prov. xxi. 25.
"He also that
is slack in his work is brother to him that is a destroyer."Prov. xviii. 9.
It is indeed a strange illusion which makes
man desire idleness. Idleness is ruin; the soul rusts
away like the sword in Hudibras, which—
"... ate into itself, for lack
Of something else to hew and hack."
It is death, it is deadly; the idle soul slowly dies, and
spreads destruction around it. It is the same with a
country. Idleness is its ruin: whether it be that the
generosity of nature removes the necessity of work, as
in the South Seas, where the missionaries find one of
their chief difficulties in the absolute laziness resulting
from the softness of the climate and the fertility of the
soil; or that the vast accumulations of wealth procure
idleness for its possessors, and enforce idleness on
thousands of the unfortunate unemployed,—the melancholy
result ensues in the enervation of manhood and
the corruption of womanhood. On the other hand, as
Thucydides observed in the case of Attica, a rigorous
climate and a niggardly soil, eliciting all the energies of
the people in order to improve their condition or even
to live, have been found favourable to the development
of a noble nationality. Slackness of work, from whatever
cause it may arise, brings its victims into this
sorrowful kinship with the destroyer.
It may be noted that the idle, whether they be rich
or poor, are denominated "vain persons," and sensible
people are cautioned solemnly to avoid their society,
as their emptiness is contagious, and the habits which
are quickly acquired in their company lead straight
to ruin: "He that tilleth his land shall have plenty
of bread, but he that followeth after vain persons is
void of understanding;"Prov. xii. 11.
"He that followeth after vain
persons shall have poverty enough."Prov. xxviii. 19.
The truth which is here enforced receives ample
illustration in our own society. Two centuries ago
Daniel Defoe defined the English as the "most lazy
diligent nation" in the world. Hard work is common;
idleness is equally common. Our people are on the
whole highly gifted, and produce rapidly when they
give their attention to their work; but we seem to have
a strange vein of dissoluteness and laziness running
through us, and consequently the worst and most
shameful idleness is often found amongst the best workmen,
who through their own bad habits have missed
their opportunities, and become a burden to themselves
and to the community. In no country is the leisured
class, of those who do nothing at all, or pass their
aimless days in a round of engagements which are
only strenuous idleness, so large; in no country is the
unemployed or the pauper class so ruinously great
in proportion to the population. Hence this curious
paradox: the foreigner hears that England is the
richest and the most industrious country in the world;
he comes to our shores expecting to see cities of gold
and fields teeming with produce. On his arrival he
becomes aware of a degrading poverty such as cannot
be matched in the poorest country on earth; he finds
a vast population of the unemployed rich lounging in
the streets and the parks, and of the unemployed poor
hanging about the doors of the innumerable drink-shops,
and infesting every highway and byway of the
country. He finds the land of the agricultural districts
often lying idle and unproductive; those who till it
untaught, ill-fed, and discontented; those who possess
it discontented, though well fed and instructed. Our
subject does not lead us to inquire into the deeper
causes of these anomalies, but it leads us to this observation:
we are a "lazy diligent nation" because we
have not yet learned, or have forgotten, that the thing
most to be dreaded is not poverty, but idleness; and
the thing most to be desired is not wealth, but strenuous,
earnest, and useful toil. Our desperate and eager work
is not for the work's sake, but in order to get rich;
our ambition is to be idle rather than to be employed,
to be raised above the necessity of labour which is our
health by the possession of wealth which is our ruin.
We have cherished the fatal and foolish error that work
was degrading, and have ranked those highest who
did the least. "Where no oxen are," we have said in
our fastidious way, "the crib is clean," forgetting the
other side of the matter, that "much increase is by the
strength of the ox."Prov. xiv. 4.
Thus we have ignorantly despised
the workers who make us rich, looking down upon
trade, upon business, and more than all upon manual
labour; and have with strange fatuity admired most
those who were most useless, whose peculiar boast
would be that they never did a day's work in their
lives.
Happily now there are signs of a revolution in our
thought. We are beginning to see that work is good,
not for what it earns, but for the occupation and the
training which it gives to the body and the mind;
and that idleness is an evil, not only where work is a
necessity, and the appetite craves it of us, but everywhere
and under all circumstances. In useful employment
we find our life; in the sluggard's life we see our
death.
We must observe then the good effects which result
from honest and earnest toil. But, first, we cannot
help noticing what an important place is here given
to agriculture. This is not accidental to the time in
which the book was written. It is an eternal principle.
Out of the soil comes our wealth; by the soil therefore
we live; and accordingly God has ordained that in the
tilling of the ground man shall find his wholesomest,
sweetest, and most strengthening employment—that no
community shall inwardly flourish when its agricultural
life declines; and that therefore the happiest and
soundest society will be that in which the largest proportional
number are engaged in producing the fruits
of the earth, and are directly and vitally attached to
their mother soil. "He that tilleth his land shall have
plenty of bread."Prov. xxviii. 19.
When a nation is in the case of the
sluggard, when you pass by its fields and its vineyards
and see them grown over with thorns and nettles and
its stone walls broken down, you will find Pauperism
coming as a robber, and Want, gaunt and hideous,
stalking through the land like an armed man.Prov. xxiv. 30-34.
"Be
thou diligent," therefore we are told, "to know the
state of thy flocks, and look well to thy herds"—(take
care that no foolish pride or negligence prevent you
from seeing that the agricultural life is properly maintained,
for it is the only sure basis of prosperity);
"riches are not for ever, and even the government of
kings does not endure to all generations." But in the
sweet ordinances of nature the great Giver provides
His unfailing wealth: "The hay is carried, and immediately
the tender grass begins to grow again, and even
the barren mountains yield their herbs for ingathering.
The lambs appear every spring with their wool for
our clothing, and the field will maintain goats equal
in value to its own price. And from these miraculous
sources of eternal reproduction our food and our maintenance
are to be drawn."Prov. xxvii. 23-27.
Thus at the foundation of all industries is the
agricultural industry. At the root of all social and
economical questions is the land question. When you
wish to commend diligence and to discourage idleness
in a nation that is "lazy diligent," the first thing is to
inquire into the condition or the use of the land. The
land is God's gift to a people. English land is God's
gift to the English people. If it is misapplied, ill-used,
neglected; if it does not produce its full tale of wealth;
if it does not support its full burden of living creatures,
and give employment to its full number of hands, we
are flying in the face of God's ordinances; we must
not expect to prosper; His gracious will is frustrated,
and we must have the shame and sorrow of seeing
our million of paupers, and our second million of enforced
idlers, and our myriads of lazy cumberers of the
ground, and our whole population disorganized and
unsettled, torn with the frenzy of insane work, or
gangrened with the corruption of destroying idleness.
For the gifts of God are without repentance, and the
abuse of His gifts is without remedy.
But turning now to the good effects which result
from honest and earnest toil, we are taught to distinguish
three more particularly—plenty, power, and
personal worth.
First, Plenty. "The soul of the sluggard desireth
and hath nothing, but the soul of the diligent shall
be made fat."Prov. xiii. 4.
Nor must we think that diligence is
only manual; it is also mental. It implies thought,
forethought, planning, arranging. We have a contrast
drawn between the really diligent man, whose
prudence foresees, and whose reflection orders his
work for the best ends, and the fussy, unreflecting
activity of one who is always busy, but never accomplishes
anything. It is only the diligence of the first
kind that leads to the desired end; the diligence of
mere restlessness is not much better than idleness.
We learn that "the thoughts of the diligent tend only
to plenteousness, but every one that is hasty hasteth
only to want."Prov. xxi. 5.
Effectual labour implies thought; only
a wise man, with all his faculties brought into full and
harmonious play, can work with any good result, or can
thriftily use the fruits of his labour; a foolish, thoughtless,
witless person may work hard and earn a good
deal of money, but it is gone even faster than it
came. Thus "there is precious treasure and oil in the
dwelling of the wise, but a foolish man swalloweth it up."Prov. xxi. 20.
There are exceptions, no doubt; but the general rule
is borne out by experience, that they who honestly and
earnestly use the gifts of mind and body which God
has given them, obtain the things which are needful in
this life, if not to overflowing, yet in sufficiency; and
where means fail we generally have to admit that our
own industry or prudence was at fault.
Then, secondly, it is industry rather than genius which
commends us to our fellow-men, and leads us to positions
of influence and power: "Seest thou a man diligent
in his business? he shall stand before kings, he shall
not stand before mean men;"Prov. xxii. 29.
"The hand of the diligent
shall bear rule, but the slothful shall be put under
task-work."Prov. xii. 24.
It is this golden faculty of persistence,
concentration, diligence, which makes every great ruler
and leader of men, and raises even the very ordinary
person out of the drudgery of mere task-work into the
dignity of large and noble and delightful toil.
For, thirdly, it is diligence, the capacity of taking
pains, that gives to a man his actual worth, making
him compact and strong and serviceable: "The precious
substance of men is to be diligent."Prov. xii. 27.
It is the
quality itself which is all important. The greatest gifts
are of little worth, unless there is this guarantee of
the conscientious and intelligent employment of them.
While if the gifts with which God has endowed us are
of the simplest order, if we can only use a spade or
a saw or a broom effectively, that faculty diligently
exercised is our value to the world; and a great value
it is—greater than the value of high genius which is
erratic, unbridled, undirected, and uncertain. Of every
man or woman in this world the highest praise which
can be uttered is that which underlies the commendation
of the good wife: "She looketh well to the ways of
her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness."Prov. xxxi. 27.
There is the epitome of all trustworthy and honourable
character.
We have been dwelling all this time on a simple
virtue of a very mundane type. But all that has been
said may be immediately raised to a higher plane by
one observation. Our Lord and Master was diligent
about His Father's business, and has left on record
this saying: "I must work the works of Him that sent
Me while it is called to-day; for the night cometh, in
which no one can work." As each one of us comes
under His influence and passes into His faith and
obedience, the joyful seriousness of our life-work
deepens; it is lit by the rich glow of a sunset glory.
We want to do diligently what our hand finds to do—to
do it earnestly as unto the Lord. By patient and
industrious exercise of every faculty which He has
given us, we wish to be prepared for any task which
He may appoint here or hereafter. Some of us He
only apprentices in this world; and according to the
faithfulness with which we discharge our humble and
unnoticed duties will be the service to which He will
one day appoint us. Others are called out of apprenticeship
into the rough and eager work of the journeyman,
and His eye is always upon us as He tries us to
find whether we may ever be appointed over one, or
five, or ten cities. A few supreme souls have been
called even on earth to shape, to create, to control;
a Paul, an Augustine, a Luther, can work with an
emancipated hand. But the law is one all through
the workshops, the fields, the vineyards of our Lord.
The diligent shall stand before Him, and the slothful
shall be shamed. He that does not plough will not
reap. Wasted opportunities vanish for ever, and leave
only their doleful record in the emasculated and nerveless
soul.
XXI.
WINE.
"He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man:
He that loveth wine and oil shall not be rich."
Prov. xxi. 17.
The Septuagint translation has an interesting addition
to the proverb in xii. 11. After "He that
tilleth his land shall have plenty of bread, but he that
followeth after vain persons is void of understanding,"
it adds, "He who is sweet in pastimes of wine-drinking
shall leave dishonour in his strongholds." Drinking
is the natural opposite of hard and honest work.
When the love of it takes possession of a man he is
sure to become a useless and unproductive member of
society. A drunken people are in the end an incapable
people; their wealth declines, their industries pass over
to soberer rivals, their qualities of brain and muscle
gradually disappear. This is partly owing to the
deterioration of mind and body which results from the
excessive use of stimulants; but it is still more due to
a wider cause: drinking in all its branches is indulged
in as a pleasure. Why do we not admit it? why do
we always try to present it in another light, saying
that it is for health's sake, by a doctor's orders; or for
work's sake, by a proved necessity? Is it not that we
are secretly conscious of taking the drink because we
like it? We know it is a self-indulgence, and we are a
little ashamed of it; and as self-indulgence is always
fatal in the long run to all the habits and activities
which men very properly honour, we should dearly
like to screen it under a decent pretext which might
preserve our self-respect. We know quite well that
"he that loveth pleasure shall be a poor man; he that
loveth wine and oil shall not be rich."Prov. xxi. 17.
Drinking is
after all only a pronounced symptom of a large vice—self-indulgence.
A great step is taken when we have learnt to
quietly and candidly face this fact: we drink, as a
society, as a nation,—each of us drinks in public
or in private,—simply because it is pleasant. It is a
habit governed by one supreme and absolute law—we
like it. We know quite well that alcohol is not a food;
that is proved by the most irrefragable scientific evidence;
and if in alcoholic drinks there are certain
nutritive elements, we could if we chose secure the
benefit of them without any admixture of alcohol. We
know that in many cases the alcohol is actually
deleterious, that it produces specific and very terrible
diseases, that it lowers the tone of the whole system
and makes us liable to all kinds of secondary troubles.
We may urge that alcohol is a medicine, and a useful
medicine; but it is not as a medicine we use it. If a
doctor prescribes castor-oil, or quinine, we throw aside
the medicine on the first opportunity, often before it
has done its work. Alcohol is the only medicine which
we continue to take for a lifetime because the doctor
prescribed it for a month. Would it not be better
then to clear our minds of cant, and to set the whole
matter on its right basis? Intoxicants are drunk as a
form, as the most universal form, of self-indulgence.
In some mysterious way, for some mysterious reasons
which we cannot fathom, they gratify an instinctive
appetite, they are naturally and generally attractive,
they exercise a spell over the physical system. If the
taste is, as some people say, acquired, it was acquired
by mankind in prehistoric times, and is part of our
inherited constitution as men. For instance, Mr. Gaule,
a police-court missionary in Birmingham, relates a
recent experience, one out of many in his fourteen
years of labour. A young married woman, twenty-eight
years of age, died a shocking death from drinking.
Up to the age of twenty-six she had been a teetotaller,
and did not know what the taste of drink was. She
was a leading member of the Gospel Temperance
Mission, and sang the solos at the meetings. Then she
was taken ill, the doctor ordered brandy, and it proved
like the first taste of blood to a tame tiger. She could
never again be kept from it, and at last it killed her.
The craving there must have been in the very blood.
We have a taste for these intoxicants, latent or
realized. The stimulating influence is pleasant, the
narcotic influence is pleasant. The immediate effect
on the body is pleasant, the immediate effect on the
mind is pleasant. Drink produces a sense of great
self-satisfaction, promotes a flow of conversation and a
feeling of good fellowship; it quickens at first several
of our mental faculties; it excites the imagination, and
carries its devotee far away from the actual, which is
painful and harassing, into a kind of ideal world, which
is cheerful and agreeable. So powerful is its temporary
influence that in the "words of King Lemuel"
there is positively a recommendation to "give strong
drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto
the bitter in soul; let him drink and forget his poverty,
and remember his misery no more."Prov. xxxi. 6, 7.
An injunction
which must not of course be mistaken for a Divine
precept, but only for a reminder of the fact—a fact
which may be observed without any moral judgment
being passed upon it—that while men who require all
their mental and moral faculties to be in full activityProv. xxxi. 4, 5.
must eschew the use of intoxicating drinks, the dying,
the despairing, the very poor and miserable, may find
a certain relief in drinking. Men who are in the
enjoyment of health, and wish to discharge effectively
the day's duties, have no excuse for the employment of
an agent which only serves to lull the mind into forgetfulness
and to reduce the pain of consciousness to
the lowest possible point.
Strange to say, while men are thus naturally inclined
to use intoxicants, nature has been most lavish in
pandering to their tastes. There are trees in tropical
climates which have but to be gashed, and an intoxicating
juice flows out ready at once for use. Almost
every natural juice ferments if it is left alone. The
palm-tree, the potato-plant, the sugar-cane, beet-root,
the cereals, as well as the grape, yield readily these
intoxicating drinks, at a surprisingly low cost. Very
little human labour is needed, very simple apparatus
will suffice, so that a very few enterprising firms can
deluge a whole continent with fiery intoxicants.
We drink because we like it,—not for our good, as
we pretend, but for our pleasure, as we are half ashamed
to confess. The taste is natural to us,—natural to
savages, natural to civilised men, natural, so far as
we know, to men of all climates and all races. And
nature has made it singularly easy to gratify the taste.
Now one might almost suppose that the conclusion
to be drawn would be, "Let us drink, let us take this
element as a good gift of God." And that was the feeling
of more primitive times. In the Vedas, for instance,
Indra is praised as reeling with the intoxicating Soma
which his worshippers have offered to him; drunkenness
is regarded as a kind of inspiration. But no;
as wisdom asserts herself, and demands a hearing, she
more and more decisively classes this taste for intoxicants
with certain other tastes which are natural to
us, but none the less dangerous; and she treats the
bountiful provision which nature has made for the
gratification of the taste as one of those innumerable
temptations with which men in this present life are
surrounded,—in conflict with which they prove their
manhood,—by victory over which they acquire strength
of moral principle and consistency in virtue.
As the reason within gathers power and authority,
and as her clear light is replenished by the revelation
of Divine Wisdom, all the spurious attractions of
drinking are weakened, the glamour is destroyed, and
the truth is recognised that "wine is a mocker, strong
drink a brawler, and whosoever erreth thereby is not
wise;"Prov. xx. 1.
more and more it appears that the power of
wine is the power of the animal within us, and that the
widespread influence of it is a sign that the animal
within us dies slowly; we learn to measure the growth
of reason by the degree of mastery which has been
obtained over the low appetite; and we understand
that striking antithesis of the New Testament religion,
"Be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess, but be
filled with the Spirit."
The way then in which we are brought to look at
the drink question is this: here is a powerful natural
temptation, a seduction which nature herself offers to the
body, a foe which always has a traitor in collusion with
it inside the assaulted citadel. This enemy is ingenious
in its argumentation: it approaches usually under the
guise of a friend; it says—and not without truth—that
it comes to give pleasure to poor harassed and toilworn
mortals; it persuades them that it is a wholesome
food, and when that contention is shattered it would
have them believe that it is a medicine. When it has
gained an entrance into the fortress, by fair means or
foul, it at first proceeds very doucely, and seems to
justify its presence by numberless obvious benefits.
Sometimes it will successfully hide all the evil it is
working, as if its purpose were to beguile new victims
and to acquire a more unbounded sway over the old.
As religious men, as spiritual beings, whom God
claims to become His children, we are called upon to
face this subtle, powerful, and all-persuasive foe. We
are to do our best to understand its ways—we look to
science to help us and to teach us. We are then to take
every weapon within our reach to resist its approach,—argument,
persuasion, entreaty; we are to lose no opportunity
of unveiling the tactics of the foe, and rousing
those who are imperilled to a sense of their danger;
then as Christian citizens we are bound to use all the
influence we possess to hold this terrible natural temptation
within the straitest limits, and to fortify all the
powers of resistance in our fellow-men to the highest
possible degree.
In such a crusade against the enemy of our race, few
things are more effectual than a vivid and accurate
delineation of the effects which drink produces—such a
delineation, for instance, as that which is given in chap.
xxiii. 29-35. Let us proceed to examine this remarkable
passage.
"Whose is Oh? whose is woe?" asks the Teacher.
Who is it whose constant and appropriate language is
that of lamentation—the piteous cry of pain, the agonised
exclamation of remorse? "Whose are contentions?"
Who is it that lives in an atmosphere of perpetual strife
and loud quarrellings? "Whose is groaning?"—that
sustained sigh of desponding and irremediable misery.
"Whose are causeless wounds?"—not only the bruise
and the gash which result from furious sparrings or unforeseen
falls, but also wounds of the spirit, self-loathing,
and shame, the thought of what might have been, the
realization of a ruined home, and of suffering wife and
little ones, and the conviction that the evil can now
never be undone. "Whose is the darkling of the
eyes?"The difficulty of the word חַכְלִלוּת, which means "dimming," is
that in the only other place where it occurs (Gen. xlix. 12: "His
eyes shall be red with wine, and his teeth white with milk") the
redness is evidently regarded as an advantageous attribute. But
perhaps the explanation is to be sought in the fact that the immediate
effect of wine upon the eye is to darken it in one sense, and the ultimate effect is to darken it in another. In the first moment of
excitement the pupil of the drinker's eye dilates and flashes with a
darkling fire; but it is not long before the eye becomes heavy, dim,
watery, and maudlin. It is in this last sense that we must understand
the word here.
Who is it whose eyes have that horrible
inflamed, lack-lustre look, which is the exact opposite
of the light and clearness and sparkle proper to the
human eye?
The answer to these questions is given in a sentence,
"Theirs who tarry over the wine, theirs who go to try
the mixture." It is not of course suggested that all
who drink wine, nor even all who take it habitually,
fall into the horrible condition which has just been
described; this condition is the result of lingering over
the drink, spending hours in tippling, devoting time and
thought to tasting various brands and samples, becoming
a connoisseur of strong beverages, allowing the subject
to occupy an appreciable proportion of one's time. It
is not the use, but the abuse, of the thing which in this
passage is reprobated. But now we are reminded of
the great difficulty which occurs in distinguishing
between the use and the abuse. There is no sharply-defined
limit. There is no mechanical monitor which
at once reminds us, "Here use ceases and abuse begins."
Almost the only rule that can be given is, that whenever
the cup seems in the least degree attractive, then danger
is near and it is necessary to abstain. "Look not on
wine when it reddens, when it gives its gleam in the
cup; it goes down so smoothly!" It is the peculiarity
of this substance that it can only be taken safely when
it has comparatively no attractions, when it is taken
under orders, and as it were against the grain. If
it is really pleasant to us, we can never tell where
the pleasantness melts into a dangerous fascination,
where the colour and the sparkle and the agreeable
tingle which make it pass so easily down the throat
have become the lure and the spell of a poisonous reptile.
For this pleasant indulgence, which seems to be perfectly
innocent, what is the issue of it? "Its end—like a
serpent it bites, and like a basilisk it stings." One evil
result of it is that it rouses into perilous activity the
dormant passions; even pure men and women under
this potent influence become impure. The eyes which
are excited with wine will turn readily to loose and
degraded women.Prov. xxiii. 33. זָרות must, as in xxii. 14, be rendered "strange
women" (Bertheau). The alternative rendering, "the strange, or the
rare" (Nowack) is logically inadmissible, because the verse is obviously
describing the moral effects of drink, and no one can say that to see
strange or rare visions is a moral effect to be specially deprecated.
The fall which might have been
easily avoided in a state of sobriety will be inevitable
when the reason is silenced, the will enfeebled, and the
desire inflamed by this seductive poison.
Another evil effect is that the sense of truth entirely
disappears. What a misleading maxim is that of the
Romans, In vino veritas! While it is a fact that the
intoxicated man will blab many things which were best
kept concealed, there is nothing which deteriorates
truthfulness so rapidly as the use of alcohol. The
drinker becomes crafty and deceitful and untrustworthy.
The miserable brain is haunted with chimæras, the
imperious appetite suggests all kinds of subterfuges
and evasions, the very "heart speaks frauds." Yes,
nothing could be more accurate than this: the effect
of drink is not so much to make the lips lie, as to make
the inner man essentially insincere and deceptive. No
man admits that he is a drunkard, even to his own
heart; long after all his friends know it, and are beginning
to despair of him, even when he has had several
attacks of delirium tremens and is a confirmed dipsomaniac,
the most he will allow is that he has sometimes
taken a little more than is good for him, but so very
little seems to upset him. Ah, "thine heart shall utter
froward things," i.e., frauds. Every one who has had
any dealings with the miserable victims of drink will
sorrowfully confirm this statement.
The insecurity of the habit is incredible. It leads
to the destruction of every faculty which God has
mercifully given us to protect us from danger and
guide us through life. The ready perception of things
is marred, the quick rallying of the attention is delayed,
the exercise of the understanding is prevented, the will
is paralysed, the conscience dies. "Thou shalt be as he
who lieth down in the heart of the sea,"—as one in a
calenture who strides into the merciless waves under
the impression that he is walking on flowery meadows.
Thou shalt be "as he that goeth to bed on the mast's
head,"—where the position is precarious even if the sea
be perfectly calm, but becomes sure destruction if the
winds awake and the ship begins to climb large billows
and to plunge down into their unquiet troughs.
And then, worst of all, when there is a temporary
recovery from this abominable state of drunkenness,
and the feeble wails of repentance begin to be heard,
what can be more disconnected—more futile—more
abject—more irrational than his words? "They have
smitten me," he says; "I have not been sick,"—as if
forsooth he were the victim of some violence offered
to him by others, instead of being the author of his
own stripes; as if he were quite right and well, and the
disease were not deep in his own passion-haunted
heart. "They have stricken me," he continues to
whine, "I have not known it." Footpads have attacked
him, he would have us believe, and that is the explanation
of his begrimed and blood-smeared face, his
torn clothes, and his empty pockets. "When shall I
awake?" he mutters, as the swimming sensation in the
head, and the unsteady stagger in his step, remind him
that he is not quite himself. And then—is it possible?
Yes, his next remark is, "I will seek it again." I will
go and get another drink. His miserable mind, the
victim and the mint of lies, having persuaded him that
all the mischief came from some cause other than himself,
and had nothing to do with the one degrading
habit which really produced it, he proposes at once to
seek the very agent which is his undoing, to heal his
intoxication by getting drunk again."The primary discomforts of an act of drunkenness," says Dr.
G. W. Balfour, "are readily removed for the time by a repetition of
the cause. Thus what has been an act may readily become a habit,
all the more readily that each repetition more and more enfeebles
both the will and the judgment."—Art. "Drunkenness" in Encycl.
Brit.
This vivid and forcible picture of the miserable
sufferings, the contemptible vices, and the helpless
bondage which result from intoxicating drinks, is all
the more impressive because there is no attempt made
to enforce total abstinence as a principle. If however
it is duly considered and understood, it is very likely to
produce total abstinence as a practice, just as the object
lesson of the drunken helot led every Spartan youth to
turn with unspeakable loathing from the embruting vice.
Modest minds, observing how the mighty are fallen,
how this one cause has ruined the strongest, the best,
and the most attractive of their fellow-creatures, insidiously
leading them on, mocking them, and luring
them into dangerous and poisonous marshes, will be
inclined to say, as Daniel said, "I will abstain; I may
be safe or I may not; if I am safe all I gain is a certain
amount of animal pleasure; if I am not, what I lose is
health, honour, wealth, even life itself,—not the body
only, but the soul too." The gain from the use of these
things is very measurable and insignificant; the loss
from their abuse is immeasurable, and the passage
from use to abuse escapes at once our observation and
control.
But, after all, wisdom urges temperance in drinking
only as a part of a much larger principle. If temperance
in drinking stands alone and unconnected with
this larger principle, it is a blessing of a very doubtful
kind, so doubtful indeed that the pharisaism, the intolerance,
the dogmatism, which are able to subsist
with "Temperance" in the limited sense, have often
been the most serious hindrance to temperance in its
larger and nobler meaning.
It is the desire of pleasure which is at the root of
the mischief: "He that loveth pleasure shall be a poor
man." Men are "lovers of pleasure rather than lovers
of God."2 Tim. iii. 4—φιλήδονοι μᾶλλον ἢ φιλόθεοι, pleasure-loving rather
than God-loving; which means, not that men place pleasure before
them consciously as a substitute for God, but only that the instinctive
desire of pleasure has not been mastered by the love of God.
The appetites which are natural to us hold
undisputed sway, they are fleshly; the great spiritual
appetites, which are supernatural, are quite feeble and
inoperative. Men ask for that which is pleasant, and
even when they become religious it is only to obtain
pleasure, a greater and a more lasting pleasure; thus
there is an intemperance, which we call fanaticism, even
in religious beliefs and in religious practices. But
what men need is that the desire of God, for His own
sake, should be so inflamed in them as to burn up all
other desires. And this desire can only be created by
His Holy Spirit. The competing and manifold desires
of pleasure can only be mastered and expelled when
that great, absorbing, and embracing desire of God
has been securely settled in the human heart by the
Holy Spirit. True temperance is really one of the
ninefold fruits of the Spirit, and is of little value, a
mere spurious product, unless it is accompanied by
love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness,
faithfulness, and meekness. Such passages as we
have been considering in the book of Proverbs may
give us a wholesome horror and hatred of drunkenness,
and may even lead us to a prudential temperance—they
may even make us as sober as pious Mohammedans
or Buddhists; but if we are to become really
temperate a higher power must intervene, we must
be "born of the Spirit." Is it not remarkable how
nothing short of the highest remedy—the new birth—is
effectual for curing even the slightest of human
infirmities and sins?
XXII.
THE TREATMENT OF THE POOR.
"The rich and the needy meet together; the Lord is the maker of
them all."—Prov. xxii. 2.
"He that hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed, for he giveth of his
bread to the poor."—Prov. xxii. 9.
"He that oppresseth the poor, it is for his increase; he that giveth
to the rich, it is for want."—Prov. xxii. 16.
"Rob not the poor because he is poor, neither oppress the humble
in the gate, for the Lord will plead their cause and despoil of life
those that despoil them."—Prov. xxii. 22, 23.
If we would understand and lay to heart the very
striking lessons of this book on the treatment of
the poor, it will be well for us to observe that there
are four words in the Hebrew original which are
rendered by our English words "poor" or "needy."
These words we will try to discriminate and to use
with more exactness in the present lecture, that we
may not miss any of the teaching by the blur and
obscurity of careless language. First, there is a word
(דָל) for which we will reserve our English word
"poor"; it signifies a person who is weak and
uninfluential, but not necessarily destitute or even in
want. The "poor" are those who form the vast
majority of every society, and are sometimes described
by the word "masses." Secondly, there is a word
(רָשׁ) which may be rendered "needy." It covers
those who are in actual want, people who through
bereavement, or infirmity, or unavoidable calamity are
unable to secure a sufficiency of the necessaries of life.
Thirdly, there is a word (עָנִי) which we may perhaps
render by "humble," for though it more literally
describes the afflicted and sad, it contains within it a
hint of moral commendation which suggests a transition
from the idea of simple weakness and helplessness
to that of patient and humble dependence on God.
Lastly, there is a word (אֶכְיוֹן) which we will render
"destitute." If we keep these notions—"poor,"
"needy," "humble," "destitute"—distinct, and yet
combined, to form one conception, we shall find that
the proverbs before us refer to that large section of
mankind who are in a worldly and material sense
considered the least fortunate; those to whom it is
a lifelong effort merely to live; those who have no
margin of security on which to fall back in case of
disaster or sickness; those who are engaged in precarious
employments or in casual labour; those who
may keep their heads above water by diligence and
unremitting exertions, but may at any time go under;
those who owing to this constant pressure of the
elementary needs have but little leisure to cultivate
their faculties, and little opportunity to maintain their
rights. We are to think of the large class of persons
who in more primitive times are slaves, who in feudal
times are serfs, who in modern times are called the
proletariate; those in whose interest the laws of
society have not hitherto been framed, because they
have not until quite recently been admitted to any
substantial share in the work of legislation; those who
have always found it peculiarly difficult to secure
justice, because justice is a costly commodity, and they
have no means to spare, since "the destruction of the
poor is precisely their poverty."Prov. x. 15.
We are not to think
of the idle and the vicious, who are so often classed
with the poor, because they, like the poor, are without
means,—we must rigorously exclude these, for they
are not in the mind of the writer when he gives us
these golden precepts. We must remember that it is
part of our peculiar English system, the result of our
boasted Poor Law, to discredit the very word poverty,
by refusing to discriminate between the poor in the
scriptural sense, who are honourable and even noble,
and the pauper in the modern sense, who is almost
always the scum of a corrupt social order, in four cases
out of five a drunkard, and in the fifth case the product
of some one else's moral failings. It requires
quite an effort for us to see and realize what the
Scriptures mean by the poor. We have to slip away
from all the wretched associations of the Poor House,
the Poor Law, and the Guardians. We have to
bring before our minds a class which in a wholesome
state of society would be a small, numerable
minority, but in our own unwholesome state of society
are a large and well-nigh innumerable majority,—not
only the destitute and the actually needy, but all the
people who have no land on which to live, no house
which they can call their own, no reserve fund, no
possibility of a reserve fund, against the unavoidable
calamities and chances of life, the people who are
trodden down—who tread each other down—in the
race of competition; all those, too, who, according to
the godless dogma of the day, must go to the wall
because they are weak, and must give up the idea
of surviving because only the fittest must expect
to survive. There rise up before our imagination
the toiling millions of Europe—of England—worn,
pale, despondent, apathetic, and resigned; or bitter,
desperate, and resentful; not destitute, though they
include the destitute; not needy, though they include
the needy; but poor, without strength except in
combination, and often when combined without light
or leading.
I. Now the first thing we have to observe is that
the poor, in the sense we have tried to define, are a
special concern to the Lord. "Rob not the poor,"
says the text, "because he is poor, neither oppress
the humble in the gate, for the Lord will plead their
cause, and despoil of life those that despoil them."
"Remove not the ancient landmark, and enter not
into the fields of the fatherless; for their Redeemer
is strong, He shall plead their cause against thee."Prov. xxiii. 10, 11.
"The Lord will establish the border of the widow."Prov. xv. 25.
So intimate is the connection between the Lord and
His poor creatures that "he that oppresseth the poor
reproacheth his Maker, but he that hath mercy on the
destitute honoureth Him."Prov. xiv. 31.
"Whoso mocketh the
needy reproacheth his Maker, and he that is glad at
calamity shall not be unpunished."Prov. xvii. 5.
On the other
hand, "He that hath pity on the poor lendeth unto the
Lord, and his good deed will He pay him again."Prov. xix. 17.
Not, of course, that there is any favouritism with
God, not that He has an interest in a man because of
his means or lack of means; but just because of His
large and comprehensive impartiality. "The needy
man and the oppressor meet together; the Lord
lighteneth the eyes of them both."Prov. xix. 13.
"The rich and
the needy meet together, the Lord is the Maker of
them all."Prov. xxii. 2.
His special interest in the poor arises
only from their special need, from the mute cry which
goes up to Him, from the appeal to Him as their only
friend, deliverer, and protector: just as His lesser
interest in the rich arises from their self-satisfied
independence of Him, from their infatuated trust in
themselves, and from their conviction that already all
things belong to them. We should make a mistake
if we supposed that the Lord recognises any class
distinctions, or that He valued a man because he is
poor, just as we value a man because he is rich. The
truth rather is that He absolutely ignores the class
distinctions, regarding the mingled mass of human
beings, rich and poor, oppressor and oppressed, as
on a plane of dead equality, and then distinguishing
between them on a totally different principle,—on a
moral, a spiritual principle; and, if there is any preference,
it is on the ground of certain valuable moral
effects which poverty sometimes produces that He
takes the poor into His peculiar and tender care,
honouring them with so close a friendship that service
to them becomes service to Him.
This is certainly good news to the masses. "You
are undistinguished, and unobserved,"—the voice of
wisdom seems to say,—"In this world, with its false
distinctions and perverted ideals, you feel at a constant
disadvantage. You dare hardly claim the rights
of your manhood and your womanhood. This great
personage, possessing half a city, drawing as much
unearned money every day as you can earn by unremitting
toil in fifteen or twenty years, seems to
overshadow and to dwarf you. And there are these
multitudes of easy, comfortable, resplendent persons
who live in large mansions and dress in costly
garments, while you and your family live in a couple
of precarious rooms at a weekly rental, and find it all
you can do to get clean and decent clothes for your
backs. These moneyed people are held in much
estimation; you, so far as you know, are held in none.
Their doings—births, marriages, deaths—create quite
a stir in the world; you slip into the world, through it,
and out of it, without attracting any attention. But
be assured things wear a different appearance from
the standpoint of God. Realize how you and your
fellow-men appear to Him, and you at once recover
self-respect, and hold up your head in His presence
as a man. That simple truth which the Ayrshire
peasant sang
"What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin-grey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that and a' that,
Their tinsel show and a' that,
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that."
you may take as God's truth, as His
revelation; it is the way in which He habitually thinks
of you."
How the scales seem to fall away from one's eyes
directly we are enabled to see men and things as God
sees them! The sacred worth of humanity shines far
brighter than any of its tinsel trappings. We learn
to estimate ourselves aright, undisturbed and unabashed
by the false estimates which are current in
the world. Our true distinction is that we are men,
that we belong to a race which was made in the
image of God, was dear to His heart, and is redeemed
by His love. The equality we claim for men is not
a levelling down—it is quite the reverse; it is raising
them up to the higher level which they have deserted
and forgotten; it is teaching them to live as men,
distinguished not by their accidental circumstances or
possessions, but by their manhood itself. It is giving
men self-respect instead of self-esteem, teaching them
not to vaunt themselves as one against another, but
to claim their high and honourable title, one and all,
as the sons of God.
II. But now it follows that, if the Lord Himself
espouses the cause of the poor, and even identifies
Himself with them, ill-treatment of them, injustice to
them, or even a wilful neglect of them and disregard of
their interests, must be a sin, and a very terrible sin.
"He that despiseth his neighbour sinneth; but he that
hath pity on the humble, happy is he."Prov. xiv. 21.
In the East to this day the proverb, "He that withholdeth
corn, the people shall curse him; but blessing
shall be upon the head of him that selleth it,"Prov. xi. 26. The following description of Persia, in the Missionary
Review of the World, October, 1889, p. 782, aptly illustrates the practices
against which the text inveighs:—"The sole end for which the Persian
Government exists is the collection of the revenue, the fleecing of the people. Large portions of the land, confiscated from time to time,
belong to the Sovereign, and are farmed out on terms well-nigh ruinous
to the tenant. Even where property belongs to the subject, it is taxed
to the last degree as a starting-point, while the successions of sub-rulers
and collectors make still further drains upon the moiety that
must save the labourer's family from absolute want. The whole
burden of taxation thus comes really upon the labouring class. Added
to this extortion is the constant uncertainty as to whether the planter
will be permitted to reap his crop at all. Downright robbery of fields
or households by the retainers of petty chiefs is of frequent occurrence,
and the poor are liable any day to be deprived of their very
last resource. Agriculture and other industries so discouraged and
paralysed barely sustain the lives of the people at the best, and when
drought is added thousands must perish." In times of scarcity, "The
king sets the example—locks up his granaries, and withholds every
kernel of wheat except at famine prices. Every nabob and landowner
who has a stock on hand follows this example. Rapacity and cupidity
rule; money is coined out of the sufferings of the poor."
has its
full significance. But even in the West, where the name
of Christ is borne by the nations, it is a common thing
for one or two greedy and selfish capitalists to form a
"corner"—as the commercial slang of the day denominates
it—in some article of industry, i.e., to secure all
the raw material in the market, and to hold it until a
famine price can be demanded. Meanwhile, the mills
are idle, the looms are silent, the workpeople are unemployed,
and their families suffer. Our moral sense is
not yet sufficiently cultivated to condemn this hideous
selfishness as severely as it deserves, and to regard the
perpetrators of it as enemies of the human race. "The
people curse" them, that is all. But as we have seen
that the cause of the wage-earners is the cause of the
Lord, we may rest quite confident that He to whom
vengeance belongs enters every action of the kind in
His unerasable accounts, and reserves the inevitable
punishment for these "oppressors of the poor."
There is another evil of modern industrial life which
is alluded to in the Proverbs before us. No oppression
of the poor is more terrible than that which is
exercised by those who themselves are needy. The
system which results from necessity of this kind is
termed "sweating." The hungry contractor undertakes
the job at the lowest possible price, and secures his
profit by getting hungrier and weaker creatures than
himself to do the work at a price lower than possible,
literally at starvation wages. What force, then, to
modern ears is there in the saying, "A needy man that
oppresseth the poor is like a sweeping rain which
leaveth no food"!Prov. xxviii. 3. Oddly enough the commentators, who seem
never to have heard of "sweating," propose to read for רָשׁ, either
עָשִׁיר = rich, or רשׁ = רֹאש = head, for the head of the State; an
example of conjectural emendation which may well make us cautious
of the mere scholar's method of treating the sacred text.
"The cruellest landlords, receiving 10, 20, and 30 per cent. from
detestable habitations (in London), are nearly connected by birth
and circumstance to those they oppress" (Lecture delivered at Essex
Hall, November 18th, 1889, by Thomas Locke Worthington).
The Divine oversight of these industrial abuses is
not, as we sometimes suppose, pretermitted. Wisdom
and Justice and Love hold the reins, and though the
rapacity and cupidity of men seem to have a wide
range, they are inevitably pulled up in the end, if
not in this partial and transient life, yet in that long
Eternity through which the Eternal will work out His
purposes. As He Himself sides with the poor and
pities them, and turns with indignation against their
oppressors, it follows necessarily that "he that augments
his substance by usury and increase gathereth
it for him that pities the poor."Prov. xxviii. 8. The difficult verse Proverbs xxii. 16 should find
a place here, "He that oppresses the poor to increase for him, he that
gives to the rich only for need," but it is impossible to accurately
determine its meaning. If the rendering of the English Bible is
correct, we may interpret the proverb as a statement of the folly of
oppression which leads to want as inevitably as the more obvious
folly of giving to the rich. But possibly Nowack is right in an interpretation
which gives quite another turn to the saying, and makes it
not a condemnation of the oppressor, but a suggestion of the advantage
which may be gained from the oppression by the oppressed.
"He who oppresses the poor—it turns to his (viz., the poor man's)
gain," because it calls out all his energy and endurance, "while he
who gives to the rich—it turns only to want," because it still further
enervates and unfits him for the duties of life. This is not very satisfactory,
and is decidedly far-fetched; but it is better than Delitzsch's
suggestion, which strips the proverb of all moral significance, viz.,
"He that oppresses the poor, it is at any rate for his own gain; but
he who gives to the rich, it is only to get want." The conclusion from
this would be, that it is better to oppress the poor than to give to the
rich, a sentiment quite out of harmony with the ethical teaching of the
Proverbs. In a case like this we can only suppose that the saying
has reached us in a mutilated form.
In fact, the merciful
and pitiful nature has all the forces that rule the
universe on its side, notwithstanding appearances to the
contrary: "The merciful man doeth good to his own
soul, but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh."Prov. xi. 17.
It is the strange paradox of all selfishness that the
selfish man is really quite blind to his own true interests.
He most conscientiously lives for himself, and seeks
his own good, but the good he sought proves to be
his evil, and of all his innumerable foes he finds at
last that he himself is the worst. The selfish man is
always coming to want, while the unselfish man whose
whole thought has been for others is richly provided
for. "He that giveth unto the needy shall not lack,
but he that hideth his eyes shall have many a curse."Prov. xxviii. 27.
"There is that scattereth and increaseth yet more, and
there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it
tendeth only to want."Prov. xi. 24.
"He that hideth his eyes shall have many a curse!"
Yes, nothing is more striking than this truth, that not
only positive oppression of the poor, but mere indifference
to their state, mere neglect of their sufferings,
involves us in sin. There are many who can honestly
say that they have not deliberately wronged their fellow-men,
and will on that ground plead innocent; but that
is not enough. We are as members one of another
responsible in a degree for all the injustice and cruelty
which are practised in the society to which we belong.
If we are drawing an income from invested money, we
are responsible for the cruel exactions of excessive
work, for the heartless disregard of life and limb, and
for the constant under-payment of the workers which
makes the dividends so princely.Can the shareholders of the G. W. R., for instance, hold themselves
free from responsibility in the case referred to in the following
paragraph from the Journal of the People's Palace? "The Saturday
Review, always trustworthy and read-worthy on subjects of law, calls
attention to a case which concerns a great many. It is a case in which
the decision is most unfortunate to the interests of all working men.
One Membery was employed at Paddington to shunt trunks: he was
taken on by a contractor, but his real employers were the G.W.R.
The trucks were drawn by a horse, and the horse ought to have had
a boy to hitch on or off at a moment's notice: but the contractor
refused to supply boys. Membery in vain asked for one, pointing
out the great dangers to which he was exposed. He complained
on the very day of the accident by which he was knocked down
and injured seriously. He sued the Company; he won his case with
damages; the Company, being a rich body, appealed. Now, considering the vexation, the anxiety, and the expense of carrying on such
a case, a Company which appeals ought in justice to have the damages
doubled if it loses. The Company lost. They appealed to the Lords,
still on the principle of being rich and their opponent poor. This
time the Company won. The Lords have ruled that the Company
did not employ Membery, and that he was not obliged to work without
a boy: he might have refused to work at all. Indeed! Then,
if he refused to work, what about the children at home? A more
mischievous doctrine was never upheld. Why, there are thousands
and thousands of men and women who work daily under ineffectual
protest,—who work at trades unwholesome, for wages inefficient, and
for excessive hours; yet they work because they must—because they
must. Membery worked without a boy, knowing that he would some
day be run over and perhaps killed, because he must: he had no choice.
When all the Trade Unions are merged into one immense Trade
Union, it will not be the wages alone that will be determined, but
the cases of such unfortunate men as Membery."
Nay, when we buy
and use the cheap goods, which are cheap because they
have been made at the cost of health and happiness
and life to our brothers and our sisters, their blood is
upon our heads, though we choose to forget it. For
listen—"Whoso stoppeth ears at the cry of the poor,"
whoso tries to ignore that there is a labour question,
and that the cry for increased or even regular wages,
and for tolerable homes, and wholesome conditions of
work, is a reality, and in form of unions, or strikes,
or low wails of despair, is addressed to us all—"he
shall cry and shall not be heard."Prov. xxi. 13.
Such is the inexorable
law of God. And again: "Deliver those that
are carried away unto death,"—those who are sacrificing
the sweetness of life, the sap of the bones, the health
of the marrow, to the ruthless exigencies of the industrial
machine; "and those tottering to slaughter see
thou hold back,"—not leaving them to "dree their own
sad weird," helpless and unregarded. "If thou say,
Behold we knew not this man,"—how could we make
ourselves acquainted with all the toiling masses of the
city by whose labour we lived and were maintained
in comfort?—"Doth not He that weigheth the hearts
consider it; and He that keepeth thy soul, doth not
He know it, and shall not He render to every man
according to his work?"Prov. xxiv. 11, 12.
That is to say, if we plead,
"When saw we Thee ahungred, or athirst, or sick
and in prison, and came not to Thee?" our Lord will
say, "Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of
these, ye did it not to Me." And we "shall go away"
into everlasting punishment, while the righteous go into
life eternal.
III. For it follows, from the whole consideration of
this subject, that those who make their life a ministry
to the poor obtain a blessing,—yes, the only true and
permanent blessing that life is capable of yielding.
"He that hath a bountiful eye shall be blessed; for
he giveth of his bread to the poor."Prov. xxii. 9.
The very form
of the saying is significant. Does it not imply: "It is
obvious that to give our bread to the poor is a blessing
to ourselves, so obvious that it needs only to be stated
to be admitted, and therefore, as the bountiful eye,
the philanthropic observation, the readiness to see
suffering and to search out the sufferers, necessarily
leads to this generous distribution, it must be a blessing
to its possessor." Indeed, this is a true test of righteousness,
as the Lord teaches in the parable just quoted.
It is "the righteous that takes knowledge of the cause
of the poor, while the wicked understands not to know
it."Prov. xxix. 7.
A religion which takes no knowledge of the masses
is a false religion; a Church and a Ministry which
"understand not to know" the condition of the people
and the needs of the poor are not Christ's Church and
Christ's Ministry, but flagrantly apostate; and nothing is
plainer than this—that from such a Church and Ministry
He will accept no orthodoxy of belief or valiant defence
of the creed in lieu of obedience to all His plain and
unmistakable commandments.
If we look at governments, the test is practically the
same. "The king that faithfully judgeth the poor,
his throne shall be established for ever."Prov. xxix. 14. Has William II. of Germany been considering this
text? If so, it is full of promise for the prosperity of Germany and
of Europe? (International Labour Conference, March 1890.)
And it is
because the Messianic King, alone of all sovereigns
and governments, rightly and fully understands and
maintains the cause of the poor, that He alone of
sovereigns shall be established for ever, and of the
increase of His government there shall be no end.
And for the flagrant neglect of this vital question on
the part of all governing persons and assemblies, that
King will call to account those pompous and wordy
magnates who have borne the sword in vain, considering
all interests rather than those of the poor, whom
they were specially appointed to judge; and of the needy,
to whose succour they were peculiarly bound to run.
And what holds in the state holds in the family.
The virtuous woman, and head of the household—she
whom God can approve and welcome into everlasting
habitations—is emphatically not she who is
always striving for social aggrandisement, always seeking
for her children wealthy settlements and spurious
honours; but is one who "spreadeth out her hand to
the poor, yea, she reacheth forth her hands to the
needy."Prov. xxxi. 30.
Well may we try to take God's view of this question,
to understand what He means by the poor, and how
He regards them, and how He expects us to treat
them. For this, if it is not the secret and the centre
of all true religious life, is at least the infallible test
of whether our religious life is true or not. By our
treatment of His poor, the Son of Man, who is to judge
the world, declares that we shall be judged. "By
that we shall be condemned or by that we shall be
acquitted."
XXIII.
EDUCATION: THE PARENT'S THOUGHT OF THE
CHILD.
"Train up a child according to his way, and even when he is old
he will not depart from it."—Prov. xxii. 6.
"Withhold not correction from the child; if thou beat him with
the rod he shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod and shalt
deliver his soul from Sheol."—Prov. xxiii. 13, 14.
In Lecture IV. we examined two of the main principles
which should be inculcated on children in a
Christian home. In the present lecture we approach
the question of education again. It is necessary for us
to examine two features of parental training on which
the book of Proverbs lays repeated stress. First, the
need of method in bringing up the young; and second,
the way of punishing their delinquencies.
In the first we have an eternal principle, which
applies and must apply as long as human nature
endures, a principle which is even emphasized by the
demands of our Christian faith. In the second we have
a principle which is so modified and altered by the
Christian spirit, that unless we make the largest allowance
for the change, it may be, as it often has been, misleading
and hurtful in a high degree. If we could trace
out all the dark cruelties and injustice, the vindictiveness,
the stupidity of parents, guardians, and teachers,
who have sheltered themselves under the authority of
the text, "Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a
child, but the rod of correction shall drive it far from
him,"Prov. xxii. 15.
we might read with a new application our
Saviour's stern censure of accepting the letter of Scripture
in place of coming to Him and learning of Him who
is meek and lowly of heart.John v. 39.
But our first duty is to understand the wholesome
and eternally valid teaching that is here given us about
education. "Train up a child in the way he should
go." We gain a good deal in vividness if we go back
to the meaning of the word which is rendered "train."
Derived from a noun which signifies the palate and the
inner part of the mouth, its literal meaning is "to put
into the mouth." The metaphor suggested is that of
feeding an infant. Every parent recognises the necessity
of giving to the helpless children suitable nourishment.
At first the mother feeds the babe at the breast.
After the weaning she still feeds it with food carefully
chosen and prepared. As the child grows older she
changes the food, but she does not relax her care; and
the father admits the responsibility of procuring the
necessary diet for his little one, a responsibility which
does not cease until the child is fully grown, fully
formed, and fully able to provide for himself. Here
is the suitable analogy for mental, moral, and spiritual
teaching. The parents must feed their child with morsels
suitable to his age, with the "milk of the word"
at first, afterwards with strong meat. It all requires
infinite care and forethought and wisdom, for there is
a certain way of development, a certain ideal which the
child must realize, and if the training is to be on the
lines of that development, according to that "way," if
it is to achieve that ideal, the teaching must all be
accurately adapted to the age or stage of development,
and to the particular character and disposition of the
child. If the preliminary work of the parents is wisely
done, if the influence exercised by them while their
child is still entirely in their hands is exactly what it
ought to be, there is no fear for the rest of life—"when
he is old he will not depart from it." A great master
of modern literature, who wandered through many
ways of thought far from the opinions and faith of his
parents, when in his old age he sat down to write the
reminiscences of his life, discovered that the original
bent given to his mind by his peasant parents had
remained unexhausted to the end."I am the eldest child, born in 1795, December 4th, and trace
deeply in myself the character of both parents, also the upbringing
and example of both."—Carlyle's Reminiscences, vol. i., p. 54.
Many beliefs currently
held had faded and grown dim, much of the
historical foundation of his religion had crumbled away,
but there was a truth which he had learned from his
mother's lips and had seen exemplified in his father's
life, and it returned to him in its full force, and remained
unsubmerged in the tides of doubt, unaffected by the
breath of change, it even acquired a fresh hold upon
him in the decline of his days:—The chief end of man
is to glorify God and to enjoy Him for ever.
It is a good illustration of the unrivalled power of
the parents over a man's life. "The Lord hath given
the father honour over the children, and hath confirmed
the authority of the mother over the sons," says Ecclesiasticus.Eccles. xxx. 2.
It is a rare opportunity which is given to
parents. No sphere of influence which they may acquire
can be like it; it may be wider, but it can never
be so intense or so decisive. A father who abdicates
the throne on which God has set him, who foregoes the
honour which God has given him, or turns it into dishonour,
must one day answer for his base renunciation
before the Eternal Father. A mother who uses the
authority over her sons which God has given her,
merely to gratify her own vanity and selfishness, and
to retain a love which she has ceased to deserve; or
one who wantonly throws away the authority because
its exercise makes large demands upon the spirit, has
much to answer for at the Divine judgment-seat.
Parental powers are so absolute, parental possibilities
are so great, parental joys are so rare and wonderful,
that they must of necessity be balanced by corresponding
disadvantages in case of failure. "He that begetteth
a fool doeth it to his sorrow, and the father of a fool
hath no joy."Prov. xvii. 21.
"A foolish son is a grief to his father,
and bitterness to her that bare him."Prov. xvii. 25, xix. 13, 26.
It must therefore
constantly press upon all wise parents, how are
they to act, what methods are they to adopt, in order
to rightly discharge their duties, and to win that precious
reward of "a wise son"?Prov. xv. 20. Cf. x. 1, xxvii. 11, xxix. 3.
"My son, if thy heart be
wise, my heart shall be glad, even mine, yea, my reins
shall rejoice when thy lips speak right things." "The
father of the righteous shall greatly rejoice, and he that
begetteth a wise child shall have joy of him."Prov. xxiii. 15, 16, 24.
The answer which is constantly suggested by the
book of Proverbs, and especially by our text, is this:—A
successful parent will be one who makes the training
of the children a constant and religious study. It is
the last subject in the world to be left to haphazard.
From the first a clear aim must be kept in view. "Is
my great object that this boy shall be a true, a noble, a
God-fearing man, serving his day and generation in the
way God shall appoint? Is this object purged of all
meaner thought? Can I renounce the idea of worldly
success for him, and be indifferent to wealth and
reputation, to comfort and ease for him?" When
this question is satisfactorily settled, then comes a
second, How is the aim to be realized? Is not the
parent at once driven to God with the cry, "Who is
sufficient for these things?" A mistake may be so
fatal, and it is so hard to clearly see, to rightly judge,
to firmly act, that nothing can avail but the direct
teaching, inspiration, and power of the Spirit of God.
Happy are the father and the mother who have been
forced in their helplessness to seek that Divine help
from the very first!
If we only knew it, all education is useless apart
from the Spirit of God. "Where the Spirit of the
Lord is, there is liberty." And liberty is just what
is most needed. Mechanical schemes, cut-and-dried
precepts, are quite insufficient. Moving in the liberty
of the Spirit you have insight and adaptiveness; at
once you perceive that each child is a separate study,
and must be approached in a different way. One is
sanguine and over-confident, and he must constantly
be humbled; another is diffident and desponding, and
must be encouraged with the bright word of sympathy,
spoken at the right moment. "I see it all, my child;
I know what a fight it is in which you are engaged."See that invaluable little book, "The Education of a Christian
Home," edited by Ella S. Armitage.
One is a born sceptic, and would know the reason
why; he must be met with patient and comprehending
arguments according to his mental powers. Another
has no speculative instincts, and questions have to be
raised, doubts suggested, in order to save him from drifting
into the easy-going acceptance of everything which
he is told. One seems naturally inclined to be religious,
and must be carefully watched lest the sensitiveness
should become morbid, and a dominant thought should
lead to mania, melancholy, or a possible reaction.
Another seems to have no religious instinct, and the
opportunity must be sought for awaking the sense of
need, rousing the conscience, opening the eyes to God.
But again, in proportion as parents are led by the
Spirit, and make their sacred charge a matter of constant
and beseeching prayer, they will in their own
person and conduct represent God to the children, and
so supplement all the possible defects of the express
training and discipline. If the command "Be thou in
the fear of the Lord all the day long"Prov. xxiii. 17.
is to have any
weight with a child, he must live with those who themselves
are in the fear of the Lord all the day long.
A man must live near to God if he is to make God
real to his children. A mother must hold very real
converse with her Lord if His reality is to become
obvious to her little ones. "As a child," says one,"The Education of a Christian Home."
"I always had a feeling that God and Jesus were such
particular friends of mamma's, and were honoured
more than words could tell." If such an impression
is to be created, depend upon it God and Jesus must
be particular friends of yours. No talk, however pious,
can create that impression unless the hallowed friendship
actually exists.
Again, led by the Spirit, we are filled with Divine
love; and no training of children can have any valuable
or permanent effect which does not issue from, which
is not guided by, and does not result in, love. For love
is the Divine educator. It is this which accounts for
the frequently observed anomaly that children who
seem to have inferior home advantages and very inadequate
education turn out better than others for whom
no labour or expense or care seems to be grudged.
If love is not there, all the efforts will fail. Love
is the only atmosphere in which the spirits of little
children can grow. Without it the wisest precepts
only choke, and the best-prepared knowledge proves
innutritious. It must be a large love, a wise love, an
inclusive love, such as God alone can shed abroad in
the heart. Love of that kind is very frequently found
in "huts where poor men lie," and consequently the
children issuing out of them have been better trained
than those whose parents have handed them over to
loveless tutors or underlings.
And this may perhaps fitly lead us to consider the
other point which is before us—the prominence which
is, in the Proverbs, given to chastisement. "He that
spareth his rod hateth his son, but he that loveth him,
chasteneth him betimes."Prov. xiii. 24.
"Chasten thy son, seeing
there is hope, and set not thy heart on his destruction."Prov. xix. 18.
"Stripes that wound are a cleansing of evil, strokes of
the recesses of the belly."Prov. xx. 30.
"Withhold not correction
from the child; when thou beatest him with a rod he
shall not die. Thou shalt beat him with the rod, and
shalt deliver his soul from Sheol."Prov. xxiii. 13, 14.
"The rod and
reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself causeth
shame to his mother."Prov. xxix. 15.
"Correct thy son and he shall
give thee rest, yea, he shall give delight unto thy soul."Prov. xxix. 17.
Corporal punishment seems to the Christian, and
to the common sense of a society which is the product
of the Christian spirit, degrading, brutalising, and
essentially futile! It can only have even a modicum of
good effect where it is inflicted by a loving hand, and
in a loving spirit, without a trace of temper or cruelty,
and obviously costing more to inflict than to bear.
But even with all these conditions granted it is a most
unsatisfactory method of punishment; it arouses vindictive
feelings and savage passions. A whipped boy
is almost sure to bully the next creature weaker than
himself that he encounters; and acting only as a deterrent,
it never reaches the conscience, or creates a sense
of revolt from the sin for the sin's sake, which is the
object of all wise, or at least of all paternal, punishment.
We can only, therefore, set aside the precept to use
the rod as one which was in harmony with darker and
harder times before the Saviour of the world had
come to reveal the inner life and to teach us how
we are to deal with those mysterious and wonderful
beings, our fellow-creatures.
But with this modification, and substituting "wise
and merciful punishments" for "rod and stripes,"
these teachings remain of permanent validity. Our
Heavenly Father chastens His children; by most
gracious punishments He brings home to them the
sense of sin, and leads them to repentance and amendment.Lev. xxvi. 41: "If then their uncircumcised heart be humbled,
and they then accept of the punishment of their iniquity, then will I
remember My covenant with Jacob."
And earthly parents, in proportion as they are
led by the Spirit and filled with love, will correct their
children, not for their own pleasure, but for their children's
good. The truth which underlies these apparently
harsh injunctions is this: Love inflicts punishments, nor
are any punishments so severe as those which Love
inflicts; and only the punishments which Love inflicts
are able to reform and to save the character of the
delinquent.
We all of us know that weak and sentimental nature—too
common among modern parents—which shrinks
from inflicting pain under all circumstances. Seizing
on the ill-understood doctrine that Love is the sovereign
power in life and in education, it pleads in the name of
Love that the offender may be spared, that he may
escape the due penalty of his fault. That is not a love
like God's love: and if you are careful to observe, it
has not the remedial or saving effect which the love of
God has. "He that declines to punish his child hates
him; he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." In
the poor child's heart so much foolishness is bound
up, so much wilfulness and temper, so much vanity
and pride, so much sensuality and selfishness, so much
unwholesome craving for amusement, it is so natural
to the child to make pleasure the be-all and the end-all
of life, that, if all this foolishness is to be driven away,
there must be much sharp discipline and painful correction.
The Divine method of punishment seems to
be to let men eat of the fruit of their doings until they
loathe it. They rebelliously call out for meat in the
wilderness, and it turns into a satiety, a bitterness, and
a plague, while it is between their teeth. Is it possible
that parents too, under the guidance of the Spirit, may
chasten their children in the same way, bringing home
to the wilful the painful effects of wilfulness, to the vain
the ridiculous effects of vanity, to the selfish the disastrous
issue of selfishness, to the sensual the ruin and
the misery of sensuality? Might not the most effectual
punishment for every fault be an enforced quiet in
which the culprit is confronted with the inevitable outcome
of the sin? Does not even the hardest heart
begin to melt, does not the dullest conscience begin to
grow sensitive, when the sure results of evil are aptly
pourtrayed before the mind? What pride would have
courage to grow if it had a glimpse of the hard, dry,
loveless, unloved, heart which is its inevitable fruit?
What young man would venture to take the first
downward steps in impurity if he had ever formed a
conception of the devastation of brain and heart and
life which must ensue?
The rod cannot open the eyes; it can but set the
cunning intellect to work to find a way of enjoying the
sin and escaping the rod. But the opening of the eyes—at
which all true punishment must aim—reveals a
rod which is bound up with the sin, sure as the sin
itself. It is the parents' solemn task—and many an
inward sorrow must it cost—to bring home to his
child's heart these truths of experience which the child
cannot at present know. Wise penalties and "reproof
give wisdom, but a child left to himself causeth shame
to his mother."Prov. xxix. 15.
There is a voice, the voice of Divine Wisdom, which
speaks continually to every parent, to every teacher of
youth: "Incline thine ear," it says, "and hear the
words of the wise, and apply thy heart unto my knowledge"—without
attention and application this heavenly
wisdom cannot be known. "For it is a pleasant thing,"
so the voice continues, "if thou keep these words
within thee, if they be established together upon thy
lips. That thy trust may be in the Lord,"—without
whom the best-meant efforts will fail,—"I have made
them known to thee this day, even to thee. Have not
I written to thee excellent things of counsels and
knowledge, to make thee know the certainty of the
words of truth, that thou mayest carry back words of
truth to them," those helpless and ignorant children
whose needs "send thee" to me for instruction?Prov. xxiii. 17-21.
The failures are numerous, disastrous, heart-breaking,
but they are unnecessary. Your children are holy;
they belong to the Saviour in whom you yourselves
believe. Grasp that truth; go to Him in sublime faith.
"Lord, it is not with Thee to save a part, to choose this
one and save that. Thou wilt glorify Thyself in every
one.""The Education of a Christian Home."
Surrender yourself to Him that He may use
you to exhibit His Divine graces and saving love to
the children. Live with Him daily, that the glory of
the communion may not pass away from your face, or
appear only by fits and starts—and so train up your
child according to his way; and when he is old he will
not depart from it.
XXIV.
FORGIVING.
"Be not a witness against thy neighbour without cause, and deceive
not with thy lips. Say not, I will do so to him as he hath done to
me; I will render to the man according to his work."—Prov. xxiv.
28, 29.
"Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thy heart be
glad when he is overthrown, lest the Lord see it and it displease Him,
and He turn away His wrath from him."—Prov. xxiv. 17, 18.
"He that is glad at calamity shall not be unpunished."—Prov.
xvii. 5.
"If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat, and if he be
thirsty give him water to drink; for thou shalt heap coals of fire upon
his head, and the Lord shall reward thee."—Prov. xxv. 21, 22.
There is no subject on which the teaching of the
Proverbs more strikingly anticipates the morality
of the New Testament than that of forgiveness to our
enemies. Our Lord Jesus Christ could take some of
these sayings and incorporate them unchanged into
the law of His kingdom, for indeed it is not possible
to surpass the power and beauty and truth of the
command to feed those who have injured us if they are
hungry, to give them drink when they are thirsty, and
in this Divine way to kindle in them repentance for the
injury which they have done. This is the high-water
mark of moral excellence. No better state can be
desired. When a human spirit is habitually in this
tender and forgiving mood, it is already united with the
Father of spirits, and lives.
It is almost superfluous to point out that even the
saints of the Old Testament fall very far short of the
lofty standard which is here set before us. The
Psalmist, for example, is thinking of coals of a quite
different sort when he exclaims: "As for the head of
those that compass me about, let the mischief of their
own lips cover them. Let burning coals fall upon them;
let them be cast into the fire; into deep pits that they
rise not up again."Psalm cxl. 9, 10.
That is the old elemental hate of
human nature, the passionate, indignant appeal to a
righteous God against those who have been guilty of a
wrong or an injury. Even Jeremiah, one of the latest,
and certainly not the least holy, of the prophets could
cry out concerning his enemies: "Yet, Lord, Thou
knowest all their counsel against me to slay me; forgive
not their iniquity, neither blot out their sin from Thy
sight; but let them be overthrown before Thee; deal
Thou with them in the time of Thine anger."Jer. xviii. 23.
Words
painfully natural, words echoed by many a persecuted
man of God, but yet quite inconsistent with the teaching
of the Saviour in the Sermon on the Mount, the teaching
already foreshadowed in this beautiful proverb.
But it may not be superfluous to notice that the
Proverbs themselves, even those which stand at the
head of this chapter, do not all touch the high-water
mark of xxv. 21. Thus, for example, the motive which
is suggested in xxiv. 18 for not rejoicing in the fall of
an enemy is none of the highest. The idea seems to
be, if you see your enemy undergoing punishment, if
calamity is falling upon him from the Lord, then do not
indulge in any insolent exultation, lest the Lord should
be offended with you, and, in order to chastise your malignity,
should cease to plague and trouble him. In such a
view of the question, God is still regarded as a Nemesis
that will resent any unseemly rejoicing in the calamity
of another;Prov. xvii. 5b.
in proportion therefore as you wish to see
your enemy punished, you must abstain from that joy
in his punishment which would lead to its diminution.
From a precept of that kind there is a vast moral
stride to the simple prohibition of retaliation, announced
without any reason given or suggested in xxiv. 29—"Say
not, I will do so to him as he hath done to me,
I will render to the man according to his work." And
from this again there is an incalculable stride to the
positive spirit of love, which, not content with simply
abstaining from vindictiveness, actually turns the tables,
and repays good for evil, looking with quiet assurance
to the Lord, and the Lord alone, for recognition and
reward. Our wonder is occasioned not because all the
Proverbs do not reach the moral altitude of this one, but
rather that this one should be so high. When an ideal
is set up far in advance of the general practice and even
of the general thoughts of the time, we can ascribe it
only to the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
It needs no proof that forgiveness is better than
revenge. We all know that—
"Revenge, at first though sweet,
Bitter ere long back on itself recoils."Paradise Lost, ix., 171.
We all know that the immediate effect of forgiving our
enemy is a sweet flow of tenderness in the soul, which
surpasses in delight all the imagined joys of vindictiveness;
and that the next effect is to soften and win
the foe himself; the scornful look relents, the tears of
passion give place to those of penitence, the moved heart
is eager to make amends. We all know that nothing
more powerfully affects our fellow-men than the exhibition
of this placable temper.Burke said of Pitt after his fall, that the manner in which he
made his own justification, without impeaching the conduct of his
colleagues or taking any measure that might seem to arise from disgust
or opposition, set a seal upon his character. (Lecky, "England
in the Eighteenth Century," vol. iii., 61.)
We all know that in
forgiving we share God's prerogative, and come into
harmony with His Spirit.
Yet here is the melancholy fact that notwithstanding
this proverbial truth, taken up into the teaching of our
Saviour, and echoed in the writings of His Apostles,See Rom. xii. 20.
even in a Christian society, forgiveness is almost as
rare as it was in the days of King Solomon. Men
are not ashamed—even professing Christians are not
ashamed—to say about their enemies, "I will do so
to him as he has done to me, I will render to the man
according to his work." We even have a lurking admiration
for such retaliatory conduct, calling it spirited,
and we still are inclined to contemn one who acts on
the Christly principle as weak or visionary. Still the
old bad delight in seeing evil fall on the head of our
enemies glows in our hearts; still the act of vengeance
is performed, the bitter retort is given, the abusive
letter is written, with the old sense of unhallowed pride
and triumph. How is this? Ah, the simple truth is
that it is a small matter to get right principles recognised,
the whole difficulty lies in getting them practised.
We need a power which can successfully contend
against the storm of passion and self-will, in those
terrible moments when all the calm lights of reason
are quenched by the blinding surf of passion, and all
the gentle voices of goodness are drowned by its
roaring waves.
Sometimes we hear it said that the moral teaching
of Christ is not original, but that all His precepts may
be found in the words and writings of ancient sages,
just as His teaching about forgiveness is anticipated
by the proverb. Yes, but His claim does not rest
upon His teaching, but upon the Divine and supernatural
power which He has at His command to carry
out His doctrines in the conduct of His disciples.
This is the point which we must realize if this sweet
and beautiful ideal is to be worked out in our lives.
We have but touched the fringe of the question when
we have conned His words, or shaped conceptions of
what a life would be passed in conformity to them.
The centre of Christian doctrine is power, the power
of Christ, the fountain of living waters opened in the
heart, the grafting of the withering branches upon
a living stock, the indwelling of Christ Himself, as
the spring and principle of every holy action, and the
effectual restraint on all our ungovernable passions.
But before looking more closely at this, we ought to
pay some attention to the constant motive which our
Lord, even in His teaching, presents for the practice of
a forgiving disposition. He always bases the duty of
forgiveness on the need which we have of God's forgiveness;
He teaches us to pray, "Forgive us our
trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against
us;" and in the moving story of the unmerciful servant,
who demanded the full payment from his fellow-servant
just when his lord had pitifully remitted his own debt,
He tells us that forgiveness of our enemies is an indispensable
condition of our being forgiven by God. "His
lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors,
till he should pay all that was due. So shall also My
Heavenly Father do unto you, if ye forgive not every
one his brother from your hearts."Matt. xviii. 35.
It is not therefore
only, as it is sometimes stated, that we ought to be
moved to pity by remembering what God has done for
us. No, there is a much sterner thought in our Lord's
mind; it is that if we do not forgive we shall not and
cannot be forgiven. The forgiving spirit manifested to
our fellow-men is that without which it is vain for us
to come near and to ask God for pardon. If we have
come, and are just about to offer our prayer, and if we
then remember that we have aught against a brother,
we must go first and be reconciled to him, before our
prayer can be so much as heard.
Here is certainly a motive of a very powerful kind.
Which of us would dare to cherish the bitter thought,
or proceed with our plan of vengeance, if we remembered
and realized that our vindictiveness would make
our own pardon at the hands of God impossible?
Which of the countless deeds of retaliation that stain
with blood the pages of history would have been
perpetrated, and which of the perpetrators would not
have tremblingly relinquished all thought of reprisals,
if they had seen that in those savage acts of vengeance
they were not, as they supposed, executing lawful
justice, but actually cutting off their own hope of pardon
before the throne of God?
If we avenge ourselves, if society is constantly torn
by the quarrels and the mutual recriminations of hostile
men whose one thought is to give as good as they
have got, it can only be because we do not believe, or
do not realize, this solemn teaching of the Lord. He
seems a faint and doubtful voice compared with the
loud tumult of passion within; His authority seems
weak and ineffectual compared with the mighty domination
of the evil disposition. Powerful, therefore, as
the motive is to which He constantly appeals, if He
had left us nothing but His teaching on the subject
we should not be materially better off than they who
listened with attention to the teaching of the wise
authors of these ancient Proverbs. What more has
He left us?
It is His prerogative to give to those who believe in
Him a changed heart. How much is meant by that,
which only the changed heart can know! Outwardly
we seem much alike; outwardly there is little sign of
an inward transformation; but far as the east is from
the west is the unregenerate heart from the regenerate,
the Christless heart from one which He has taken in
His hands, and by His great redemption created anew.
Now without stopping to follow the processes of faith
by which this mighty change is effected, let us simply
mark the characteristics of the change so far as it
affects the matter in hand.
The first and most radical result of the New Birth is
that God takes the place which Self has occupied. All
the thoughts which have clustered about your own
being now turn to His Being, as stray fragments of
iron turn to the magnet. Consequently, all the emotions
and passions which are stimulated by self-love give
place to those which are stimulated by the love of
God. It is as if the pipes of your aqueduct had been
changed at the fountain head, disconnected from the
malarious waters of the marsh, and connected with the
pure and sparkling water of the hills. God's ways of
regarding men, God's feelings towards men, His yearning
over them, His pity for them, flow into the changed
heart, and so preoccupy it that resentment, hatred,
and malice are washed out like the sour dregs in a
cup which is rinsed in a running stream.
There is the man who did you the wrong—very
cruel and unpardonable it was!—but, as all personal
elements are quite out of the question, you regard him
just as if you were not the injured being. You see
him only as God sees him; you trace all the malignant
workings of his mind; you know how the fire of his
hate is a fire which burns the heart that entertains
it. You see clearly how tormenting those revengeful
passions are, how the poor soul mastered by them
is diseased, how the very action in which it is triumphing
now must become one day a source of bitter regret
and implacable self-reproach; you soon begin to regard
the ill deed as a shocking wound inflicted on the doer
of it, and the wells of pity are opened. As if this
enemy of yours had been quite innocent of all ill-will,
and had been overtaken by some terrible calamity,
your one instinctive thought is to help him and relieve
him. Out of the fulness of your heart, without any
sense of being magnanimous, or any thought of a
further end,—simply for the pity of it,—you come to
proffer him bread in his hunger and water in his
thirst.
Yes, it is in the atmosphere of pity that personal
resentment dies away, and it is only by the power of
the Son of Man that the heart can be filled with a pity
large enough to pardon all the sins of our kind.
It is this thought—though without any definite statement
of the means by which it is produced—that finds
expression in Whittier's touching lines:—
"My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burying-place;
Where pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of a common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and, trembling, I forgave."
Yes, one who is touched by the spirit of the Son of
Man finds too much to pity in the great sorrowing
world, and in its fleeting and uncertain life, to cherish
vengeful feelings. Himself redeemed by the untold
love of His Father, by the undeserved and freely
offered pardon in Christ Jesus his Lord, he can feel for
his enemies nothing but forbearance and love; if they
too are Christians, he longs to win them back to the
peace and joy from which their evil passion must have
driven them; and if they are not, his eyes must fill
with tears as he remembers how brief is their apparent
triumph, how unsubstantial their gleam of joy. The
desire to save them immediately masters the transitory
wish to punish them. The pity of men, for the sake of
the Son of Man, wins the day.
And now we may just glance at the effect which the
Christly conduct has upon the offender, and the reward
which God has attached to its exercise.
It is one of the most beautiful traces of God's likeness
in even bad men, a characteristic to which there is
no parallel in the animal creation, that though passion
awakes passion, wrath wrath, and vengeance revenge—so
that savages pass their whole time in an unbroken
series of blood feuds, the hideous retaliation bandied from
tribe to tribe and from man to man, generation after
generation—the spirit of meekness, proceeding not from
cowardice, but from love, disarms passion, soothes wrath,
and changes vengeance into reconciliation. The gleam
of forgiveness in the eye of the injured is so obviously the
light of God that the wrongdoer is cowed and softened
before it. It kindles a fire in his spirit, his heart melts,
his uplifted hand falls, his angry voice grows tender.
When men are so dehumanised as to be insensible to
this softening effect, when they interpret the gentleness
as weakness, and are moved by the forgiving spirit
simply to further injury and more shameless wrong,
then we may know that they are possessed,—they are
no longer men,—they are passing into the category of
the lost spirits, whom the forbearance of God Himself
leads not to repentance but only to added sin.
But if you have ever by the sweet spirit of Christ
so mastered your natural impulse as to return good
for evil lovingly and whole-heartedly, and if you have
seen the regenerating effect in the beautiful subjugation
of your foe and his transformation into a friend, it is
not necessary to say much of the reward which God
has in store for you. Do you not already possess it?
Yet the reward is certainly greater than you are
able at once to apprehend. For what a secret is this
which you possess, the secret of turning even the
malignity of foes into the sweetest affection, the secret
which lay in the heart of God as the spring and the
means of man's redemption.Cf. the proverb, "When a man's ways please the Lord He
maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him" (Prov. xvi. 7).
The highest reward that
God can give to His creatures is to make them partakers
of His nature as He has made them in His own
image. When we share in a Divine attribute we enter
so far into the Divine bliss; and in proportion as this
attribute seems removed from our common human
nature, our spirit must exult to find that it has been
really appropriated. What further reward, then, can
he who avenges not himself desire? The pulse of the
Divine heart beats in him; the tides of the Divine life
flow through him. He is like God—God who opposes
to man's ingratitude the ocean of His pardoning love;
he is conscious of that which is the fountain of joy in
the Divine Being; surely a man must be satisfied when
he awakes in God's likeness! And that satisfaction
comes to every one who has heaped coals of fire on his
enemy's head by feeding him in his hunger, and giving
him water when athirst. Say not, "I will do so to
him as he has done to me, I will render to the man
according to his work." Love your enemies; pray for
them which despitefully use you.
XXV.
THE KING.
"It is the glory of God to conceal a thing, but the glory of kings is to
search out a matter.
The heaven for height and the earth for depth, and the heart of
kings is unsearchable.
Take away the dross from the silver, and there cometh forth a
vessel for the finer;
Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall
be established in righteousness.
Put not thyself forward in the presence of the king, and stand not
in the presence of great men:
Far better is it that it be said unto thee, Come up hither, than that
thou shouldest be put lower in the presence of the prince whom
thine eyes have seen."—Prov. xxv. 2-7.
It will be remembered that in the book of Samuel
there are two accounts of the monarchy and its
origin lying side by side,—different, and to all appearance
irreconcilable. One set of passages seems to
imply that the king was appointed by God's holy
purpose to fulfil the objects of His government. But
another set of passages seems to represent the outcry
for a king as a rebellion against the sovereignty
of the Lord, and the appointment of a king as a
punishment for the people's sin. It is in agreement
with the first idea that provision is made in the Law
for a monarchical government; but it is in agreement
with the second idea that the actual kings prove
to be for the most part incompetent and faithless
rulers, "who do evil in the sight of the Lord," and that
even the best of them fall into gross sins, or are at any
rate guilty of grave errors. Thus David stumbled into a
miry pit; Jehoshaphat experienced defeat in his alliance
with Ahab; Josiah was slain at the battle of Megiddo;
Uzziah was smitten with leprosy; and Hezekiah committed
an imprudence which incidentally brought the
great calamity upon his country. So it is all through.
Now the only satisfactory explanation that this twofold
aspect of the kingship seems to admit of is one
which goes deep down into the prophetic and inspired
character of Israel and its history. The king in his
ideal aspect is throughout a type and a foreshadowing
of the Anointed One that was to come; and the actual
failure of all the kings to realize the ideal, to govern
wisely, to establish righteousness, or even to observe
the moral law in their own persons, necessarily threw
men's thoughts forward to Him who should sit upon
the throne of David, and carry out in ways not yet
realized or even conceived the noble and exalted ideas
which clustered round the theocratic throne. Many
hasty critics have been swift to see and to censure the
ignoble failures of the men who sat upon the thrones
of Judah and Israel; some critics have developed with
sufficient clearness the noble ideal which always
underlay the monarchy even in the moments of its
deepest decline. But comparatively few have seen
the significance of this contrast between the ideal and
the actual; and consequently only a few have perceived
with what a prolonged and emphatic voice the
whole story of the Kings spoke of Christ.
The contrast just pointed out in the historic books
appears with equal distinctness in this book of Wisdom;
the proverbial sayings about the king exhibit the twofold
thought; and the reconciliation is only found
when we have realized the Kingship of Christ and can
bring that idea to explain the ancient forecast. Thus
the study of the things concerning the king is to the
thoughtful reader of the Proverbs a study of the things
concerning Christ. The ideal elements speak of Him;
the actual shortcomings cry out for Him.
First we will review what is said to the glory and
honour of the king. He comes before us as the
embodiment of righteousness.It will be observed that, speaking generally, the early proverbs
present the more favourable side of the kingship, and the later
proverbs suggest a period of decline (see Introduction). Possibly
the same test may serve to distinguish the passages in
Deuteronomy and the book of Samuel; the brighter thought that
the king was originally intended by God may come from the early
days when the kings still promised well, and the darker thought
which crosses the optimistic picture may emanate from the period
when their failure and decline were unmistakable.
"It is an abomination
to kings to commit wickedness, for the throne is
established by righteousness. Righteous lips are the
delight of kings, and they love him that speaketh
right."Prov. xvi. 12, 13.
"A king that sitteth on the throne of judgment
winnoweth away all evil with his eyes.... A
wise king winnoweth the wicked and bringeth the
threshing wheel over them."Prov. xx. 8, 26.
As he purges the
wicked, so he encourages the righteous: "He that
loveth pureness of heart hath grace on his lips, the
king shall be his friend."Prov. xxii. 11.
There is a great severity
in his government: "The wrath of a king is as
messengers of death; and a wise man will pacify it."Prov. xvi. 14.
"The king's wrath is as the roaring of a lion."Prov. xix. 12.
On
the other hand, his mercy is one with his severity:
"His favour is as dew upon the grass."Prov. xix. 12.
"In the
light of the king's countenance is life, and his favour
is as a cloud of the latter rain."Prov. xvi. 15.
"Mercy and truth
preserve the king, and his throne is upholden by
mercy."Prov. xx. 28.
The fact is that his government is a viceroyalty.
He is the human instrument of the Divine
Will. "The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord;
as the watercourses"—which the farmer directs and
leads over his fields according to his purpose—"he
turneth it whithersoever he will."Prov. xxi. 1.
Thus the king
expresses precisely "the Lord's favour towards a
servant that dealeth wisely, and the Lord's wrath
against him that causeth shame."Prov. xiv. 35.
The king manifests
the Lord's spirit in dealing with the subject, judging
the cause of the poor as the Lord does. "The king
that judgeth faithfully the poor, his throne shall be
established for ever."Prov. xxix. 14.
He is, in a word, a manifestation—a
revelation—of God Himself. "The glory of
God is to conceal a thing," i.e., to be unsearchable and
unknowable, "and the glory of kings is to search a
matter out;" the king, searching the deep things of
God, and becoming the interpreter of the Divine will
to men, is Himself in the place of God to us. "The
heaven for height and the earth for depth, and the
heart of kings there is no searching." Reflecting the
righteousness, the mercy, the power of God, his throne
is bathed in the celestial light. "Take away dross
from the silver, and there cometh forth a vessel for the
finer; take away evil from before the king, and his
throne shall be fixed in justice."Prov. xxv. 2-5.
In the presence of such a sovereign the subject may
well abase himself, even the greatest and wisest may
count himself small. "Glorify not thyself before a
king, and in the place of the great do not stand. For
better is it that it be said to thee, Come up hither,
than that thou shouldest be put lower in the presence
of a prince whom thine eyes have seen."Prov. xxv. 6, 7.
Rebellion against such a sovereign is the merest
infatuation. "Against him there is no rising up."Prov. xxx. 31.
"The terror of the king is as the roaring of a lion, he
that provoketh him to anger sinneth against his own
life."Prov. xx. 2.
"My son, fear thou the Lord and the king, and
meddle not with them who are given to change; for
their calamity shall rise suddenly; and who knoweth the
destruction of them both."Prov. xxiv. 21, 22.
It is evident that in all this we have an ideal picture.
No king that ever sat on an earthly throne, no David
or Hezekiah, no Antoninus or Trajan, no Charlemagne
or St. Louis, no Alfred or Edward the First, ever in the
faintest degree approached the fulfilment of the ideal.
The divinity which hedged them was of quite a different
kind from this open vision of God, this human mediatorship,
this absolute subjection to the Divine will. And
when we leave the select class of great and good kings,
and look at the ordinary type of the strong and capable
ruler, Saul or Ahab, Alexander or Cæsar, Constantine
or Diocletian, Clovis or Rollo, William the Conqueror or
Henry II., Louis XIV. or Frederick the Great, the Czar
Peter or Napoleon, we see at once that we have passed
into a region of thought and action where the description
of the Proverbs becomes unreal and visionary.
There is but one way of explaining the language
before us. It points to Christ. In Him alone is it or
can it be realized. He is the only sovereign that has
any union with God which is at all like identity. He
is the only Ruler who blends with absolute infallibility
severity and mercy. Of what other king could it be
said that "purity of heart" secures His friendship?
What other king has made it his first and supreme
object to judge faithfully the poor? What other
government but His has sought its security in that
essential duty and its fulfilment? It is Christ alone
whose favour descends on the heart like dew on the
grass, or as a cloud of the latter rain. His is the only
rule against which rebellion is more than a political
crime, and becomes an actual sin. Of Him alone can
it be said with any breadth of meaning or certainty of
fulfilment, "Let no falsehood from the tongue be
spoken to the King, and no falsehood shall go out of
his mouth. A sword is the king's tongue, and that
not of flesh."The LXX. of xxiv. 23, which adds a passage not appropriate to
Christ, "Whosoever is delivered up to him shall be crushed. For if
his temper be exasperated, he consumes men, sinews and all, and
crunches their bones, and burns them up as a flame, so that they are
uneatable to the young of eagles."
It is only a king absolutely righteous
and absolutely merciful that can ever bear down with
effective force upon lies and liars. It is only He that
would see in lying the prime sin, the incurable disease,
the unpardonable treason.
The King is Christ. Before He came there was in
the line of His foreshadowing a typical Divine right of
kings. But since His coming all such kingships have
been anachronisms. The appeal which used to be
made to the Old Testament to support that famous
political dogma was indeed its surest refutation and
condemnation. For all that is said there of the indefeasible
prerogative, coupled as it is with an infallibility
of judgment, a perfect moral goodness, and an irresistible
power, applied and could apply only to Christ.
Where absolute monarchy is not Christship it becomes,
as so many familiar passages in the Old Testament
show, a tyranny and an oppression, a cause of national
corruption and decay.
Now this leads us, in the second place, to notice how
the actual failure and consequent mischief of the kingship
are reflected in the proverbs, and especially those
later proverbs which date from the decline and fall of
the monarchy. We have only to glance over the books
of Samuel and Kings to see what kind of men the
occupants of the throne were; few of them show any
marked ability, most of them by their folly and stupidity
lead their people with hurried strides towards the
threatened catastrophe. So far from acting as vicegerents
of the Lord, it is their special characteristic
that they are the authors of the prevailing religious
apostasy. Even the more favourable exceptions, the
kings who in the main did what was right in the eyes
of the Lord, had not spiritual energy enough to purify
the worship and restore the allegiance of their people
to the Lord. Now it would be some insolent and witless
tyrant who would desolate the country and drive
his subjects into revolt. "A raging lion, a ravening
bear, a wicked ruler over a poor people. O prince, that
lackest understanding and art a great oppressor, he that
hateth rapine shall prolong his days."Prov. xxviii. 15, 16.
Now it would
be a headstrong prince who would scorn all counsel, and,
refusing to be advised, would himself retire from the
helm of the state. "Where no wise steering is, the
people falleth; but in the multitude of counsellors there
is safety."Prov. xi. 15. The image from steering survives in our own
governor (gubernator).
Setting aside the maxim, "Every purpose
is established by counsel, and by wise guidance make
thou war,"Prov. xx. 18.
his purposes would be disappointed.Prov. xv. 22.
Now
the earth would be burdened and tremble with the
portent of a servant as king,See 1 Kings xvi. 7.
one who as a servant
might be excellent, but once on the throne would reveal
all the weaknesses and vices which are essentially
servile.Prov. xxx. 22.
Now a liar would occupy the throne, and
lying lips ill become a prince.Prov. xvii. 7.
And now, owing to the
weakness and folly of the prince, the state would fall
into pieces and be torn with wildly contending factions:
"For the transgression of a land many are the princes
thereof, but by a man of understanding and knowledge
right will be prolonged."Prov. xxviii. 2.
Under the rule of the
wicked, population disappears.Prov. xxviii. 12.
And while "in the
multitude of people is the king's glory, in the want of
people is the destruction of the prince."Prov. xiv. 28.
Under the
tyrant's sway "the people sigh."Prov. xxix. 2.
Their persons are
insecure, and their property is taken from them in the
form of forced gifts or benevolences.Prov. xxix. 4.
And as the king,
such are his servants; his readiness to hearken to
falsehood renders them all wicked.Prov. xxix. 12. Cf. Ecclesiasticus x. 2: "As the judge of the
people is himself, so are his officers; and what manner of man the
ruler of the city is, such are they also that dwell therein."
The atmosphere
of the court becomes corrupt: all truth, sincerity, purity
disappear. The courtier is afraid to speak his mind,
lest jealous listeners should report the words to the
monarch's suspicious ear. The very freedom of social
life disappears, and the table of the king becomes a trap
to the unwary. "When thou sittest to eat with a ruler,
consider diligently him that is before thee, and put a
knife to thy throat if thou be a man given to appetite;
be not desirous of his dainties, seeing they are deceitful
meat."Prov. xxiii. 1-3. Cf. the Eastern adage, "Dainties of a king
burn the lips." It was a common occurrence at the court of Pope
Alexander VI. to invite an obnoxious person to the Papal table and
there dispose of him by means of poisoned food.
Here is the complete and absolute corruption of the
Divine royalty. The description holds true age after
age; suggested by the decline of the monarchy in Israel,
it applies accurately to the Imperial government at
Rome, and it might have been written to describe the
character and the government of the Stuarts in England.
Strong in what they supposed to be their Divine Right,
they became liars and hearkened to falsehood; their
servants became wicked; their government perished
from its own inherent rottenness. The description
holds too of the French monarchy from the time of
Louis XIV. to its fall. And it would seem, as indeed we
may confidently believe, that the slow and imperceptible
decay of the faith in the divine right of kings has been
in God's hands a long preparation for the reign of
Him whose right it is to reign, Jesus Christ, the true
King of men.
But there is still one other characteristic cause of
the perverted kingship, to which attention is drawn in
xxxi. 2-8: "Give not thy strength unto women, nor
thy ways to that which destroyeth kings. It is not
for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine,
nor for princes to say, Where is strong drink? Lest
they drink and forget the law, and pervert the judgment
of any that is afflicted." These fleshly vices are
peculiarly common and peculiarly ruinous to kings,
preventing them from pleading "the cause of such as
are left desolate," and from "ministering judgment to
the poor and needy."Prov. xxxi. 8, 9.
It is in realizing the private
life of kings, and in observing how seldom they have
practised temperance, chastity, self-control, and how
readily their contemporaries and even posterity have
dispensed them from these primary obligations, that
we plainly recognise the broad divergence between
the facts of earthly monarchies and the description
of the heavenly monarchy, and thus are prepared to
recognise with gratitude and awe the sole sovereignty
of Christ. The cry of the Florentines under the temporary
excitement created by Savonarola's preaching
was, "Jesus is our King, only Jesus." That is the
constant and ever-swelling cry of human hearts. The
types and shadows fall away; through the forms the
spirit becomes apparent. It is Christ that claims and
wins and enchains our loyalty. We are His subjects,
He is our absolute Lord; we have no king but Jesus.
There is in every human heart a loyalty which seeks
for a fitting object; if it finds no lawful king, it will
attach itself to a pretender. What pathos there is in
the sacrifice which men have made, and in the deeds
which they have dared, for Pretenders who have had no
claim upon their devotion or allegiance! "Show me my
rightful sovereign," seems to be the implicit demand
of us all. And the answer has been given, "Behold,
your king cometh unto you," in the lowly person, but
commanding majesty, of Jesus. Many have accepted
this and have cried, "Blessed is the king that cometh
in the name of the Lord."Luke xix. 38.
Shall we not bring our loyalty to Him, recognising
the One whom prophets and wise men foretold, and
acknowledging in His sway the authority which all
other governments, even the best of them, lack? Let
no false shame or fear restrain our homage; let not
the sneers of those over whom "other lords have dominion"
keep our knees from bending, and our tongues
from confessing, "The fear of man bringeth a snare;
but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe.
Many seek the ruler's favour,"—their whole thought is
to stand well with the powers that be, and to secure
the recognition of the Pretender who happens at any
given moment to be directing the affairs of the world,—"but
a man's judgment cometh from the Lord," his
rightful King,Prov. xxix. 25, 26.
and to stand right with Him is all
that need concern us. How well the King of men
understood that because He came in humility—His
birthplace a manger, His throne a fishing-boat or a
wayside well, riding not in chariots of state, "but on an
ass, and the foal of an ass;" because His appeal would
be, not to the eye, but to the heart; not to the outward,
but the inward; not to the temporal, but to the eternal,—men,
with their perverted and misapplied loyalties,
would reject Him and be ashamed to confess Him.
False kingships have dazzled our eyes, and hidden
from us the grandeur of a Sovereign who is among us
as one that serveth. From the touch of His humiliation
we shrink.
But if the heart recognises and owns its lawful
Sovereign; if, captivated by His indescribable beauty
and bowed before His indisputable authority, it seeks
only in profound obeisance and absolute surrender, to
worship and adore and serve, how royal is His treatment,
how unstinted are His largesses. "Come up
hither," He says, bringing the soul higher and higher,
into fuller vision, into more buoyant life, into more
effectual service. The evil ruler, we saw, made all
his servants wicked. Christ, as King, makes all His
servants holy, dwelling in them, and subduing their
hearts to Himself in ever truer devotion; He through
them carries out His vast designs of love in those
portions of His dominion where rebels still rise up
against Him, and where poor deluded hearts still
fretfully cry, "We will not have this Man to rule over
us." "In the multitude of people is the king's glory."
May God hasten the time when all peoples and tongues
shall bow down to and worship our King!
XXVI.
THE FOOL.
"As snow in summer, and as rain in harvest, so honour is not
seemly for a fool....
A whip for the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the back
of fools.
Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest thou also be like unto
him.
Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own
conceit.
He that sendeth a message by the hand of a fool cutteth off his
own feet, and drinketh in damage.
The legs of the lame hang loose: so is a parable in the mouth of
fools.
As a bag of gems in a heap of stones, so is he that giveth honour
to a fool.
As a thorn that goeth up into the hand of a drunkard, so is a
parable in the mouth of fools.
As an archer that woundeth all, so is he that hireth the fool and
he that hireth them that pass by.
As a dog that returneth to his vomit, so is a fool that repeateth
his folly.
Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? there is more hope
of a fool than of him."—Prov. xxvi. 1, 3-12.
This passage points out certain characteristics of
the fool, a term which occurs so frequently in
the book of Proverbs that we must try to conceive
clearly what is to be understood by it. The difficulty
of forming a distinct conception arises from the fact
that there are three different words, with different
shades of meaning, all rendered by the one English
expression, fool or folly. For want of carefully distinguishing
these delicate varieties of the original, some
of the proverbs appear in English tautological and
almost meaningless. We must try then to separate
and to understand these several terms.
The Hebrew word which most frequently occurs in
the book to designate fool, אֶוִיל, together with its derivative,
which is the usual word for folly, אִוֶּלֶת, signifies
weakness. We are to think of that ignorant, inconsiderate,
sanguine, and self-confident temper which
eschews counsel, which will have its own way, which
declines to be governed by reason, which forms fond
expectations and baseless hopes, and which is always
sure that everything will turn out according to its wish,
though it takes no means to secure the desired result.
Perhaps the simplest way of describing the habit of mind
and the type of character intended by the Hebrew is
to use the word infatuation. This would not do as a
translation in all the passages where it occurs, but it
will serve to point out the underlying idea.
The word which comes next in frequency, כְּמִיל,—the
word used uniformly throughout the particular passage
before us,—has at its root the notion of grossness, the
dull and heavy habit of one whose heart has waxed
fat, whose ears are slow to hear, and whose higher
perceptions and nobler aspirations have succumbed to
the sensual and earthly nature. We have to think of
moral, as well as mental, stupidity, of insensibility to
all that is true and good and pure. The fool in this
sense is such a dullard that he commits wickedness
without perceiving it,Prov. x. 23.
and utters slanders almost
unconsciously;Prov. x. 18.
he does not know when to be silent;Prov. xii. 23.
whatever is in him quickly appears,Prov. xiv. 33.
but when it is
known it is very worthless;Prov. xiv. 7.
nor has he the sense to
get wisdom, even when the opportunity is in his hand;Prov. xvii. 16.
his best advantages are quickly wasted and he is none
the better.Prov. xxi. 20.
Perhaps the English word which best fits
the several suggestions of the Hebrew one is senseless.
The third term, נָבָל, occurs only four times in the
book. It is derived from a verb signifying to fade and
wither. It describes the inward shrinking and shrivelling
of a depraved nature, the witlessness which results
from wickedness. It contains in itself a severer censure
than the other two. Thus "He that begetteth
a senseless man (כְּמִיל) doeth it to his sorrow, but the
father of the bad fool (נָבָל) hath no joy."Prov. xvii. 21.
In the one
case there is trouble enough, in the other there is
nothing but trouble. Thus it is one of the four things
for which the earth trembles when a man of this kind
is filled with meat.Prov. xxx. 22.
This third character is sketched
for us in the person of Nabal, whose name, as Abigail
says, is simply the Hebrew word for fool in its worst
sense, which fits exactly to its bearer. But dismissing
this type of folly which is almost synonymous with
consummate wickedness, of which indeed it is the outcome,
we may turn to the distinction we have drawn
between infatuation and senselessness in order to
explain and understand some of the Proverbs in which
the words occur.
First of all we may notice how difficult it is to get
rid of the folly of infatuation: "Though thou shouldest
bray a person possessed of it in a mortar with a pestle
among bruised corn, yet will it not depart from him."Prov. xxvii. 22.
"It is bound up in the heart of a child,"Prov. xxii. 15.
and the
whole object of education is to get it out; but if childhood
passes into manhood, and the childish wilfulness,
self-confidence, and irrationality are not expelled, the
case is well-nigh hopeless. Correction is practically
useless; "He must be a thorough fool," it has been
said, "who can learn nothing from his own folly;" but
that is precisely the condition of the infatuated people
we are considering; the only correction of their infatuation
is a further increase of it.Prov. xvi. 22.
The reason is practically
choked; the connection between cause and effect
is lost: thus every ill consequence of the rash act or
of the vicious habit is regarded as a misfortune instead
of a fault. The wretched victim of his own folly reviles
fortune, nature, men, and even God, and will not
recognise that his worst enemy is himself. Thus, while
the wise are always learning and growing rich from
experience, "the infatuation of senseless men is infatuation
still."Prov. xiv. 24. This seems simpler than supposing that the clause
אִוֶּלֶת אִוֶּלֶת כְּמִילִים contains a play upon the possible double meaning
of אִוֶּלֶת, which, though it yields an excellent sense,—"the power of
fools is only folly," i.e., when they have power they turn it only to a
foolish account (cf. xxvi. 1),—must be regarded as very obscure,
especially seeing that we have no positive instance of אִוֶּלֶת as a
derivative of אוּל in the sense of "power."
It is this which makes them so
hopeless to deal with; their vexation being quite
irrational, and always refusing to recognise the obvious
facts, is worse than a heavy stone or the piled-up overweight
of sand for others to bear.Prov. xxvii. 3.
If a wise man
has a case with such a person, the ill-judged fury and
the misplaced laughter alike make it impossible to
arrive at any sound settlement.Prov. xxix. 9.
The untrained, undisciplined nature, which thus
declines the guidance of reason and is unteachable
because of its obstinate self-confidence, is constantly
falling into sin. Indeed, strictly speaking, its whole
attitude is sinful, its every thought is sin.Prov. xxiv. 9.
For reason
is God's gift, and to slight it is to slight Him. He
requires of us a readiness to be taught, and an openness
to the lessons which are forced upon us by Nature, by
experience, by our own human hearts. This flighty,
feather-brained, inconsequential mode of thinking and
living, the wilful neglect of all the means by which we
might grow wiser, and the confident assurance that,
whatever happens, we are not accountable for it, are
all an offence against God, a failure to be what we
ought to be, a missing of the mark, a neglect of the
law, which is, in a word, sin.
But now let us look at the fool in the second signification,
which occurs in this twenty-sixth chapter so
frequently,—the man who has become spiritually gross
and insensible, unaware of Divine truths and consequently
obtuse to human duties. We may take the
proverbs in the order in which they occur. "As snow
in summer, and as rain in harvest, so honour is not
seemly for a fool." It is a melancholy fact that the
kind of person here referred to is too often found in
positions of honour among men. Men rise to distinction
in an artificial order of society, not by wisdom, but by
the accident of birth and opportunity; and not unfrequently
the ill-placed honour itself leads to that
insensibility which is so severely censured. The crass
dulness, the perversity of judgment, the unfeeling
severity, often displayed by prominent and distinguished
persons, are no matter of surprise, and will not be,
until human society learns to bring its honours only
to the wise and the good. "Delicate living is not
seemly for such persons."Prov. xix. 10.
It is precisely the comfort,
the dignity, the exaltation, which prove their ruin.
Now it is true that we cannot always trace the effects
of this misplaced honour, but we are reminded that
it is out of the course of Nature's eternal laws, incongruous
as snow in summer, hurtful as rain in harvest.
Consequently the due penalty must inevitably come.
According to one reading of ver. 2, this penalty which
overtakes the exalted fool is thus described:This is reading לוֹ for לֹא, a constant source of confusion and
interchange in Hebrew MSS.
"As the
sparrow in her wandering, and the swallow in her
flying, so a gratuitous curse shall come upon him."
In any case ver. 3 states clearly enough what will
eventually happen: "A whip for the horse, a bridle
for the ass, and a rod for the back of fools." It is
not, of course, that this penalty can be remedial, but
Nature herself prepares a "rod for the back of him
that is void of understanding;"Prov. x. 13.
"As judgments are
prepared for scorners, so are stripes for the back of
fools."Prov. xix. 29.
Nor must we only understand this of fools
that attain to unnatural honour: there are many
dullards and insensates who are not made such by the
stupidity of misdirected admiration, but by their own
moral delinquencies; and as surely as the sparrow after
flitting about all day returns to her nest in the dusk,
or as the swallow in the long summer flight arrives
at her appointed place, the punishment of folly will
find out the delinquent. It may be long delayed, but
an awakening comes at last; the man who hardened
his heart, who turned away from the pleadings of God
and mocked at His judgments, who chose the vanishing
things of time and scorned the large fruition of eternity,
discovers his incredible stupidity, and the lash of remorse
falls all the more heavily because it is left in the
hand of conscience alone.
"Quos divi conscia facti
Mens habet attonitos et surdo verbere cædit,
Occultum quatiente animo tortore flagellum."
—Juv., Sat., xiii., 193.
We must never lose sight
of the fact that by the fool is not meant the simple or
the short-witted; there is in this folly of the proverbs
a moral cause and a moral responsibility which involve
a moral censure; the senseless of whom we are speaking
are they whose "heart is waxed gross, and their
ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have
closed; lest haply they should perceive with their eyes,
and hear with their ears, and understand with their
heart."Matt. xiii. 15.
We are in the main obliged to leave the insensate
to God and their conscience, because it is well-nigh
impossible for us to deal with them. They are
intractable and even savage as wild animals. "Let a
bear robbed of her whelps meet a man, rather than a
fool in his infatuation."Prov. xvii. 12.
They are irritated with any
suggestion of spiritual things, indignant with any hint
of their own case and its responsibilities. If, on the
one hand, you try to approach them on their own
ground, to realize their motives and work upon the
base ideas which alone influence such minds, you seem
to lose all power over them by coming down to their
level. "Answer not a fool according to his infatuation,
lest thou also be like him."Prov. xxvi. 4.
If, on the other hand, you
feel bound to convict him of his folly, and to humble
him to a sense of his position, you are obliged to use
the language which will be intelligible to him. "Answer
a fool according to his infatuation, lest he be wise in his
own eyes."Prov. xxvi. 5.
I recollect one Sunday afternoon passing
by a large village public-house, and it chanced that a
little group of street preachers were doing their best to
make known the Gospel to the idlers who were sitting
on the benches outside. Going up to interest the men
in what was being said, I was confronted by the landlord,
who was in a state of almost frenzied indignation.
He denounced the preachers as hypocrites and scoundrels,
who lived on the honest earnings of those whom
he saw around him. Every attempt to bring him to
reason, to show that the men in question spent their
money on drink and not on the preachers, to secure
a patient hearing for the gracious message, was met
only with violent abuse directed against myself. The
man was precisely what is meant in these verses by a
fool, one in whom all spiritual vision was blinded by
greed and sensuality, in whom the plainest dictates
of common sense and human courtesy were silenced;
to answer him in his own vein was the only way of
exposing his folly, and yet to answer him in such a
way was to come down to his own level. What could
be done except to leave him to the judgments which
are prepared for scorners and to the stripes which
await the back of fools? A fool uttereth all his anger,
and facing the torrent of angry words it is impossible
to effectually carry home to him any wholesome
truth.Prov. xxix. 11.
We have seen how the kind of man that we are
describing is in an utterly false position when any
dignity or honour is attributed to him; indeed, to give
such honour is much the same as binding a stone in a
sling to be immediately slung out again, probably to
some one's injury;Prov. xxvi. 8.
but he is almost equally useless in
a subordinate position. If, for instance, he is employed
as a messenger, he is too dull to rightly conceive or
correctly report the message. He will almost certainly
colour it with his own fancies, if he does not pervert
it to his own ends. To receive and to deliver any
message accurately requires a certain truthfulness in
perception and in speech of which this unfortunate
creature is entirely devoid. Thus any one who employs
him in this capacity might as well cut off his
own feet, as he drinks damage to himself.Prov. xxvi. 6.
It is the awful punishment which comes to us all,
when we allow our heart to wax gross, that wisdom
itself becomes folly in our lips, and truth herself
becomes error. Thus if we know a proverb, or a text,
or a doctrine, we are sure to give it a lame application,
so that, instead of supporting what we wish to enforce,
it hangs down helpless like a cripple's legs.Prov. xxvi. 7.
In this
way the insensate corruptness of the Mediæval Church
tried to justify the abuse of giving great ecclesiastical
preferments to young children by quoting the text,
"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast
perfected praise." Sometimes the result of this culpable
stupidity is far more disastrous; it is like "a thorn
which runs up into a drunkard's hand," visiting with
terrible condemnation those who have misused and
perverted the truth,Prov. xxvi. 9.
as when Torquemada and the
administrators of the Inquisition based their diabolical
conduct on the gracious words of the Lord, "Compel
them to come in." No, the fool's heart can give no
wholesome message; it will turn the very message of
the Gospel into a curse and a blight, and by its dull
and revolting insensibility it will libel God to man,
suggesting that the Infinite Father, the Eternal God,
is altogether such an one as these who profess to
speak in His name.
The offence of the fool then cannot be condoned on
the ground that he is only an enemy to himself. It is
his master that he wrongs. As the proverb says, "A
master produces all things, but a fool's wages and hirer
too pass away."Prov. xxvi. 10. This rendering Delitzsch obtained by altering the
vowel points in the first שׂכֵר into שְׂכַר, and the sense is good, if a
little far-fetched. On the other hand, the received reading gives a
plain though a somewhat insipid meaning: "Much produces all,"—whoever
has a little and uses it well quickly gets more,—"but he that
hires a fool is as he who hires passers by," i.e. the employment of a fool
is a barren undertaking which practically leads to nothing.
The fool loses what he earns himself:
that is true, but he undoes his employer also.
One is our Master, even Christ; He hires us for
service in His vineyard; when we suffer our heart to
wax dull, when we grow unspiritual, unresponsive, and
insensate, it is not only that we lose our reward, but
we crucify the Son of God afresh and put Him to an
open shame.
And the worst, the most mournful, feature about this
fool's condition is that it tends to a perpetual self-repetition:
"As a dog that returneth to his vomit, so a
fool is always repeating his folly."Prov. xxvi. 11.
Every hardening
of the heart prepares for a fresh hardening, every
refusal of truth will lead to another refusal. Last
Sunday you managed to evade the message which God
sent you: that makes it much easier to evade the
message He sends you to-day. Next Sunday you will
be almost totally indifferent. Soon you will get out of
reach altogether of His word, saying it does you no
good. Then you will deny that it is His word or His
message. You pass from folly to folly, from infatuation
to infatuation, until at last you can with a grave face
accept the monstrous self-contradiction of materialism,
or wallow unresisting in the slime of a tormenting
sensuality. "As the dog returns to his vomit"!
It must be owned that the condition of the fool
seems sufficiently sad, and the gloom is deepened by
the fact that our book knows nothing of a way by
which the fool may become wise. The Proverbs
uniformly regard the foolish and the wise as generically
distinct; between the two classes there is a great gulf
fixed. There is the fool, trusting in his own heart,
incurring stripes, not profiting by them, always the
same incorrigible and hopeless creature; and there is
the wise man, always delivered, learning from experience,
becoming better and better.Prov. xxviii. 26; cf. ix. 8 and xxiii. 9.
The only suggestion
of hope is a comparative one: "Seest thou a man wise
in his own conceit? there is more hope of a fool
than of him."Prov. xxvi. 12.
But there is no tone of confidence about
this assurance, because, as we have repeatedly seen,
the case of the proud or conceited man is regarded
as practically desperate.
No, for comfort and hope in this matter we have to
turn away from the Ancient Wisdom to the revealed
Wisdom, Christ Jesus. It is He and He alone who
practically forbids us to be hopeless about any one. A
noble Roman in the time of the Punic Wars received
an honourable recognition from the Senate because he
had not in the darkest times despaired of the Republic.
That is the kind of debt that we owe to the Saviour.
He has not despaired of any human being; He will
not let us despair. It is His peculiar power, tried
and proved again and again, to turn the fool into the
wise man. Observing the threefold distinction which
is hidden under the word we have been examining,
Christ is able to arouse the weak, fond, infatuated
soul to a sense of its need. Could there be a better
instance than that of the woman at the well,—a foolish
creature living in conscious sin, yet full of specious
religious talk? Did He not awake in her the thirst for
the living water, and satisfy the craving which He had
excited? Christ is able to transform the dull and
heavy soul, that has suffered itself to be mastered
by greed and petrified by selfishness. Was not
this what He did to Zaccheus the publican? And
even with that worst kind of fool, whose heart is
withered up within him by reason of sin, and who has
learnt to say in his heart that there is no God,נָבָל, Psalm xiv. 1.
the
Lord is not helpless. We do not see such an one in
the pages of the New Testament, because the folly of
Atheism was not among the follies of those times. But
in our own day it is an experience by no means uncommon;
when an avowed infidel comes under the
power of the Gospel, Christ enters into him with
the overwhelming conviction that there is a God;
Christ shows him how it is sin which has thus obscured
the elementary conviction of the human spirit; and, by
the direct power of Christ, his heart comes to him
again as that of a little child, while in the rapturous
joy of believing he lays aside the folly which made him
doubt along with the sin which made him unwilling to
believe.
XXVII.
LIVING DAY BY DAY.
"Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day
will bring forth."—Prov. xxvii. 1.
"The grave and destruction are never satisfied; and the eyes of
men are never satisfied;" and LXX. adds, "An abomination to the
Lord is he who sets his eye, and undisciplined men uncontrolled in
tongue."—Prov. xxvii. 20.
"Whoso keepeth the fig tree shall eat the fruit thereof, so he that
waits on his Lord eats of the honour."—Prov. xxvii. 18.
Here is a wholesome lesson for us. We are to
trust no future, however pleasant; we are to
dwell in no past, however honourable. Life consists of
a present, given to us day by day; this is our whole
wealth; squandered, it cannot be recovered; neglected,
it withers as a leaf. Titus, the Roman Emperor, would
say in the evening, when he had omitted his duties or
failed in his purposes, Perdidi diem, "I have lost a
day;"—yes, that lost day is lost for ever; other days
may come, but not that one; the duties of that day may
be performed afterwards or by other hands, but still
the day is lost, because it passed away empty. The
thief which cheats us of our days, and beggars us of
our wealth, is the specious thought that to-morrow
belongs to us. The illusion is as old as the world, but
is to-day as fresh and powerful as ever. We have to
shake ourselves free of a spell, and awake out of a
dream, to see that when to-morrow comes it is already
to-day.
We only begin to live in any true and satisfactory
sense when we have learnt to take each day by itself,
and to use it as if it were our last, and indeed as if it
were our all; dismissing the thought of to-morrow as a
mere phantom which for ever evades our grasp. Life is
a mosaic, a large work shaping on the wall or in the dome
of some vast cathedral which eye hath not yet seen;
and it can only be effectually wrought if, with minute
and concentrated care, the little piece of coloured glass
which we call To-day is duly fixed into its bedding and
fitted exactly to its immediate neighbours. "Why do
you work with such intensity?" the great artist was
once asked; "Because I work for eternity," was the
answer. And that is why each day is of such importance;
that is why each day demands all our thought
and care: eternity is made up of days, and the present
day is all of eternity that we can ever possess.
It is well for us then each morning to take the day
fresh from God's hands, and at once to throw our whole
soul into it, and to live it with a pure intensity, a sense
of solemn and joyful responsibility.
"Oh, Day, if I squander a wavelet of thee,
A mite of my twelve-hours' treasure,
The least of thy gazes or glances
(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure),
One of thy choices or one of thy chances
(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks of thy pleasure),—
My Day, if I squander such labour or leisure,
Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me."Browning, Pippa Passes.
But it may be said, Is not this the life of a mere butterfly?
Is it not the mark of a prudent man to work with
his eye on the future,—"Prepare thy work without, and
make it ready for thee in the field, and afterwards
build thine house"?Prov. xxiv. 27.
Is it not just what we have to
complain of in the foolish man that he ignores to-morrow,—"A
prudent man seeth the evil and hideth himself, but
the simple pass on and suffer for it"?Prov. xxii. 3; xxvii. 12.
Here is an apparent contradiction which requires
reflection. And the difficulty increases when we
remember that most worthy works are the labour of
years: an architect lays his plans for a great building
which he can hardly hope to see finished in his own
lifetime; an author spends days and months and years
in the preparation of materials, and must depend on
the uncertain future for a time to shape them into a
book; a statesman, in proportion as he is wise, avoids
what is called a hand-to-mouth policy, and lays his
plans with his eye on distant possibilities, well
knowing that his immediate actions are liable to misunderstanding,
and may prove to be a complete failure
unless the opportunity is accorded him of realizing his
far-reaching schemes. And, in the same way, youth is
spent in education which derives all its value from the
expected years of manhood, and all the days of a good
life are necessarily a preparation for that which is to
come after: we must study in order that we may
teach; we must train ourselves for duties which will
come upon us, as we may reasonably suppose, in some
distant future. Yet our to-morrow is unknown; we are
not to boast ourselves of it; we cannot tell what a day
may bring forth, and must therefore live only in to-day.
Now the solution of this difficulty leads us to one
of the profoundest of all spiritual truths. It is this:
No life can be worth anything at all apart from the
Eternal God, and faith in Him. Life cannot be really
lived if it is merely "a measure of sliding sand" taken
"from under the feet of the years." Our swift days
cannot be effectually and wisely used unless we are
linked with Him who embraces in Himself the past,
the present, and the future. Our work, whatever it
may be, cannot be rightly done unless we are, and
know ourselves to be, in the great Taskmaster's sight.
The proper use of each day can only be made if we
are confident that our times are in His hands; only
in this quiet assurance can we have composure and
detachment of spirit enough to give our whole strength
to the duty in hand. We must be sure that the Master-Artist
knows the whole mosaic, and is ordering all the
parts, before we can surrender ourselves to the task of
putting to-day's piece into its place; we must have
complete faith in the Architect who is designing the
whole structure, before we can have our mind at
leisure from itself to chip our block of stone or to
carve our tiny gurgoyle. We can only live in the
present, making the most of that which is really ours,
on condition that we have God as our Future, relieving
us of all anxious care, and assuring to us just strength
for to-day.
Thus our text has an implied contrast, which we
may draw out in this way: "Boast not thyself of
to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may
bring forth;" but boast thyself in God all the day long,Psalm xliv. 8.
for thou knowest that He will bring forth righteousness,
wisdom, and love continually.
Now let us follow out some of the consequences of
this spiritual attitude. Examine the condition of these
restless human hearts all around us without God.
They are all toiling for to-morrow. Here is one making
money, as it is called; he is looking forward to laying
aside so many thousands this year; in a few more
years he hopes to realize a round sum which will
relieve him from the necessity of toil and of further
money-making. His eye is set upon that goal. At
last he reaches it. Now his desire should be satisfied,
but no, "Sheol and Abaddon are never satisfied,
and the eyes of man are never satisfied."Prov. xxvii. 20.
He does
not stay a night at the desired goal; he is off before
sunset; all the strain and the fret must be faced
over again. Or look at the boundless ambition which
possesses godless men; honours achieved only whet
their appetite for more. We need not assume that the
ambition is unworthy; all we have to notice is its
insatiability; in politics, in literature, in art, in social
distinction, it is like Sheol and Abaddon,—a maw that
ever opens; a gulf that can swallow anything and
everything, yet never be filled. The LXX. additionSee heading of chapter.
seems to regard this uncontrolled desire as the mark
of deficient culture; and, spiritually speaking, no doubt
it is. Men without God are always uncultured; they
have not found the centre of their being, they have not
procured the key-stone to their accumulated knowledge,
and it is in consequence, not an arch through
which they can travel to any goal, but a confused pile
which blocks the way. These desperate strivings and
loud-tongued, undisciplined desires are an abomination
to the Lord, because they mar His mighty plan and
introduce disorder where He intended order, discord
where He intended harmony, deformity where He
intended beauty. They are the work of egoism instead
of theism.
It is needless to dwell upon the heart-sores and
the disappointments which fall to the lot of the people
whom we are thinking of. What ghastly mockery
the morrows on which they counted prove to be! In
some lonely and rocky island, girdled by the moaning
of the dreary seas, and cut off from all the interests
which gave to life its excitement, egotism ends its
days. Or it is on some restless couch, surrounded
by all the outward trappings of wealth and power, that
the dying spirit cries, "My kingdom for an inch of time!"
The man who by his brilliant genius has drawn all his
generation after him passes, bearing "through Europe
the pageant of his bleeding heart," to a hopeless grave.
The woman who has achieved the end of her ambition,
ruling the courts of fashion, the acknowledged queen
of salons, ends her days with a sense of frustration,
cynical in her contempt for the world which was foolish
enough to follow and admire her.
But, on the other hand, here is one who boasts
himself in God.
"Lord, it belongs not to my care,"
is the language of his spirit,
"Whether I die or live;
To love and serve Thee is my share,
And that Thy grace must give."
The first thing that strikes you in him in his perfect
peace. His mind is stayed on God. The future has
no terrors for him, nor has it any joys. God is all
in all to him, and God is his now. His treasure is in
possession, and moth and rust do not corrupt it, nor
can thieves break through or steal. To say that he
is contented seems too mild a term for so positive and
joyous a calm. But in contrast with the discontent
which prevails everywhere outside of God, it is worth
while to dilate on this passive virtue of contentment.
That endless worry about little things has ceased:
he is not annoyed because some one fails to recognise
him; he is not affected by the malicious or scandalous
things which are said about him; he is not anxious
for human recognition, and is therefore never distressed
because others are more courted than he is; he knows
nothing of that malignant passion of jealousy which
is worse than the cruelty of wrath and the flooding of
anger;Prov. xxvii. 4.
he does not want wealth and he does not
dread poverty. He says:—
"Some have too much, yet still do crave;
I little have, and seek no more:
They are but poor though much they have,
And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I leave; they pine, I live."Sir Edward Dyer (b. 1540).
When we have entered into this Divine content and
are made by our absolute trust in God free from care
for the future, it is wonderful how quick we become
to see good in apparent evils. To the world this is
so incredible that it suspects insincerity, but there is
nothing more sincere and more real. A poor child
who was blind found the greatest blessing in the affliction,
saying, "You see, I can give more to the Missionary
Society than the other children, because I can knit in
the dark, and have not to spend money on candles."
You go to one of God's children expecting to find
him broken down and rebellious under some great
and undeserved calamity, but you find that he has
discovered a blessing in the loss before you get there,
and is actually rejoicing, or at any rate he is replying
to all provocations, "The Lord gave and the Lord took
away; blessed be the name of the Lord." He is
afflicted, but you cannot think of him as afflicted, for
"all the days of the afflicted are evil, but he that is
of a cheerful spirit hath a continual feast."Prov. xv. 15.
Yes, it is that illusive and imaginary morrow that
robs us of our peace; it is the misgiving, the anxious
care, the dark foreboding. But when we put God our
Father in place of the morrow, and know that He
comprehends and sees all that we have need of, the
peace which passes all understanding settles down
upon our spirit, and steals into our eyes, and breathes
on our lips, and men perceive even in us why our
Father is called "the God of Peace."
The second thing which strikes us in those who have
learnt to make their boast in God rather than in the
morrow is the service which they render to their fellows.
This is not only because they are able to turn their
undivided attention to the duty which lies nearest, and
to do with all their heart what their hand finds to do,
but the very spirit of serenity in which they live is a
constant help and blessing to all who are around them.
It may have been given to you to come into contact
with such a soul; in his presence your restlessness
dies away, it seems as if your burning brow had been
touched with a soothing hand; perhaps "with half-open
eyes you were treading the borderland dim 'twixt
vice and virtue," and that quiet spirit seemed like a
clear shaft of the dawn revealing where you trod;
perhaps you were heart-broken with a great sorrow,
and the restfulness and confidence of that strong soul
gave you an indefinable consolation, hope broke into
your heart, and even joy. In receiving that help from
what the man was rather than from what he gave,
you became aware that this was the highest service
that any human being can render to another. It is a
great thing to succour the physical and material sufferings
of men; it is a greater to bring them clear
truths and to give them some stimulus and guidance
in the intellectual life; but it is greatest of all to communicate
spiritual sustenance and power, for that means
to bring souls into actual and conscious contact with
God.
One of the noblest examples of this service to
humanity is furnished in the life and the writings of
St. Paul. His personal presence became the new
creation of that ancient heathen civilisation, and countless
individual souls were, through the inner life which
he presented, brought to a complete change and made
new creatures in Christ. His writings have been, ever
since he died, a constant source of life and strength to
many generations of men. He has been misunderstood,
"the ignorant and unstedfast have wrested" what he
wrote, but none the less he has been to the Church a
perpetual regenerator, and, as a great writerMatthew Arnold.
of our
own day has declared, "The doctrine of Paul will
arise out of the tomb where for centuries it has lain
covered; it will edify the Church of the future; it will
have the consent of happier generations, the applause
of less superstitious ages." Now what is the secret
of this power? It is given in his own words, "For
to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."Phil. i. 21.
He was
able to fling himself with that passionate temerity
into the present duty, he was able to preach the word
with that victorious vigour in season and out of season,
just because the whole burden of the unknown future
was rolled away from him, and he, more than any man
that ever lived, understood what it is to live just for
to-day.
Every Christian may possess the same secret; it is
the open secret of the Sermon on the Mount; as our
gracious Lord told us, we may be as the lilies of the
field and as the birds of the air, without anxiety or
misgiving, knowing that our Heavenly Father cares for
us. It is not given to us all to be great philanthropists,
great reformers, great preachers, but it is put within
the reach of all to render to others the sweet service of
abiding always in trustful and loving submission to
God's will, and of shedding upon all the light of our
peace.
And this leads us to notice one last feature of this
true spiritual life. It has an honour of its own, though
it is not an earthly honour; it has a reward, though
it is not a material reward. "Whoso keepeth the fig
tree shall eat the fruit thereof, and he that waiteth on
his master eats of the honour."Prov. xxvii. 18.
That is a saying
which can only apply in a very modified degree to
earthly service and human masters. How many loyal
servants of kings have been deserted by their lords at
the critical moment, and left to eat the fruit of disgrace
and ignominy! But the saying applies in its fulness to
our Master Christ and His service. Think of the Christian
life under this simple figure; it is like the careful
cultivation of the fruit tree. He is the Vine. Our sole
concern is to keep in touch with Him, to sit at His
feet, to watch for His fruit, to see that no other concern
disturbs the quiet relation of perfect loyalty and devotion
to Him. Our aim is not to do our own business
or seek our own ends, but to be sure that we are
always awake to His purposes and obedient to the
demands which He makes upon us. It is not ours to
reason why, but it is ours to do at all costs whatsoever
He bids us do to-day. We have nothing to do with
to-morrow; we have no responsibility for the fruit, for
no fruit-bearing power lies in us. All we have to do
is to keep the fig tree. Now when we abide in this
concentrated and whole-hearted devotion to our Master,—when
for us to live is Christ,—then honour comes to
us unsought, but not unwelcome. The fruit of service
is to the taste of the true servant the highest honour
that he can imagine. We need no apocalyptic vision
to assure us. His word is enough, confirmed as it
is by a constant and growing experience. The servants
of our Lord already stand before Him, holding
in their hands the talents which they have gained for
Him; already they hear His gracious "Well done,"
and the sound of it is more musical in their ears than
all the acclamations of their fellow-creatures. This is
their honour; what could they have more? they are
counted one with Christ; they shared His travail, and
now they share His satisfaction and His joy.
And thus those who make their boast in God, and
do not boast of the morrow, find that the morrow itself
becomes clear to them in the light of His countenance;
they do in a sense know what it will bring forth: it
will bring forth what they desire, for it will bring forth
their Father's will; it will bring forth the victory and
the glory of Christ. "Henceforth ye shall see Him
coming in the clouds of heaven." Is not that enough?
When our hearts have learnt to hanker only after God's
will, to desire only Christ's victory, they may boast
themselves even of to-morrow; for to-morrow holds in
its bosom an assurance of blessing and joy.
XXVIII.
AN ASPECT OF ATONEMENT.
"He that hideth (מְכַסֶּה) his transgressions shall not prosper; but
whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall obtain mercy."—Prov.
xxviii. 13.
"Happy is the man that feareth alway; but he that hardeneth his
heart shall fall into mischief."—Prov. xxviii. 14.
"The fear of the Lord tendeth to life, and he that hath it shall
abide satisfied. He shall not be visited with evil."—Prov. xix. 23.
"By mercy and truth iniquity is atoned for, and by the fear of the
Lord men depart from evil."—Prov. xvi. 6.
The Hebrew
word (כָּפַר) which is used for the
idea of atonement is one which originally signifies
to cover. Sin is a hideous sore, a shocking deformity,
which must be hidden from the eyes of men, and much
more from the holy eyes of God. Thus the Old Testament
speaks about a Robe of Righteousness which is
to be thrown over the ulcerated and leprous body of
sin. Apart from this covering, the disease is seen
working out its sure and terrible results. "A man
that is laden with the blood of any person shall flee
unto the pit: let no man stay him,"Prov. xxviii. 17.
and though blood-guiltiness
appears to us the worst of sins, all sin is
alike in its issue; every sinner may be seen by seeing
eyes "fleeing unto the pit," and no man can stay him
or deliver him. Or, to vary the image, the sinful man
is exposed to the violence of justice, which beats like
a storm upon all unprotected heads; he needs to be
covered; he needs some shelter, some hiding-place, or
he must be swept away.
But the objection which immediately occurs to us is
this: what is the use of covering sin if the sin itself
remains? The disease is not cured because a decent
garment is drawn over the suffering part; indeed, it is
not hard to conceive a case in which the covering might
aggravate the mischief. If the idea of covering is to be
of any service, it must be cleared from all misconception;
there is a kind of hiding which may be ruinous, a
garment which may drive the disease inward and hasten
its deadly operation, a covert from the storm which
may crush and stifle the person whom it professes to
protect. "He that covereth his transgressions," in that
way, "shall not prosper." Every attempt to conceal
from God or from man or from oneself that one is
diseased with sin is ineffectual: every lame excuse
which seeks to palliate the guilt; every hypocritical
pretence that the thing done has not been done, or
that it is not what men usually suppose it to be; every
ingenious argumentation which seeks to represent sin
as something other than sin, as a mere defect or taint
in the blood, as a hereditary and unavoidable weakness,
as an aberration of the mind for which one is not
responsible, or as a merely conventional and artificial
offence,—all such attempts at hiding must be failures,
"covering" of that kind can be no atonement. Quite
the reverse; this trifling with conscience, this deluded
self-righteousness, is the worst possible aggravation of
the sin. Hidden in that way, though it be, as it were,
in the bowels of the earth, sin becomes a poisonous gas,
more noxious for confinement, and liable to break out
in awful and devastating explosions.
The covering of sinIt may be necessary to point out to the reader that in approaching
the subject of atonement from the standpoint of the book of
Proverbs, and merely in the expository treatment of the passages
before us, the so-called objective ground of atonement in the sacrifice
of Christ does not come into view, but its necessity becomes manifest
as each step in the exposition reveals how impossible it would be for
us, apart from the work of our Lord Jesus Christ, to realize those
conditions which are here laid down as indispensable to pardon and
acceptance with God.
which is spoken of in xvi. 6 is
of a very different and of a quite particular kind. Combining
this verse with the others at the head of the
chapter, we may observe that every effectual "covering"
of sin in God's sight involves three elements,—confession,
forsaking, and a changed practice.
First, there is confession. This appears on the face
of it to be a paradox: the only way of covering sin is
to uncover it. But it is strictly true. We must make
a clean breast of it; we must acknowledge its full
extent and enormity; we must spare the patient ear of
God no detail of our guilt. The foul, explosive gases
must be let out into the open, since every attempt to
confine them increases their destructive power. The
running sore must be exposed to the Physician's eye,
since every rag put over it to hide it becomes steeped
in its defiling tides. It is true, confession is a painful
and a weary task: it is like removing a heap of dust
and refuse by spadefuls,—each bit as it is disturbed fills
the atmosphere with choking particles and noisome
smells; worse and worse is revealed the farther we go.
We came to confess a single fault, and we found that
it was but a broken sherd lying on the foul and pestilential
heap. Confession leads to confession, discovery
to discovery. It is terribly humiliating. "Am I then
so bad as this?" is the horrified cry as each candid
admission shows only more and worse that must be
admitted. True confession can never be made into a
priest's ear,—to men we can only confess the wrongs
which we have done to men; but true confession is the
awful tale of what we have done to God, against whom
only we have sinned and done evil in His sight. It
is sometimes urged that confession to a priest gives the
penitent relief: possibly, but it is a false relief; since
the eye of the priest is not omniscient, the sinner confesses
only what he chooses, brings the broken sherd,
and receives absolution for that in lieu of removing the
whole heap of abominations that underlie. When we
have gone as far as we can in laying ourselves bare to
man, there remain vast untraversed tracts of our life
and our mind which are reserved; "Private road" is
written on all the approaches, and trespassers are invariably
prosecuted. It is only to God that a real
confession can be made, because we know that to Him
all is necessarily evident; with Him no subterfuges
avail; He traverses those untraversed tracts; there are
no private roads from which He is excluded; He knoweth
our thoughts afar off.
The first step in the "covering" of sin is to realize
this. If our sins are to be really covered they must
first be laid bare; we must frankly own that all things
are open to Him with whom we have to do; we must
get away from the priests and into the hands of the
High Priest; we must abjure the confessional and
bring God Himself into the secret places of our hearts
to search us and try us and see if there be any evil
way in us. The reserve, and the veilings, which every
individual cannot but maintain between himself and
all other individuals, must be torn away, in full and
absolute confession to God Himself.
Secondly. There is a confession, especially that
fostered by the habit of confessing to priests, which is
unaccompanied by any forsaking of the evil, or any
departing from iniquity in general. Many times have
men gone to their priests to receive absolution beforehand
for the sin which they intended to commit; or they
have postponed their confession to their deathbeds,
when there will be, as they suppose, no further sins to
turn from. Confession of that kind is devoid of all
significance; it covers no sins, it really only aggravates
them. No confession is of the least avail—and indeed
no real confession can be made to God at all—unless
the heart turns away from the evil which is confessed,
and actually departs at once, so far as it knows and is
able, from all iniquity.
The glib language of confession has been and is a
deadly snare to multitudes. How easy it is to say, or
even to musically chant, "We have done that we ought
not to have done; we have left undone that which we
ought to have done." There is no pain in such a confession
if we once distinctly admit that it is a normal
and natural state of mind for us to be in, and that as
we say it to-day, so we shall say it to-morrow, and
again the next day to the end. But real confession is
so painful, and even heart-rending, because it is only of
value when we begin from that moment onwards "to
do what we ought to do, and to leave undone what we
ought not to do." It is well for us, perhaps, to confess
not so much sin in the abstract as our own particular
transgressions. Sin is too shadowy a monster for us
to definitely avoid and forsake; like death, its kinsman,—Death
of whom Milton says:—
"What seemed his head
The likeness of a kingly crown had on,"—
Sin is formless, vague, impalpable. But our own
individual transgressions can be fixed and defined;
bringing ourselves to the test of the Law, we can
say particularly, "This practice of mine is condemned,
this habit of mine is sinful, this point of my character
is evil, this reticence, this indolence, this reluctance,
in confessing Christ and in serving His cause, is all
wrong;" and then we can definitely turn our back
on the practice or the habit, we can distinctly get rid
of the blot in our character, we can fly this guilty
silence, rouse ourselves from our selfish indolence.
"We live to grow less like what we have been;"
and it is this act of the will, this resolute purpose,
this loathing what once you loved, and turning towards
that which once you ignored,—it is, in a word,
the twin process of repentance and conversion, that
constitutes the second act in this "covering" of sin.
Not, of course, that in a moment the tyranny of old
habits can be broken, or the virtue of new activities
acquired; but "the forsaking" and "the departing
from" are instantaneous exertions of the will. Zaccheus,
directly the Lord speaks to him, stands forth, and breaks
with his sins, renounces his extortions, resolving to
make amends for the past, and enters on a new line
of conduct, promising to give the half of his goods to
the poor. That is the essential seal of every true
confession: "Whoso confesseth and forsaketh" his
transgressions.
Thirdly. This has led us to see that the confession
of sins and the conversion from them must issue in a
positive practice of mercy and truth, in order to make
the process of which we are speaking complete: "By
mercy and truth iniquity is atoned for."
It is this part of the "covering" which is so easily,
so frequently, and so fatally overlooked. It is supposed
that sins can be hidden without being removed,
and that the covering of what is called imputed
righteousness will serve instead of the covering of
actual righteousness. To argue against this view
theoretically is at the present day happily quite superfluous;
but it is still necessary to contend against its
subtle practical effects. There is no verity more
wholesome and more needed than the one contained in
this proverb. Sin may be summed up in two clauses:
it is the Want of Mercy and it is the Want of Truth.
All our illconduct to our fellow-men comes from the
cruelty and hardness of our selfish nature. Lust and
greed and ambition are the outcome of pitilessness;
we injure the weak and ruin the helpless, and trample
on our competitors, and stamp out the poor; our eye
does not pity. Again, all our offence against God is
insincerity or wilful lying. We are false to ourselves,
we are false to one another, and so we become false to
the unseen verities, and false to God. When a human
spirit denies the spiritual world and the spiritual Cause
which can alone account for it, is it not what Plato
used to call "a lie in the soul"? It is the deep inward
and vital contradiction of consciousness; it is equivalent
to saying, "I am not I," or, "That which is, is not."
Now when we have lived in sin, without mercy or
without truth, or without both; when our life up to a
certain point has been a flagrant selfishness of absolute
indifference to our fellows, or a flagrant lie denying
Him in whom we live and move and have our being;
or when, as is so often the fact, the selfishness and
the falseness have gone together, an inextricable and
mutually dependent pair of evils, there can be no real
covering of the sin, unless selfishness gives place to
mercy and falsehood to truth. No verbal confession
can possibly avail, no turning from the past iniquities,
however genuine for the time, can have any permanent
significance, unless the change is a reality, an obvious,
living, and working fact. If a man supposes that he
has become religious, but remains cruel and selfish,
pitiless, unmerciful to his fellow-men, depend upon it
that man's religion is vain; the atonement in which he
trusts is a fiction, and avails no more than the hecatombs
which Carthage offered to Melcarth availed to
gain a victory over Rome. If a man counts himself
saved, but remains radically untrue, false in his speech,
insincere in his professions, careless in his thought
about God, unjust in his opinions about men and the
world, he is certainly under a lamentable delusion.
Though he has, as he thinks, believed, he has not
believed to the saving of his soul; though he has
undergone a change, he has changed from one lie to
another, and is in no way better off. It is by mercy
and truth that iniquity can be covered.
Now it will be generally admitted that we do not
take the course which has just been described unless
we have the fear of God before our eyes. Nothing but
the thought of His holiness and the awe which it
inspires, and in some cases even, nothing but the
absolute terror of Him who can by no means clear the
guilty, moves the heart of man to confession, turns
him away from his sins, or inclines him to mercy and
truth. When the fear of God is removed from men's
eyes they not only continue in sin, but they quickly
come to believe that they have no sins to confess; for
indeed when God is put out of the question that is in a
certain sense true. It is a mere fact of observation,
confirmed now by many changing experiences of
humanity, that it is "by the fear of the Lord men
depart from iniquity;" and it is very significant to
notice how many of those who have entirely put away
the fear of the Lord from their own eyes have strongly
advocated keeping it before the eyes of others as
the most convenient and economical police resource.Voltaire rose once from the table at Ferney, where some
atheists were discussing their views. He said he could not let his
servants hear this talk, for they would rob and murder him if that
was true.
Many fervent free-thinkers are thankful that their
opinions are only held by a minority, and have no
wish to see the whole of society committed to the cult
which they would have us believe is all that their own
religious nature requires.
But supposing that any one of us is led into the
position of confession and conversion and amendment
which is described in these Proverbs: what follows?
That person, says the text, "shall obtain mercy." The
gracious Father immediately, unconditionally, and absolutely
pardons. This is the burden of the Old Testament,
and it is certainly not repealed by the New. "If we
confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us
our sins." "Repent, and be converted," said St. Peter
to the crowd at Pentecost, "that your sins may be
blotted out." The New Testament is indeed on this
point the louder and the clearer echo of the Old. The
New Testament explains that saying which sounds so
strange in the mouth of a perfectly just and Holy God,
"I, even I, am He that blotteth out thy transgressions
for Mine own sake."Isa. xliii. 25.
Human theologies have imagined
obstacles in the way, but God never admitted
them for a moment. Clear as the truth that the soul
which sins should die, was the promise that the soul
which turned from its sin, and did that which is righteous
in the eyes of the Lord, should live. No earthly father,
frankly and unconditionally forgiving his penitent,
sobbing child, could be so prompt, so eager as God.
While the prodigal is yet a great way off the Father
runs to meet him, and hides all his broken confessions
in the rush of His embrace.
But we hesitate to admit and rejoice in this grand
truth because of an uneasy fear that it is ignoring what
is called the Atonement of Christ. It is a very proper
hesitation, so long as we settle it within ourselves that
these sweet and beautiful utterances of the Old Testament
cannot possibly be limited or reversed by that
Gospel which came to give effect and fulfilment to them.
Is not the solution of any difficulty that has occurred
to us to be found here? The sacrifice and the work
of Christ create in the human soul those conditions
which we have been considering. He came to give
repentance unto Israel. It is His patient love in
bearing all our infirmities and sins, His mysterious
self-offering on the Cross, that can effectually bring
us to confession, conversion, and amendment. Our
hearts may have been hard as the nether millstone,
but at the Cross they are broken and melted. No
stern denunciation of sin has ever moved our stubbornness;
but as we realize what sin did to Him, when
He became sin for us, the fear of the Lord falls upon
us, we tremble, and cry, What shall we do to be
saved? Then again, it is His perfect holiness, the
beauty of those "stainless years He passed beneath
the Syrian blue," which wakes in us the hankering
desire for purity and goodness, and makes us turn
with a genuine disgust from the sins which must seem
so loathsome in His sight. His "neither do I condemn
thee; go, and sin no more," gives us a more burning
hatred of sin than all the self-righteous censures and
condemnations of the Pharisees. It is in the pages of
the Gospels that we have first understood what concrete
goodness is; it has risen upon our night like a clear,
liquid star, and the passion of it has entered into our
souls. And then, finally, it is the Risen Lord, unto
whom all power is given in heaven and in earth, that
can really transform our nature, flood our heart with
love, and fill our mind with truth, so that, in the
language of the proverb, mercy and truth may atone
for iniquity.
Is it not because Christ by His coming, by His
living, by His dying, by His risen power, produces in
the believer repentance and confession of sins, conversion
and departing from sin, regeneration and actual
holiness, that we say He has covered our sins? What
meaning can be attached to Atonement apart from its
effects? And in what other way, we may ask, could
He really give us such a covering or atonement, than
by creating in us a clean heart and renewing a right
spirit within us? Sometimes, by a not unnatural
confusion of language, we speak of the sacrificial death
of our Lord as if it, apart from the effects produced in
the believing heart, were in itself the Atonement. But
that is not the language of the New Testament, which
employs the idea of reconciliationSee Rom. v. 11. This is the only place in the New Testament
where even in the Authorised Version the word "atonement" occurs.
But the contention of the text is not one of words, but of facts.
Whatever terms are used, the Gospels and the Epistles all agree in
identifying the salvation of God with an actual and practical righteousness
wrought out by the Holy Spirit in the lives of those who believe
in Christ as their Saviour.
where the Old
Testament would employ the idea of atoning; and
clearly there can be no reconciliation accomplished
between man and God until, not only God is reconciled
to man, but man also is reconciled to God. And it is
when we come to observe more accurately the language
of the New Testament that this statement of the
Proverbs is seen to be no contradiction, but an anticipation,
of it. Only the regenerate soul, that in which
the graces of the Christ-life, mercy and truth, have
been implanted by Christ, is really reconciled with God,
i.e., effectually atoned. And though the framer of the
proverb had but a dim conception of the way in which
the Son of God would come to regenerate human hearts
and make them in harmony with the Father, yet he
saw clearly what Christians have too often overlooked,
and expressed tersely what theology has too often
obscured, that every effectual Atonement must include
in itself the actual, moral regeneration of the sinner.
And further, whoever wrote the verse which stands
at the head of our chapter understood what many
preachers of the Gospel have left in perplexing obscurity,
that God would necessarily, from His very nature,
provide the offering and the sacrifice on the ground of
which every repentant soul that turns to Him could be
immediately and freely forgiven.
XXIX.
THE NEED OF REVELATION.
"Where no vision is, a people casts off restraint, but he that
keepeth the law is happy."—Prov. xxix. 18.
The form of the proverb shows that we are not
to treat the vision and the law as opposite, but
rather as complementary terms. Visions are, it is true,
especially the mark of the prophets, and the law is
often confined in a special sense to the Pentateuch;
but there is a much wider usage of the words, according
to which the two together express, with tolerable
completeness, what we mean by Revelation. The vision
means a perception of God and His ways, and is quite
as applicable to Moses as to Isaiah; and, on the other
hand, the law covers all the distinct and articulate
instruction which God gives to His people in any of
His ways of self-communication. "Come ye," says
Isaiah,Isa. ii. 3.
"and let us go up to the mountain of the
Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and He will
teach us of His ways, and we will walk in His paths:
for out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word
of the Lord from Jerusalem;" where the whole context
shows that, not the Mosaic Law, but rather a new and
particular declaration of the Lord's will, is referred to.
But while the vision and the law are not to be
treated as opposites, it is possible to distinguish between
them. The vision is the actual contact between God
and the human spirit, which is the necessary condition
of any direct revelation; the law is the recorded result
of such a revelation, either passed from mouth to
mouth by tradition, or written permanently in a book.
We may then a little amplify the proverb for the
sake of exposition: "Where there is no living revelation,
no perceived contact between man and God,
there the bonds which hold society together are relaxed
or broken; but he that holds by the revelation that has
been given, obeying the law, so far as it has been
presented to him, happy is he."
Man has need of a revelation; that is the assertion.
Society, as an ordered and happy body of men in
which each person is rightly subordinated to the whole,
and in which law, as distinct from individual caprice,
prevails, requires a revealed law. The light of nature
is good, but it is not sufficient. The common sense
of mankind is powerful, but not powerful enough. In
the absence of a real and valid declaration of God's
will times must come when the elemental passions of
human nature will break out with unrestrained violence,
the teachings of morality will be disputed, their authority
will be denied, and their yoke will be broken; the
links which hold the state and the community together
will snap, and the slow growths of ages may disappear
in a moment. It is not difficult to show the truth
of this assertion from experience. Every people that
emerges from barbarism has a vision and a law; a
certain revelation which forms the foundation, the
sanction, the bond of its corporate existence. When
you can point to a tribe or a group of tribes that know
nothing of God, and therefore have no idea of revelation,
you at once assure us that the people are sunk in a
hopeless savagery. We are, it is true, inclined to deny
the term revelation to those systems of religion which
lie outside of the Bible, but it is difficult to justify such
a contraction of view. God has not left Himself anywhere
without a witness. The more closely we examine
the multitudinous religions of the earth, the more
clearly does it appear that each of them had at its
origin a definite, however limited, revelation. The idea
of One all-powerful, good, and wise, God is found at
the beginning of each faith that can be traced back far
enough, and the actual condition of heathen systems
always suggests a decline from a higher and a purer
religion. We may say, then, with much plausibility,
that no lasting and beneficial form of human society
has ever existed apart from a vision and a law.
But leaving the wide field of comparative religions,
do we not see an illustration of the truth of the text in
the European countries which are more subject to our
observation? In proportion as a people loses its faith
in revelation it falls into decay. This was made manifest
in the experience of the French Revolution. When
the Jacobins had emancipated themselves from the idea
of God, and had come out into the clear light of
reason, so terribly did they "cast off restraint" that
their own leader, Robespierre, endeavoured with a
feverish haste to restore the recognition of God,
assuming himself the position of high pontiff to the
Supreme Being. The nearest approach that the world
has probably ever seen to a government founded on
Atheism was this government of the French Revolution,
and a more striking commentary on this text
could hardly be desired.
But the need of a revelation can be apprehended,
apart from all appeals to history, by simply studying
the nature of the spirit of man. Man must have an
object of worship, and that object must be such as to
command his worship. Auguste Comte thought to
satisfy this need of the heart by suggesting Humanity
as the Grand Être, but Humanity was and is nothing
but an abstraction. Feeling this himself, he recommended
the worship of woman, and he prostrated his
heart before Clotilde de Vaux; but sacred and beautiful
as a man's love of a woman may be, it is no
substitute for worship. We must have quite another
than ourselves and our own kind, if our hearts are to
find their rest. We must have an Almighty, an
Infinite; we must have one who is Love. Until his
spirit is worshipping, man cannot realize himself, or
attain the height of his intended stature.
Again, man must have an assurance of his own
immortality. While he believes himself to be mortal,
a creature of a day, and that an uncertain day, it is
impossible for him to rise much above the level of
other ephemeral things. His pursuits must be limited,
and his aims must be confined. His affections must be
chilled by the shadow of death, and in proportion as
he has nobly striven and tenderly loved, his later years
must be plunged in hopeless gloom, because his efforts
have been ineffectual and his beloved have gone from
him. No juggling with terms; no half-poetic raptures
about "the choir invisible," can meet the mighty
craving of the human heart. Man must be immortal, or
he is not man. "He thinks he was not made to die."
But to meet these demands of the spirit what, apart
from revelation, can avail? That metaphysics is futile
practically all men are agreed. Only the philosopher
can follow the dialectics which are to prove the existence
of God and the immortality of the soul. And
even the philosopher seems to grow pale and wizened
in the process of his demonstration, and wins at last
a vantage-ground of cold conviction, to find that there
is no comfort there. But can science offer the assurance
which philosophy was unable to give? Let us
listen to the conclusion of a scientific writer on this
subject, one who has lost his hold on revelation and
can realize a little of what he has lost.
"The highest and most consoling beliefs of the human
mind," he says, "are to a great extent bound up with the
Christian religion. If we ask ourselves frankly how much,
apart from this religion, would remain of faith in a God,
and in a future state of existence, the answer must be, very
little. Science traces everything back to primeval atoms
and germs, and there it leaves us. How came these atoms
and energies there, from which this wonderful universe of
worlds has been evolved by inevitable laws? What are
they in their essence, and what do they mean? The only
answer is, It is unknowable. It is "behind the veil,"
and may be anything. Spirit may be matter, matter may
be spirit. We have no faculties by which we can even
form a conception, from any discoveries of the telescope
or microscope, from any experiments in the laboratory, or
from any facts susceptible of real human knowledge, of
what may be the first cause underlying all these phenomena.
"In like manner we can already, to a great extent, and
probably in a short time shall be able to the fullest extent
to trace the whole development of life from the lowest to
the highest; from protoplasm, through monera, infusoria,
mollusca, vertebrata, fish, reptile and mammal, up to man;
and the individual man from the microscopic egg, through
the various stages of its evolution up to birth, childhood,
maturity, decline, and death. We can trace also the
development of the human race through enormous periods
of time, from the modest beginnings up to its present level
of civilisation, and show how arts, languages, morals, and
religions have been evolved gradually by human laws from
primitive elements, many of which are common in their
ultimate form to man and the animal creation.
"But here also science stops. Science can give no
account of how these germs and nucleated cells, endowed
with these marvellous capacities for evolution, came into
existence, or got their intrinsic powers. Nor can science
enable us to form the remotest conception of what will
become of life, consciousness, and conscience, when the
material conditions with which they are always associated,
while within human experience, have been dissolved by
death, and no longer exist. We know as little, in the way
of accurate and demonstrable knowledge, of our condition
after death as we do of our existence—if we had an existence—before
birth.""Modern Science and Modern Thought" (pp. 289, 290), by S.
Laing. Chapman & Hall: 1890.
Science frankly confesses that she can tell us nothing
of the things which it most concerns us to know. On
those things she is no farther advanced than she was
in the days of Aristotle. Never do we feel how much
men need a revelation so vividly as when we have
grasped the first principles of such a great scientific
thinker as Mr. Herbert Spencer, and realize how far
he is able to take us and how soon he has to leave us.
How does it meet the craving of the soul for God to
show us the slow stages by which man became a living
soul? As well might you try to satisfy the musician's
ear by telling him how his art had grown from the
primitive tom-tom of the savage. How can it help the
life to be lived wisely, lovingly, and well, in the midst
of the uncertainty of the world, and confronted by the
certainty of death, to be told that our physical structure
is united by a thousand immediate links with that of
other mammals. Such a fact is insignificant; the
supreme fact is that we are not like other mammals in
the most important respects; we have hearts that long
and yearn, minds which enquire and question—they
have not; we want God, our heart and our flesh
crieth out for the living God, and we demand an
eternal life—they do not.
How can science pretend that what she does not
know is not knowledge, while she has to confess that
she does not know precisely the things which it most
concerns us as men to know? How can the spirit of
man be content with the husks which she gives him to
eat, when his whole nature craves the kernel? What
probability is there that a man will close his eyes to
the sun because another person, very clever and industrious,
has shut himself up in a dark cellar, and tries
to persuade him that his candle is all the light he may
legitimately use, and what cannot be seen by his candle
is not real?
No, science may not prove revelation, but she proves
our need of it. She does her utmost, she widens her
borders, she is more earnest, more accurate, more
informed, more efficacious than ever; but she shows
that what man most wants she cannot give,—she bids
him go elsewhere.
But now it may be said: It is one thing to prove
that man needs a revelation, and another to show that
a revelation has been given. That is perfectly true,
and this is not the place to adduce all the evidence which
might prove that revelation is a reality; but what an
advance we have made on the cold, self-satisfied deism
of the eighteenth century, which maintained that the
light of nature was enough, and revelation was quite
superfluous, when the truest and most candid voices
of science are declaring with such growing clearness
that for the knowledge which revelation professes to
give, revelation, and revelation alone, will suffice!
We Christians believe that we have a revelation, and
we find that it suffices. It gives us precisely those
assurances about God and about the soul without
which we falter, grow bewildered, and begin to
despond. We have a vision and a law. Our Bible
is the record of the ever-widening, ever-clearing vision
of God. The power and authority of the vision seem
to be the more convincing, just because we are permitted
to see the process of its development. Here
we are able to stand with the seer and see, not the
long æonian stages of creation which science has been
painfully tracking out in these later days, but the
supreme fact, which science professes herself unable
to see, that God was the Author of it all. Here we
are able to see the first imperfect conception of God
which came in vision and in thought to the patriarch
or sheikh in the earliest dawn of civilisation. Here
we can observe the conceptions clearing, through
Moses, through the Psalmists, through the Prophets,
until at last we have a vision of God in the person of
His Son, who is the brightness of the Father's glory,
the express image of His countenance. We see that
He, the unseen Creator, is Love.
Our Bible, too, is the record of a law,—a law of
human conduct, the will of God as applied to earthly
life. At first the law is confined to a few primitive
practices and outward observances; then it grows in
perplexity and multiplication of details; and only after
a long course of discipline, of effort and apparent
failure, of teaching and deliberate disobedience, is the
law laid bare to its very roots, and presented in the
simplified and self-evidencing form of the Sermon on
the Mount and the apostolic precepts.
It is not necessary to start with any particular
theory about the Bible, any more than it is necessary
to know the substance of the sun before we can warm
ourselves in his beams. It is not necessary to look for
scientific accuracy in the histories and treatises through
which the vision and the law are communicated to us.
We know that the vessels are earthen, and the presupposition
all through is that the light was only
growing from the glimmer of the dawn up to the
perfect day. But we know, we are persuaded, that
here, to seeing eyes and humble hearts, is the revelation
of God and of His will.
Nor is it only in the Bible that God speaks to us.
There have been times in the history of Christendom—such
times as the middle of the eighteenth century—when
though the Bible was in men's hands, it seemed
to be almost a dead letter. "There was no vision, and
the people cast off restraint." It is by living men and
women to whom He grants visions and reveals truths,
that God maintains the purity and power of His revelation
to us. He came in vision to Fox and the early
Friends, to Zinzendorf and the early Moravians, to
Wesley and the early Methodists. Seldom does a
generation pass but some seers are sent to make the
Word of God a living influence to their age. The
vision is not always unmixed with human error, and
when it ceases to be living it may become obstructive,
a cause of paralysis rather than of progress. But
Augustine and Jerome, Benedict and Leo, Francis and
Dominic, Luther and Calvin, Ignatius Loyola and
Xavier, Fénélon and Madame Guyon, Jonathan Edwards
and Channing, Robertson and Maurice, Erskine and
MacLeod Campbell, are but examples of God's method
all down the Christian ages. The vision comes pure
and fresh as if straight from the presence of God.
Traditionalism crumbles away. Doubt retreats like a
phantom of the night. Mighty moral revolutions and
spiritual awakenings are accomplished by the means
of His chosen ones. And it should be our desire
and our joy to recognise and welcome these seers
of God.
"He that keepeth the law, happy is he." It is a
mournful thing to be without a revelation, and to grope
in darkness at midday; to hold one's mind in melancholy
suspense, uncertain about God, about His will,
about the life eternal. But it is better to have no revelation
than to have it and disregard it. Honest doubt
is full of necessary sorrow, but to believe and not to
obey is the road to inevitable ruin.Cf. Prov. xxviii. 4, 9:—
"They that forsake the law praise the wicked:
But such as keep the law contend with them.
He that turneth away his ear from hearing the law
Even his prayer is an abomination."
"He that keepeth"—yes,
he that looks into revelation, not for curiosity,
but for a law by which to live; who listens to the wise
precepts, not in order to exclaim, "How wise they
are!" but in order to act on them.
There are many professing Christians who are constantly
plunged in gloom. Unbelievers may point the
finger at them, and say, "They believe in God, in
salvation, and in heaven, but see what an effect it has
on them. Do they really believe?" Oh, yes, they
really believe, but they do not obey; and no amount
of faith brings any lasting happiness apart from
obedience. The law requires us to love God, to love
men; it requires us to abstain from all appearance of
evil, to touch not the unclean thing; it bids us love
not the world, it tells us how impossible the double
service of God and mammon is. Now though we believe
it all it can give us nothing but pain unless we live up
to it. If there is a vision and we shut our eyes to it,
if there is a law and we turn away from it, woe unto
us! But if we receive the vision, if we loyally and
earnestly keep the law, the world cannot fathom the
depth of our peace, nor rise to the height of our joy.
XXX.
THE WORDS OF AGUR.
The rendering of the first verse of this chapter is very uncertain.
Without attempting to discuss the many conjectural emendations,
we must briefly indicate the view which is here taken. A slight
alteration in the pointing (לָאִיתִי אֵל instead of the Masoretic reading
לְאִיתִיאֵל) changes the proper name Ithiel into a significant verb;
and another slight change (וָאֵכֶל for וְאֻכָל) gives us another verb in
the place of Ucal. To remove the difficulty of the word "oracle," a
difficulty which arises from the fact that the chapter which follows
is not a prophetic utterance of the kind to which that word might be
applied, it is necessary, with Grätz, to make a more serious change, and
to read הַמּשֵׁל for הַמַּשָּׂא. And to explain the word הַנֶּבֶר, which occurs
in a similar connection in Numb. xxiv. 3, 15, and 2 Sam. xxiii. 1,
we must suppose that some relative clause defining the nature of
"the man" has been dropped. The great uncertainty of the text is
witnessed by the LXX., who place this passage after xxiv. 23, and
give a rendering which has very little resemblance to our present
Hebrew text. It is highly probable, both from the subject matter and
from the numerical arrangements, which are thoroughly Rabbinical,
that this chapter and chap. xxxi. are of late origin, and represent the
last phase of the proverbial literature of Israel in the days after the
return from the Exile. If this be so, the obscurity and uncertainty
are characteristic of an artificial period of literature, and of a decay
in literary taste. Adopting, then, the alterations which have been
mentioned, we obtain the following result:—
"The words of Agur the son of Jakeh, the proverb-writer:
The utterance of the man [who has questioned and thought]: I
have wearied after God, I have wearied after God, and am faint, for
I am too stupid for a man, and am without reason, and I have not
learned wisdom, nor have I knowledge of the All Holy," etc.
This chapter is full of curious interest. It is a collection
of sayings which are apparently connected
only by the circumstance that they were attributed to
one person, Agur, the son of Jakeh. Whoever Agur
was, he had a certain marked individuality; he combined
meditation on lofty questions of theology with a sound
theory of practical life. He was able to give valuable
admonitions about conduct. But his characteristic
delight was to group together in quatrains visible illustrations
of selected qualities or ideas.
It may be well for us to glance at these picturesque
groups, and then to return to the more philosophical
and religious sentiments with which the chapter
opens.
"Slander not a servant to his master," says Agur,
"lest the servant curse thee, and thou be held guilty."
Even underlings have their rights; the Lord makes
their cause His own, and a curse from them falls with
as much weight on a slanderer as the words of more
influential people. It is one of the surest tests of a
man's character to see how he treats servants; if he
is uniformly courteous, considerate, just, and generous
in his treatment of them, we may safely infer that he
is a noble character; if he is haughty, domineering,
revengeful, and malicious to them, we need not attach
much importance to his pleasing manners and plausible
services to those whom he considers his equals.
Now follow two of these singular quatrains. There
are four kinds of men pointed out, and held up, not
to our abhorrence, that is unnecessary, but simply to
our observation: the unfilial, the self-righteous, the
haughty, and the rapacious who devour the poor and
the needy. It is not necessary to say anything about
these persons. Their doom is stamped on their brows;
to name them is to condemn them; to describe them
is to write out their sentence.
Again, there are four things which like the bloodsucking
horse-leech are always insatiable. The vampire
has her daughters in the earth; it is, as Professor
Cheyne says, "a quasi-mythical expression." These
daughters are two, nay, they are three, nay, they are
four; and they are, as it were, the representatives of
all creation:Cf. the Sanscrit Hitopadesa, "Fire is never satisfied with fuel,
nor the ocean with rivers, nor death with all creatures, nor bright-eyed
women with men;" also the Arabic proverb, "Three things are
of three never full, women's womb of man, wood of fire, and earth of
rain."
Sheol, the invisible world, which draws
into itself the countless generations of the dead; the
generative principle, which never wearies of producing
new generations of the living; the earth, which is for
ever absorbing the cadent waters of heaven; and the
fire, which will consume all the fuel that is given to it.
Now follows a further comment upon unfilial conduct:
the eye is regarded as the instrument by which a son
shows his feelings to his parents; he has not perhaps
gone the length of uttering a curse against them, still
less of raising his hand to ill-treat them, but his eye
flashes derision upon his father, and by its haughty
obstinacy declares that it will not obey his mother.
The offending member shall be picked out by the
clamorous ravens, and eaten by the young of the
soaring eagle.
Next we have four more quatrains. First, there are
the four wonders which baffle Agur's understanding;
wonders which are comprehensible only to God, as the
Vedic hymn says,—
"The path of ships across the sea,
The soaring eagle's flight he knows."
The wonder seems to be in the reality and power of
impalpable things. How little of all that passes in the
universe is open to observation, or leaves a track behind.
The eagle mounts through the air as if he marched on
a solid beaten road; the serpent, without limbs, glides
over the smooth rock where feet would slip, and leaves
no trace behind; the ship ploughs the deep, and over
trackless waters follows her track which is invisible; a
man and a maid meet, swift glances pass, hearts blend,
and that is done which can never be undone; or on
the evil side, the bad woman follows her illicit and
hidden courses, while to all appearance she is a faithful
wife and mother.
Secondly, there are four human conditions which are
intolerable to society, viz., an essentially servile spirit
put into the place of authority; a fool who, instead of
being corrected, is confirmed in his folly by prosperity;
a marriage where the wife is hated; and a slave girl
in the position which Hagar occupied with relation to
Sarah her mistress.
Thirdly, there are four kinds of animals which
illustrate that size is not necessarily greatness, and
that it is possible to be insignificant and yet wise.
The tiny ants are a model of intelligent mutual cooperation
and prudent thrift. The little jerboas seem
helpless enough, but they are sensible in the choice of
their homes, for they dwell securely in rocky fastnesses.
The locusts seem as weak and inoffensive as insects
can be, yet they form a mighty army, ordered in
battle array; "they run like mighty men; they climb
the wall like men of war; and they march every one
in his ways, and they break not their ranks."Joel ii. 7.
The
lizard seems but a plebeian creature; you can seize it
with your hands; it is defenceless and devoid of natural
capabilities; and yet with its swift crawlings and tireless
dartings it will find its way into kings' palaces,
where greater and stronger creatures cannot enter.
Lastly, there are four things which impress one with
their stateliness of motion; the lion, the creature that
is girt in the loins, whether a war-horse or a greyhound,
the he-goat, and—surely with a little touch of satire—the
king when his army is with him.
Then the collection of Agur's sayings ends with a
wise and picturesque word of counsel to exercise a
strong restraint over our rising passions.
But now we may turn back to the passage with which
the chapter opens. Here is the cry of one who has
sought to find out God. It is an old and a mournful
cry. Many have emitted it from the beginning; many
utter it now. But few have spoken with more pathetic
humility, few have made us feel with so much force
the solemnity and the difficulty of the question as this
unknown Agur. We see a brow wrinkled with thought,
eyes dimmed with long and close observation; it is not
the boor or the sot that makes this humiliating confession;
it is the earnest thinker, the eager enquirer.
He has meditated on the wonderful facts of the physical
world; he has watched the great trees sway under the
touch of the invisible wind, and the waves rise up in
their might, lashing the shores, but vainly essaying to
pass their appointed boundaries; he has considered
the vast expanse of the earth, and enquired, on what
foundations does it rest, and where are its limits?
He cannot question the "eternal power and divinity"
which can alone account for this ordered universe.
He has not, like many thinkers ancient and modern,
"dropped a plummet down the broad deep universe,
and cried, No God." He knows that there is a God;
there must be an Intelligence able to conceive,
coupled with a power able to realize, this mighty
mechanism. But who is it? What is His name or
His Son's name? Here are the footsteps of the Creator,
but where is the Creator Himself? Here are the signs
of His working on every hand. There is an invisible
power that ascends and descends on the earth by staircases
unseen. Who is He? These careering winds,
before which we are powerless, obey some control;
sometimes they are "upgathered like sleeping flowers;"
who is it that holds them then? These great waters
sway to and fro, or they pour in ceaseless currents
from their fountains, or they gather in the quiet hollows
of the hills; but who is it that appoints the ocean, and
the river, and the lake? Who feeds them all, and
restrains them all? Whose is the garment which holds
them as a woman carries a pitcher lashed to her back
in the fold of her dress? The earth is no phantom,
no mirage, it is solid and established; but who gave
to matter its reality, and in the ceaseless flux of the
atoms fixed the abiding forms, and ordered the appropriate
relations? Ah! what is His name? Has He
a son? Is man, for instance, His son? Or does the
idea of the Eternal and Invisible God imply also an
Eternal Son, a Being one with Him, yet separable, the
object of His love, the instrument of His working,
the beginning of His creation? Who is He? That
He is holy seems an inevitable conclusion from the
fact that we know what holiness is, and recognise its
sovereignty. For how, in thinking of the mighty
Being who made all things, dare I give Him a lower
attribute than that which I can give to my fellow-men?
How dare I withhold from Him that which I know of
the Highest and the Best? But though I know that
He is holy, the All Holy One I do not know. My
weak and sinful nature has glimpses of Him, but no
steady visions. I lose Him in the confused welter of
things. I catch the gleam of His face in the hues of
the rainbow and in the glow of the eternal hills; but
I lose it when I strive to follow among the angry
gatherings of the stormclouds, in the threatening
crash of the thunder, the roar of the avalanche, and the
rent ruins of the earthquake.
And the man, considering all things, questioning,
seeking, exclaims, "I am weary and faint." The
splendours of God haunt his imagination, the sanctities
of God fill his conscience with awe, the thoughts of
God lie as presuppositions behind all his thinking.
But he has not understanding; baffled and foiled and
helpless, he says that he is too brutish to be a man.
Surely a man would know God; surely he must be but
one of the soulless creatures, dust of the dust, for he
has not the knowledge of the Holy One.
To this impetuous hail of questions an answer comes.
For indeed in the fact that the questions are put already
the answer lies. In the humble cry that he is too
stupid to be a man is already the clearest proof that he
is raised incalculably above the brute.
But who is it that offers the answer in vv. 5-9? It
would seem as if Agur himself has suggested the question—a
question borrowed probably from some noble
heathen thinker; and now he proceeds to meet the
wild and despairing outcry with the results of his own
reflection. He does not attempt the answer on the
lines of natural religion. His answer in effect is this:
You cannot know God, you cannot by searching find
Him unless He reveals Himself; His revelation must
come as an articulate and intelligible word. As the
Psalm says—for it seems to be a quotation from Psalm
xviii. 30—"Every word of God is tried: He is a
shield unto them that trust in Him." Agur appeals to
a written revelation, a revelation which is complete and
rounded, and to which no further addition may be made
(ver. 6). It was probably the time when Ezra the scribe
had gathered together the Law and the Psalms and the
Prophets, and had formed the first scriptural canon.
Since then a great deal has been added to the canon,
these words of Agur among the rest, but the assertion
remains essentially true. Our knowledge of God depends
on His self-revelation, and the method of that
revelation is to speak, through the lips of God-possessed
men, words which are tried by experience and proved
by the living faith of those who trust in God. "I am
that I am" has spoken to men, and to Him, the
Eternally-existent, have they ascribed the visible universe.
"The God of Israel" has spoken to men, and
they have learnt therefore to trace His hand in history
and in the development of human affairs. The Holy
One has in prophets and poets spoken to men, and
they have become aware that all goodness comes from
Him, and all evil is hateful to Him. And lastly, His
Son has spoken to men, and has declared Him in a way
that never could have been dreamed, has shown them
the Father, has revealed that new unutterable Name.
The answer to the great cry of the human heart, the
wearied, fainting human heart, is given only in revelation,
in the tried word of God, and completely only in
the Word of God that was made flesh. The proof of
that revelation is furnished to all those who trust in
the God so revealed, for He becomes a shield to them;
they abide under the shadow of His realized presence.
It is not possible to add unto the words of God; our
speculations lead us farther, but they only lead us into
error; and by them we incur His reproof, and our
fictions become disastrously exposed. The answer to
philosophy is in revelation, and they who do not accept
the revealed answer are left asking eternally the same
weary and hopeless question, "What is his name, and
what is his son's name?"
And now, with a quaint and practical homeliness
which is very suggestive, Agur notices two conditions,
which he has evidently observed to be necessary if we
are to find the answer which revelation gives to the
enquiry of the human heart after God. First of all we
must be rid of vanity and lies. How true this is!
We may hold the Bible in our hands, but while our
hearts are void of seriousness and sincerity we can
find nothing in it, certainly no word of God. A vain
person and an untruthful person can receive no
genuine revelation; they may believe, or think that
they believe, the current religious dogmas, and they
may be able to give a verbal answer to the question
which we have been considering, but they cannot have
the knowledge of the Holy One. More than half the
godlessness of men is due simply to want of earnestness;
they are triflers on the earth, they are painted
bubbles, which burst if any solid thing touches them;
they are drifting vapours and exhalations, which pass
away and leave not a wrack behind. But there are
many men who are serious enough in their search for
knowledge, and yet are vitiated through and through
by a radical want of truthfulness. They are prepared
for facts, but only facts of a certain sort. They want
to know God, but only on condition that He shall not
be supernatural. They want to study the truths of
the spiritual world, but only on condition that the
spiritual shall be material. O remove far from me
vanities and lies!
Then there is a second condition desirable for the due
appreciation of religious truth, a social and economical
condition. Agur might have known our modern
world with its terrible extremes of wealth and poverty.
He perceived how hard it is for the rich to enter the
kingdom of heaven; and, on the other hand, how probable
it is that hungry men will be seduced into stealing
and betrayed into blasphemy. That there is much
truth in this view we may easily satisfy ourselves by
considering the wealthy classes in England, whose
question, urged through all their pomp and ceremonial
of heartless worship, is practically, "Who is the Lord?"
and by then looking at the eight hundred thousand
paupers of England, amongst whom religion is practically
unknown except as a device for securing food.
And when we have duly weighed this saying of
Agur's, we may come to see that among all the pressing
religious and spiritual problems of our day, this also
must be entertained and solved, How to secure a more
equable distribution of wealth, so that the extremes of
wealth and poverty should disappear, and all should be
fed with the food that is needful for them.
XXXI.
A GOOD WOMAN.
"O woman-hearts, that keep the days of old
In living memory, can you stand back
When Christ calls? Shall the heavenly Master lack
The serving love, which is your life's fine gold?
"Do you forget the hand which placed the crown
Of happy freedom on the woman's head,
And took her from the dying and the dead,
Lifting the wounded soul long trodden down?
"Do you forget who bade the morning break,
And snapped the fetters of the iron years?
The Saviour calls for service: from your fears
Rise girt with faith, and work for His dear sake!
"And He will touch the trembling lips with fire,—
O let us hasten, lest we come too late!
And all shall work; if some must 'stand and wait,'
Be theirs that wrestling prayer that will not tire."
R. O.
The last chapter of the book of Proverbs consists
of two distinct compositions, and the only connection
between them is to be found in their date.
The words of King Lemuel, "a saying which his mother
taught him,"Prov. xxxi. 1-9.
and the description of a good woman,Prov. xxxi. 10-31.
must both be referred to a very late epoch of Hebrew
literature. The former contains several Aramaic wordsE.g., בַּר ver. 2 and מְלָכִין ver. 3: cf. the strange expressions
כָּל־בְּנֵי־עֹנִי and כָּל־בְּנֵי הֲלוֹף in vv. 5, 8.
and expressions which connect it with the period
of the exile; and the latter is an alphabetical acrostic,
i.e., the verses begin with the successive letters of the
alphabet; and this artificial mode of composition, which
appears also in some of the Psalms, is sufficient of
itself to indicate the last period of the literature, when
the Rabbinical methods were coming into use.
About the words of Lemuel, of whom it may be
observed we know nothing at all, enough has been
said in previous lectures. We need here only notice
that the mother's influence in the education of her son,
even though that son is to be a king, comes very
suitably as the introduction to the beautiful description
of the good woman with which the chapter closes. It
is said that the mother of George III. brought him up
with the constantly-repeated admonition, "George, be
a king," and that to this early training was due that
exalted notion of the prerogative and that obstinate
assertion of his will which occasioned the calamities
of his reign. Kings have usually been more ready to
imbibe such lessons than moral teaching from their
mothers; but whatever may be the actual result, we all
feel that a woman is never more nobly occupied than in
warning her son against the seductions of pleasure, and
in giving to him a high sense of duty. It is from a
mother's lips we should all learn to espouse the cause
of the helpless and the miserable, and to bear an open
heart for the poor and needy.Prov. xxxi. 8, 9.
But now before coming to examine in detail the
poem of the virtuous woman, let us briefly recall what
the book hitherto has taught us on the subject of
womanhood. It began with solemn and oft-repeated
warnings against the "strange woman," and echoes of
that mournful theme have accompanied us throughout:
the strange woman is a deep ditch, a narrow pit; he
that is abhorred of the Lord shall fall therein.Prov. xxii. 14, xxiii. 27.
And
even where the woman's nature is not corrupted by
impurity we are several times reminded how she may
destroy the peace of man's life by certain faults of
temper. If she is contentious and fretful she can make
the house utterly unbearable; it will be better to live
in a corner of the housetop or in a desert land, exposed
to the continual downpour of the autumn rains, than to
be assailed by her tongue.Prov. xix. 13, xxi. 9, xxv. 24, xxi. 19, xxvii. 15.
The attempt to restrain
her is like trying to grasp the wind, or to seize an
object which is smeared with oil.Prov. xxvii. 16.
We are reminded
too how incongruously sometimes great beauty of
person is combined with inward faults. "As a jewel
of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman which is
without discretion."Prov. xi. 22.
But we must distinctly understand that these severe
strictures on woman corrupted and woman imperfect
are only so many witnesses to her value and importance.
The place she fills in life is so supreme that if
she fails in her duty human life as a whole is a failure.
In her hands lie the issues of life for mankind. "The
wisdom of woman builds her house, and the folly of
woman plucks it down with her hands."Prov. xiv. 1.
What the
homes of a nation are, the nation is; and it is woman's
high and beautiful function to make the homes, and
within her power lies the terrible capacity for marring
them. She, much more than the king, is the fountain
of honour.Prov. xi. 16.
The honour she gives and the honour she
commands will decide the whole tone of society. Pure,
true, and strong, she makes men worship purity, truth,
and strength. Corrupt, false, and vain, she blights and
blasts the ideal of man, lowers all his aspirations,
excites his evil passions to a frenzy of iniquity, degrades
his soul to a level below the brutes.
The condition of woman is the touchstone of a
civilised society.
Again, there is a sense in which woman is an interpreter
and revealer of God to the human race. She
has religious intuitions and spiritual susceptibilities in
which the other sex is usually deficient. Most religious
systems in the world's history have overlooked her,
and have suffered accordingly. The religion of Jesus
Christ recognised her, claimed for her her rightful
place, and to this day does much of its best work
in the world through her gracious ministrations,
through her unquestioning faith, through her unquenchable
love. It is as a foreshadowing of this
religious significance which Christ was to give to
womanhood that the Proverbs recognise the beautiful
direct relation between God and the possession of a
good wife. "Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good
thing, and obtaineth favour of the Lord."Prov. xviii. 22.
Wealth, as
it is ordinarily understood, is of the earth,—it can
be derived from ancestors by inheritance, or it can
be earned by toil of hand and brain,—but every
wife worthy of the name is far above all wealth: she
cannot be earned or inherited; she comes, as the
mother of mankind came, direct from the hand of the
Lord.Prov. xix. 14. In the LXX. this clause is beautifully rendered
παρὰ δὲ κυρίου ἁρμόζεται γυνὴ ἀνδρί. By the Lord's ordinance woman
and man are dovetailed together in a complete harmony. The
thought is well expanded in Ecclesiasticus (xxvi. 1-3): "Blessed is
the man that has a virtuous wife, for thereby his life is doubled. A
woman made for a man rejoices her husband, and he shall fulfil the
years of his life in peace. A virtuous wife is a good portion, in the
portion of them that fear the Lord shall she be given."
The marriage tie is a thought of God's heart.
He Himself has arranged the exquisite blending of
life with life and spirit with spirit; He has fitted man
to woman and woman to man, so that the perfect man
is not the man alone, the perfect woman is not the
woman alone, but the man and woman one flesh,
mystically united, the completeness each of the other;
not two, but a single whole.
We may now examine in detail this connected
description of the virtuous woman, whose value is not
to be measured by material wealth, and who yet, from
a merely material point of view, is a source of wealth
to those who are fortunate enough to call her theirs.
She is a wife. The modern conception of a woman
as an independent person, standing alone, engaged in
her own business or profession, and complete in her
isolated life, is not to be looked for in the book of
Proverbs. It is the creation of accidental circumstances.
However necessary it may be in a country
where the women are largely in excess of the men, it
cannot be regarded as final or satisfactory. In the
beginning it was not so, neither will it be so in the end.
If men and women are to abide in strength and to
develop the many sides of their nature, they must be
united. It is not good for man to be alone; nor is it
good for woman to be alone. There are some passages
in the New Testament which seem to invalidate this
truth. The advocates of celibacy appeal to the example
of Christ and to the express words of St. Paul. But
the New Testament, as our Lord Himself expressly
declares, does not abrogate the eternal law which was
from the beginning. And if He Himself abstained from
marriage, and if St. Paul seems to approve of such
an abstention, we must seek for the explanation in
certain exceptional and temporary circumstances; for
it is precisely to Christ Himself in the first instance,
and to His great Apostle in the second, that we owe
our loftiest and grandest conceptions of marriage.
There was no room for a personal marriage in the
life of Him who was to be the Bridegroom of His
Church; and St. Paul distinctly implies that the pressing
troubles and anxieties of his own life, and the
constant wearing labours which were required of the
Gentile Apostle, formed the reason why it was better
for him, and for such as he, to remain single.
At any rate the virtuous woman of the Proverbs is
a wife: and the first thing to observe is the part she
plays in relation to her husband. She is his stay and
confidence: "The heart of her husband trusteth in
her." She is his natural confidante and counsellor;
her advice is more valuable than that of much cleverer
people, because it is so absolutely disinterested; the
hearts are in such vital contact that the merely intellectual
communications have a quality all their own. One
may often observe in an ideal marriage, though the
husband seems to be the stronger and the more self-reliant,
the wife is really the pillar of strength; if death
removes her, he is forlorn and bereft and helpless; the
gradual work of the years has led him to depend on
her more and more, to draw from her his best inspirations,
and to turn instinctively to her for advice and
direction.
"She doeth him good, and not evil, all the days of
her life."Prov. xxxi. 12.
It is not only when she comes as a young
bride into his house, bright with youth, encircled with
the glamour of early love,—then, it is true, the thought
of her nerves his endeavours and quickens his eager
steps as he turns homeward in the evening,—it is not
only while her fresh charms last, and her womanly
beauty acts as a spell on him, while the desire to retain
her love disciplines and strengthens whatever is good
in his character; but right through to the end of her
life, when she has grown old, when the golden hair is
grey, and the blooming cheeks are wrinkled, and the
upright form is bent,—when other people see nothing
beautiful about her except the beauty of old age and
decay, he sees in her the sweet bride of earlier
years, to him the eyes appear unchanged and the voice
thrills him with happy memories; she ministers to him
still and does him good; not now with the swift alacrity
of foot and the deft movement of the hand, but with
the dear, loyal heart, with the love which the years
have mellowed and the trust which the changing
circumstances of life have tested and confirmed.
It is this strong, sweet core of life in the home which
gives the man dignity and honour in public. She is a
crown to her husband.Prov. xii. 4.
His influence in the life of
his town or of his country is not always directly traced
to its true source. But it is that woman's noble sway
over him, it is the constant spur and chastening of her
love, which gives him the weighty voice and the grave
authority in the counsels of the nation. "Her husband
is known in the gates, when he sitteth among the
elders of the land."Prov. xxxi. 23.
He can make but a poor return
to her for all her quiet unobtrusive and self-sacrificing
help year after year and on to the end, but he can at
least repay her with growing reverence and loyalty;
he can tell her, as it were with the impassioned lips of
a lover, what he owes to her; when her children rise
up and call her blessed, he can praise her, saying,
"Many daughters have done virtuously, but thou
excellest them all."Prov. xxxi. 29.
Indeed it will be his growing
conviction that of all the daughters of woman there is
none equal to his wife. Her charms have grown upon
him, her character has ripened before his eyes, her
love has become at once stronger and more precious
every year. It is no flattery, no idle compliment of
courting-days, no soft word to win the coy heart of the
maiden, but it is his own deep and sincere feeling;
it is said to her who is his and has been his for years,
and in whose assured possession he finds his greatest
peace: "I do not question that other women are
good and true, but I am sure that you are better than
all." And so she is. Every true wife is the best
wife.
The next point in the virtuous woman to which our
attention is drawn is her unflagging industry. Her
husband "shall have no lack of gain."Prov. xxxi. 11.
In addition to
all those treasures of mutual love and spiritual converse,
all those invaluable services of counsel and guidance,
of criticism and encouragement, she is a positive source
of wealth to him. She is the house-manager. If he
earns the bread in the first instance, it is in her hands
that it seems to be miraculously multiplied. If he
brings home the money which is enough for their wants,
it is she who turns the silver into gold and makes the
modest means appear great wealth. The fact is her
hands are always busy. The spindle, the distaff, the
loom, are within her reach and are constantly plied.
While she unravels the knotted cares of her husband
in the evening with her bright and cheery talk, while
she encourages him in all his plans and heartens him
for all his duties, her busy fingers are making clothes
for the children, repairing, adapting, improving, or
else are skilfully constructing ornaments and decorations
for the household, turning the poor room into a
palace, making the walls beam with beauty and the
hearts of all within laugh for joy.
There is something quite magical and impressive in
woman's economy: "She is like the merchant ships;
she bringeth her food from afar."Prov. xxxi. 14.
No one knows how
it is done. The table is well spread, the food is daintily
served, on infinitesimal means. She finds out by the
quick intuitions of love how to get the things which
the loved ones like, and by many a little sacrifice unperceived
she produces effects which startle them all.
She has a secret of doing and getting which no one
knows but she. Early passers-by have seen a light
in the house long before the day dawns; she has
been up preparing the breakfast for the household, and
mapping out the work for all, so that no hours may be
wasted and no one in the family may be idle.Prov. xxxi. 15.
Her
boundless economies produce astonishing results. One
morning she has to announce to the husband and the
children that she has managed to put together a little
sum which will purchase the freehold of their house
and garden.Prov. xxxi. 16.
Her husband exclaims, Why, how has
it been done? Where has the money come from out
of our little income? She smiles significantly and will
not tell; but the tears moisten his eyes as he looks
into her face and reads the story of self-denials, and
managings, and toils, which have issued in this surprise.
And the children look up with a sense of awe
and wonder. They feel that there is something of
the supernatural about mother; and perhaps they are
right.
She has all the delicacy and even weakness of a
woman, but the life of constant activity and cheerful
toil preserves her health and increases her strength.
Idle women, who lounge their days away in constant
murmurings over their ailments, speak contemptuously
about her,—"She has the strength of a horse," they
say, "and can bear anything." They do not know,
they do not wish to know, that she is the author of
her own strength. It is her own indomitable will, her
own loving heart, which girds her loins with strength
and makes strong her arms.Prov. xxxi. 17.
There are others who
carp at her on different grounds; they do not understand
how one with her husband's income can keep so
comfortable a household or dress her children as she
does. Those cushions of tapestry, that clothing of fine
linen and purple, are an offence to her critics. "How
she does it I am sure I don't know," says one, implying
that there is something quite uncanny and disreputable
about it. "She works like a slave," says another, with
the tone of scorn that one would employ for a slave.
But that is the truth: "She perceiveth that her merchandise
is profitable: her lamp goeth not out by
night."Prov. xxxi. 18.
She is indeed indefatigable. She actually
makes garments which she can sell, girdles for the
merchants,Prov. xxxi. 24.
in addition to looking well to the ways of
her household. Certainly she does not eat the bread
of idleness.Prov. xxxi. 27.
She can, however, very easily bear the contemptuous
criticisms of others. The practical results of her life
are sufficiently satisfying to make her a little independent.
She has secured herself and her household
against the contingencies which harass other housewives.
The approach of winter has no alarms for
her: all the children and servants are warmly and sufficiently
clad.Prov. xxxi. 21.
The uncertain future has no terrors for
her: she has made ample provision for it, and can
regard the unknown chances with a smile of confidence.Prov. xxxi. 25.
And indeed, whatever detractors may say
behind her back, it is not easy for any one to say anything
severe in her presence. For the same loving,
earnest, diligent ways which have made her household
comfortable and secure have clothed her with
garments better than scarlet and linen. "Strength
and dignity are her clothing,"—robes so gracious and
beautiful that criticism is silenced in her presence,
while the hearts of all good and honest people are
drawn out to her.
But here is another characteristic of the virtuous
woman. Economy and generosity go hand in hand.
Frugal livers and hard workers are always the largest
givers. This woman, whose toil late at night and early
in the morning has enriched and blessed her own, is
ready to help those who are less fortunate. "She
spreadeth out her hand to the poor; yea, she reacheth
forth her hands to the needy."Prov. xxxi. 20.
Most women are
naturally pitiful and shrink from the sight of suffering;
but while idle and self-indulgent women try to avoid
the painful sight, and turn their flow of pity into
the channels of vapid sentimentality, the good woman
trains her sense of pity by coming into contact with
those who deserve it, and only seeks to avoid the sight
of suffering by trying everywhere and always to
relieve it.
Among all the noble and Christlike offices of woman
this is the one which most strikingly connects her with
the human life of our Lord. It is her function to
excite and to cherish the quality of compassion in the
human heart, and by her trained skill and intuitive
tact to make the ministrations of the community to the
poor truly charitable instead of dangerously demoralizing.
Man is apt to relieve the poor by the laws of
political economy, without emotion and by measure:
he makes a Poor Law which produces the evil it pretends
to relieve; he degrades the lovely word Charity
into a badge of shame and a wanton insult to
humanity. It is woman that "spreads out her palm
and reacheth forth her hand" to the poor, bringing her
heart into the work, giving, not doles of money, but
the helpfulness of a sister's love, the tenderness of a
mother's solicitude, the awakening touch of a daughter's
care. And the hand which is thus held out to the
poor is precisely the hand which has been laid on
the distaff and the spindle; not the lazy hand or the
useless hand, but the hand which is supple with toil,
dexterous with acquired skill.
There are two reflections which must have occurred
to us in following this description of the good woman.
Her portrait has risen before our eyes, and we ask, Is
she beautiful? We have watched her activities, their
mode and their result, and we wonder whether she is
religious. "Favour is deceitful and beauty is vain, but
a woman that feareth the Lord she shall be praised."Prov. xxxi. 30.
That this woman has a beauty of her own seems clear,
and that she fears the Lord is a fair inference to make.
It is idle to declaim against the charms of personal
beauty; we may call it deceitful and vain, but it will
not cease to be attractive. Men will not be reasoned
or ridiculed out of that instinctive homage which they
pay to a lovely face; the witchery of bright eyes and
arch looks, the winsomeness of sweet contours and
delicate hues, will last, we may surmise, as long as the
sun and moon endure; and why should we dishonour
God by supposing that He did not make the beauty
which attracts and the attraction which the beauty
excites? But it is not impossible to open men's eyes
to the beauty of a less transient and more satisfying
kind which lies in the character and conduct of women.
If mothers accustom their sons to see those sterling
attractions which permanently secure the affection and
the devotion of a husband, the young men will not be
content with superficial beauties and vanishing charms
in the women whom they choose.
And is not the beauty of woman—such beauty as
we have been contemplating—the result of fearing the
Lord? Is it possible, apart from a living faith in a
living God, to maintain that lovely wifeliness, that
self-sacrificing, diligent love, that overflow of pity
to the poor and needy, which constitute grace and
loveliness of character? Has any one succeeded in
even depicting an imaginary woman devoid of religion
and yet complete and beautiful? We have already
noticed how suited the woman's nature is to receive
religious impressions and to communicate religious influences;
we may now notice, in concluding, that this
very characteristic renders a woman without God even
more imperfect and unsatisfying than a man without
God. She is naturally inclined to cling to a person
rather than to an idea, to follow a person rather than
a theory. The only Person to whom she can cling
with absolutely good and hallowing results is God;
the only Person whom she can follow and minister to
without detriment to her womanhood and with gain to
her spirit is Christ. A godless woman makes a sore
shipwreck of life, whether she becomes sensual and
depraved, or ambitious and domineering, or bitter and
cynical, or vain and conventional. In her ruin there
is always a power as of a fallen angel, and she can
drag others with her in her fall.
If a man is wise then in choosing for himself a wife,
the first thing he will demand is that she shall be one
that fears the Lord, one who shall be able to lead him
and help him in that which is his truest life, and to
maintain for him a saving intercourse with the world
of spiritual realities. He may be assured that in her
love to God he has the best guarantee of her love to
him, and that if she does not fear and love God the
main sanction for their wedded happiness will be
wanting.
Finally, where the woman who has been described
is actually found in real life it is for us to recognise
her and to reward her. Let society take note of her:
"Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works
praise her in the gates." The great Greek historian
said that woman's highest praise consisted in not being
mentioned at all. That is not the teaching of Revelation.
Woman's best work is often done in silence and
without observation, but her highest praise is when
the seeds sown in silence have grown into flowers of
loveliness and fruit that is sweet to the taste, and the
whole community is forced to yield her the honour
which is her due, exalting, with heartfelt admiration and
with deep gratitude to God, the Wife, the Mother, the
Ministrant to the Poor.
INDEX OF TEXTS IN PROVERBS QUOTED OR EXPOUNDED.
| verses |
page |
| |
| Chapter I. |
| |
| i.-ix. | 7 |
| 7 | 9, 15, etc. |
| 11-14 | 26, 27 |
| 13 | 32 |
| 17 | 34 |
| 19 | 30, 33 |
| 24-31 | 35, 36 |
| 25 | 34 |
| 31 | 34, 37 |
| 32 | 25, 34 |
| |
| Chapter II. |
| |
| 10 | 25 |
| 12 | 24 |
| 16 | 24 |
| 19 | 34 |
| 21 | 37 |
| 22 | 33, 37 |
| |
| Chapter III. |
| |
| 1-10 | 37 |
| 6 | 46 |
| 8 | 39 |
| 12 | 50 |
| 13-15 | 48 |
| 16 | 50 |
| 18 | 49 |
| 27 | 43 |
| 28 | 43 |
| 29 | 41 |
| 31 | 50 |
| 33 | 41 |
| 35 | 51 |
| |
| Chapter IV. |
| |
| 1-7 | 52 |
| 8, 9 | 55 |
| 12 | 64 |
| 14 | 56 |
| 16, 17 | 26, 63 |
| 18 | 63 |
| 19 | 62 |
| 20-23 | 57 |
| 24 | 59 |
| 25-27 | 61 |
| |
| Chapter V. |
| |
| 3-20 | 27 |
| 8 | 66 |
| 9 | 72 |
| 10 | 72 |
| 11 | 72 |
| 12-14 | 28, 72 |
| 15-19 | 69 |
| 21 | 62, 72 |
| 22 | 29 |
| 23 | 73 |
| |
| Chapter VI. |
| |
| 1-5 | 80 |
| 6-8 | 83 |
| 12-15 | 84 |
| 16-19 | 88 |
| 20-23 | 91 |
| 24-35 | 27 |
| 25 | 68 |
| 26 | 72, 75 |
| 27, 28 | 71 |
| 32 | 29 |
| 33 | 72 |
| 34 | 72 |
| 35 | 72 |
| |
| Chapter VII. |
| |
| 1-5 | 93 |
| 4 | 94 |
| 5-27 | 27, 95, etc. |
| 8 | 95 |
| 9 | 94 |
| 14 | 124 |
| 15 | 68 |
| 16, 17 | 68 |
| 22 | 99 |
| |
| Chapter VIII. |
| |
| 1-6 | 107 |
| 7-9 | 108 |
| 10-16 | 109 |
| 15-16 | 4 |
| 17 | 110 |
| 18 | 109 |
| 20 | 108 |
| 22 | 110 |
| 22-31 | 112, etc. |
| 26 | 110 |
| 29 | 111 |
| 30-36 | 120 |
| |
| Chapter IX. |
| |
| 1-3 | 123-4 |
| 4 | 122 |
| 5 | 124 |
| 6 | 125 |
| 7 | 125 |
| 8 | 348 |
| 9 | 127 |
| 10 | 9, 127 |
| 12 | 37, 131 |
| 17 | 68 |
| |
| Chapter X. |
| |
| 1 | 306 |
| 2 | 135, 141 |
| 4 | 139 |
| 12 | 209 |
| 13 | 342 |
| 14 | 164 |
| 15 | 138, 290 |
| 17 | 181 |
| 18 | 339 |
| 19 | 171 |
| 22 | 142 |
| 23 | 111, 156, 338 |
| 28 | 150 |
| 29 | 155 |
| 30 | 150 |
| |
| Chapter XI. |
| |
| 1 | 215 |
| 2 | 183 |
| 3 | 151 |
| 4 | 142 |
| 5 | 150 |
| 6 | 149, 150 |
| 7 | 151 |
| 8 | 152 |
| 9 | 169, 176 |
| 10 | 154 |
| 11 | 154 |
| 12 | 177 |
| 13 | 169 |
| 14 | 256 |
| 15 | 80, 332 |
| 16 | 399 |
| 17 | 297 |
| 18 | 150 |
| 19 | 151 |
| 20 | 155 |
| 21 | 151 |
| 22 | 398 |
| 24 | 146, 298 |
| 25 | 146 |
| 26 | 294 |
| 27 | 152 |
| 28 | 140 |
| 30 | 152 |
| 31 | 154 |
| |
| Chapter XII. |
| |
| 1 | 163, 181 |
| 2 | 155 |
| 4 | 4, 402 |
| 5 | 177, 198 |
| 6 | 163, 169, 176 |
| 7 | 150, 151 |
| 8 | 42 |
| 9 | 139 |
| 11 | 152, 267, 275 |
| 13 | 152, 163, 164 |
| 14 | 163 |
| 15 | 183, 256 |
| 16 | 163, 166 |
| 17 | 91, 163, 167 |
| 18 | 163, 164, 167, 172 |
| 19 | 89, 163, 168 |
| 21 | 152 |
| 22 | 163, 168 |
| 23 | 163, 339 |
| 24 | 272 |
| 25 | 163, 173 |
| 26 | 153, 154 |
| 27 | 265, 273 |
| |
| Chapter XIII. |
| |
| 1 | 125, 179, 181 |
| 2 | 164 |
| 3 | 150, 171 |
| 4 | 271 |
| 5 | 108 |
| 6 | 152 |
| 8 | 138 |
| 9 | 151 |
| 10 | 179, 183, 184 |
| 11 | 141 |
| 12 | 193, 194 |
| 13 | 179, 181, 184, 259 |
| 16 | 171 |
| 17 | 182 |
| 18 | 140, 179 |
| 19 | 192 |
| 22 | 141, 153 |
| 24 | 309 |
| 25 | 152 |
| |
| Chapter XIV. |
| |
| 1 | 398 |
| 3 | 165, 176, 186 |
| 4 | 269 |
| 5 | 91, 176 |
| 6 | 126 |
| 7 | 171, 339 |
| 9 | 156 |
| 10 | 191, et seq. |
| 11 | 150 |
| 12 | 65, 151 |
| 13 | 191, 195 |
| 14 | 152 |
| 15 | 177 |
| 16 | 186 |
| 17 | 205 |
| 19 | 153 |
| 20 | 138, 139 |
| 21 | 294 |
| 22 | 152 |
| 23 | 171 |
| 24 | 141, 340 |
| 25 | 91, 176 |
| 26 | 152 |
| 27 | 15 |
| 28 | 332 |
| 29 | 205 |
| 30 | 210 |
| 31 | 143, 291 |
| 32 | 153 |
| 33 | 171, 339 |
| 34 | 4, 154 |
| 35 | 328 |
| |
| Chapter XV. |
| |
| 1 | 172, 203 |
| 2 | 171 |
| 3 | 197 |
| 4 | 172, 203, 210 |
| 6 | 141, 142, 216 |
| 7 | 175 |
| 8 | 156, 181 |
| 9 | 155 |
| 11 | 198 |
| 12 | 126 |
| 13 | 195 |
| 15 | 195, 357 |
| 16, 17 | 143 |
| 18 | 203 |
| 19 | 264 |
| 20 | 181, 306 |
| 22 | 256, 332 |
| 23 | 165, 173 |
| 25 | 187, 291 |
| 26 | 155, 172 |
| 27 | 145 |
| 28 | 151, 169, 176 |
| 29 | 156 |
| 30 | 196 |
| 31 | 184 |
| 32 | 181 |
| 33, etc. | 4, 184, 215 |
| |
| Chapter XVI. |
| |
| 1 | 178 |
| 1-7 | 4, 216 |
| 2 | 198 |
| 4 | 201 |
| 5 | 151, 187 |
| 6 | 226, 362 |
| 7 | 324 |
| 8 | 142 |
| 9 | 216 |
| 11 | 215 |
| 12 | 327 |
| 13 | 153, 327 |
| 14 | 328 |
| 15 | 328 |
| 16 | 142 |
| 17 | 152 |
| 18 | 180 |
| 19 | 180 |
| 20 | 4, 179, 183, 188, 216 |
| 21 | 175 |
| 22 | 340 |
| 23 | 175 |
| 24 | 173 |
| 25 | 151 |
| 26 | 265 |
| 27 | 154 |
| 28 | 169 |
| 29 | 27 |
| 30 | 85 |
| 32 | 209 |
| 33 | 4, 217 |
| |
| Chapter XVII. |
| |
| 1 | 143 |
| 2 | 184 |
| 3 | 198 |
| 4 | 177 |
| 5 | 143, 291, 314, 316 |
| 6 | 53, 143 |
| 7 | 332 |
| 8 | 138 |
| 9 | 169 |
| 10 | 182 |
| 11 | 259 |
| 12 | 204, 343 |
| 14 | 205, 208 |
| 15 | 155 |
| 16 | 339 |
| 17 | 227 |
| 18 | 80 |
| 19 | 185 |
| 20 | 165 |
| 21 | 306, 339 |
| 22 | 194, 195 |
| 24 | 61 |
| 25 | 306 |
| 26 | 153, 155 |
| 27 | 177, 205 |
| 28 | 177 |
| |
| Chapter XVIII. |
| |
| 1 | 205, 239, etc. |
| 2 | 171 |
| 3 | 154 |
| 4 | 165 |
| 5 | 155 |
| 6 | 165 |
| 7 | 165 |
| 8 | 169 |
| 9 | 167, 266 |
| 11 | 138 |
| 12 | 180, 189 |
| 13 | 170 |
| 14 | 194 |
| 15 | 127 |
| 16 | 138 |
| 18 | 217 |
| 19 | 234 |
| 20 | 164 |
| 21 | 164 |
| 22 | 4, 399 |
| 23 | 139 |
| 24 | 229, 233 |
| |
| Chapter XIX. |
| |
| 1 | 142, 165 |
| 2 | 256 |
| 4 | 138, 139 |
| 5 | 91, 167 |
| 6 | 138 |
| 7 | 3, 139, 166 |
| 8 | 258 |
| 9 | 91 |
| 10 | 342 |
| 11 | 205 |
| 12 | 328 |
| 13 | 292, 306, 398 |
| 14 | 4 |
| 15 | 265 |
| 16 | 152, 258 |
| 17 | 146, 291 |
| 18 | 309 |
| 19 | 206 |
| 20 | 256, 261 |
| 21 | 216, 257 |
| 22 | 165, 198 |
| 23 | 258, 362 |
| 24 | 263 |
| 25 | 126 |
| 26 | 306 |
| 27 | 258 |
| 28 | 167 |
| 29 | 258, 342 |
| |
| Chapter XX. |
| |
| 1 | 279 |
| 2 | 329 |
| 3 | 205 |
| 4 | 262 |
| 5 | 256 |
| 7 | 153 |
| 8 | 327 |
| 9 | 198 |
| 10 | 215 |
| 11 | 153 |
| 12 | 197 |
| 13 | 204 |
| 14 | 86 |
| 15 | 142, 176 |
| 16 | 80 |
| 17 | 168 |
| 18 | 256, 332 |
| 19 | 169 |
| 21 | 145 |
| 22 | 210 |
| 23 | 215 |
| 24 | 198 |
| 26 | 327 |
| 27 | 198 |
| 28 | 328 |
| 30 | 310 |
| |
| Chapter XXI. |
| |
| 1 | 4, 328 |
| 2 | 151, 198 |
| 3 | 156 |
| 4 | 188 |
| 5 | 272 |
| 6 | 141 |
| 7 | 150 |
| 8 | 151 |
| 9 | 398 |
| 10 | 151, 179 |
| 12 | 155 |
| 13 | 299 |
| 14 | 138 |
| 15 | 151, 152 |
| 17 | 276 |
| 18 | 152 |
| 19 | 398 |
| 20 | 140, 272, 339 |
| 21 | 152 |
| 23 | 165 |
| 24 | 180 |
| 25 | 266 |
| 26 | 145 |
| 27 | 156 |
| 28 | 165, 167 |
| 29 | 187 |
| 30 | 259 |
| 31 | 259 |
| |
| Chapter XXII. |
| |
| 1 | 143 |
| 2 | 143, 288, 292 |
| 3 | 352 |
| 4 | 140, 188 |
| 6 | 303 |
| 7 | 139 |
| 8 | 151 |
| 9 | 146, 288, 300 |
| 10 | 126 |
| 11 | 153, 165, 327 |
| 12 | 155 |
| 13 | 263 |
| 14 | 283, 398 |
| 15 | 304, 340 |
| 16 | 141, 288, 297 |
| 17, etc. | 4 |
| 18 | 165 |
| 22 | 4, 288 |
| 23 | 288 |
| 24 | 204 |
| 26, 27 | 80 |
| 29 | 272 |
| |
| Chapter XXIII. |
| |
| 1-3 | 333 |
| 4 | 145 |
| 5 | 140 |
| 9 | 125, 170, 348 |
| 10 | 291 |
| 11 | 291 |
| 13-14 | 303-310 |
| 15 | 306 |
| 16 | 166, 306 |
| 17 | 151, 308 |
| 17-21 | 313 |
| 18 | 151 |
| 21 | 140 |
| 24 | 306 |
| 26-28 | 123 |
| 27 | 398 |
| 29-35 | 4, 76, 281 |
| |
| Chapter XXIV. |
| |
| 1 | 151 |
| 5 | 256 |
| 6 | 256 |
| 7 | 177 |
| 9 | 126, 341 |
| 11, 12 | 5, 155, 197, 299 |
| 15 | 26, 151 |
| 16 | 151 |
| 17 | 314 |
| 18 | 314 |
| 19 | 151 |
| 20 | 151 |
| 21 | 5, 329 |
| 22 | 329 |
| 23 | 330 |
| 23-34 | 3, 5 |
| 24 | 154 |
| 25 | 154 |
| 26 | 176 |
| 27 | 352 |
| 28 | 314 |
| 29 | 314 |
| 30-34 | 82, 270 |
| 34 | 263 |
| |
| Chapter XXV. |
| |
| xxv.-xxix. | 5 |
| 2 | 169 |
| 6, 7 | 5 |
| 8 | 208 |
| 9 | 208 |
| 11 | 174 |
| 12 | 164, 175 |
| 14 | 180 |
| 17 | 244 |
| 18 | 167 |
| 20 | 174 |
| 21, 22 | 6, 314 |
| 23 | 169 |
| 24 | 398 |
| 26 | 153 |
| 28 | 206 |
| |
| Chapter XXVI. |
| |
| 1 | 340 |
| 2 | 168 |
| 3-12 | 341-349 |
| 10 | 346 |
| 12 | 180 |
| 13 | 263 |
| 14 | 263 |
| 15 | 263 |
| 16 | 263 |
| 18 | 170 |
| 19 | 170 |
| 20 | 169 |
| 21 | 166, 204 |
| 22 | 169 |
| 23-28 | 168 |
| 24 | 151 |
| 26 | 151 |
| |
| Chapter XXVII. |
| |
| 1 | 350 |
| 2 | 180 |
| 3 | 341 |
| 4 | 356 |
| 5 | 182 |
| 6 | 232 |
| 8 | 5, 243 |
| 9 | 232 |
| 10 | 233, 244 |
| 11 | 306 |
| 12 | 352 |
| 13 | 80 |
| 14 | 229, 237 |
| 15 | 398 |
| 16 | 398 |
| 17 | 231 |
| 18 | 350, 360 |
| 19 | 230 |
| 20 | 350, 354 |
| 21 | 182 |
| 22 | 340 |
| 23-27 | 5, 140, 270 |
| |
| Chapter XXVIII. |
| |
| xxviiii. generally | 5 |
| 1 | 155 |
| 2 | 332 |
| 3 | 296 |
| 4 | 154, 385 |
| 6 | 142 |
| 8 | 141, 297 |
| 9 | 156, 385 |
| 11 | 143 |
| 12 | 154, 332 |
| 13 | 362 |
| 14 | 362 |
| 15 | 332 |
| 16 | 332 |
| 18 | 152 |
| 19 | 267, 270 |
| 20 | 145 |
| 22 | 145 |
| 23 | 168, 175, 182 |
| 26 | 38, 183, 348 |
| 27 | 146, 298 |
| 28 | 154 |
| |
| Chapter XXIX. |
| |
| 1 | 88 |
| 2 | 5, 154, 332 |
| 3 | 306 |
| 4 | 332 |
| 5 | 168 |
| 6 | 152 |
| 7 | 300 |
| 8 | 204 |
| 9 | 341 |
| 11 | 166, 205, 345 |
| 12 | 333 |
| 14 | 328 |
| 15 | 310 |
| 16 | 151 |
| 17 | 310 |
| 18 | 375 |
| 20 | 170 |
| 22 | 204 |
| 23 | 180 |
| 25 | 335 |
| 26 | 335 |
| 27 | 148 |
| |
| Chapter XXX. |
| |
| xxx. generally | 6, 386 |
| 1-4 | 390, 392 |
| 5-9 | 393 |
| 8 | 146 |
| 9 | 146 |
| 13 | 89 |
| 22 | 332, 339 |
| 25, 27 | 83 |
| 31 | 329 |
| 32, 33 | 167 |
| |
| Chapter XXXI. |
| |
| xxxi. generally | 6, 397 |
| 1 | 397 |
| 2-8 | 334 |
| 3 | 397 |
| 4 | 278 |
| 5 | 278 |
| 6 | 278 |
| 7 | 278 |
| 8 | 176 |
| 9 | 176 |
| 10-31 | 400, 410 |
| 27 | 273 |
| 30 | 302 |
GENERAL INDEX.
Agassiz, 144.
Agriculture, 140, 269.
Agur, 386.
Anger, 205.
Ant, the, 83.
Atheism, unknown to Israel, 11, 18.
Atonement, meaning of, 362, 371.
Bacon, 16, 230.
Bible, its character, 382.
Buddha, his teaching quoted, 71.
Burns, quoted, 293.
Carlyle, 305.
Catholic, the Catholic Church, 246.
Chastening, 51.
Christ, 93, 103, 107, 117, 120, 133, 148, 212, 227, 247, 258, 273, 318, 326, 330, 335, 348, 360, 383.
---- His use of the Proverbs, 124, 126, 127, 128, 130, 159, 314.
Church, the, 247.
Coleridge, 16.
Commercial life, 41, 86, 218, 226.
Competition, 31.
Confession, 364.
Conscience, 225, 252, 343.
Contentment, 356.
Conversion, 104, 212, 287, 320.
"Corners," 295.
Covetousness, 30.
Creation, the poem of, 112.
Criticism, 181.
Dandy, the, 95.
Darwin, 16.
Death, not terrible, 41.
Diligence, 139, 262 et seq.
Distribution, economic, 136.
Donatello, 183.
Drink, 275 et seq.
Drunkard, the, 76, 277.
Ecclesiastes, quoted, 10.
Ecclesiasticus, 9, 12, 22, 81, 139, 144, 169, 184, 218, 250, 306, 400.
Education, 52 et seq., 303 et seq.
Equality, 294.
Evolution, 113.
Faith, the life of, 356.
Fanaticism, 287.
Fitness, in speech, 170, 174.
Flattery, 168.
Folly, 67, 92, 122, 131, 205.
Fool, the, 337 et seq.
Forgiveness, 314 et seq.
---- God's, 370.
Francis, St., 190.
Friendship, 227 et seq.
Gambling, 32.
God, His existence, 391.
---- men need Him, 43.
---- relation with human life, 47, 155, 197, 199, 217, 236, 252, 291, 353.
Gregg, quoted, 73.
Health, result of wisdom, 39.
Heathenism, 158, 377.
Heaven, 59, 162, 274.
Hell, 59, 73.
Henry II., 106.
Home, 53.
Honesty, 224.
Hudibras, quoted, 266.
Humility, 44, 127, 184, 189.
Idleness, ruinous, 266.
Immortality, 378.
Impurity, 25, 27, 29.
Indra, drunk, 279.
Inspiration of the book of Proverbs, 157.
Inwardness, 60.
Jahveh, 15, 21.
Jakeh, 6.
Joy, 193.
Justification, 161.
King, the, 326 et seq.
---- Divine right of, 331.
Land, the land question, 270.
Lanfranc, anecdote of, 205.
Law, 113.
Lemuel, 6, 396.
Liberality, 43, 145.
Lies, 89, 130, 167, 330.
Livingstone, 59.
Lot, the, use of, 217.
Love, 209, 235, 311.
Man, 114.
Marriage, 69, 401.
Massa, Gen. xxv. 14, 6.
Meekness, 172, 210.
Milton, quoted, 59, 69, 111, 133, 316, 367.
Misanthrope, the, 240.
Misapplication of Scripture, 346.
Morality, relation to science, 116.
Mother's influence, 397.
---- neglect, 53.
Murder, 90.
Nabal, 339.
National righteousness, 154.
Neighbourliness, 244.
Obedience, 385.
Parents, duties of, 306.
Paton, John, 54, 217.
Paul, St., 359.
Pauperism, 290.
Plain speaking, 65, 102.
Pleasure, 276.
Poor, the, 43, 141, 143, 176, 288 et seq.
Positivism, 378.
Pride, 89, 179 et seq., 210.
Proverbs, book of, its limitations, 22, 211, 316, 347.
Punishment, 87, 309 et seq.
Quarrelling, 166.
Rashness, 170.
Realism, 66, 92.
Reason, 341.
Remorse, 77.
Repetition of Proverbs, 2 (note).
Reproof, 175.
Revelation, necessary, 20, 375 et seq., 393.
Revenge, 316.
Robespierre, 377.
Rubies, valley of, 49.
Science, depends on theology, 113.
---- its limitations, 379, 380.
Scorner, the, 125, 129.
Servants, treatment of, 387.
Shakespeare, quoted, 73, 86, 234, 241.
Sin, its nature, 363, 367.
---- its results, 71, 74, 101.
---- its seductions, 68.
Sister, 94.
Sluggard, the, 82, 263.
Socialism, 137, 147, 395.
Solomon, not the author of the whole book, 2, 106.
Speech, its power, 164.
Suretiship, 80.
Sweating, 31, 296.
Sympathy, 196.
Theism, necessary to knowledge, 19.
Temper, 203, 207.
Temperance, 280, 286.
Tennyson, quoted, 67.
Truth, injured by drink, 283.
Wealth, 135 et seq.
---- true, 356.
Wife, the, 399 et seq.
Will, freedom of, 251 et seq.
Wisdom, meaning of, 10.
---- person of, 92, 108, 123.
---- rewards of, 37, 109.
---- the book of, 9, 10.
---- the book of, quoted, 118.
Woman, 96, 132, 396.
Work, its blessings, 268.
Worthless man, the, 84.
Youth, dangers of, 34.
Zacchæus, 367.
Zola, 67.
Indexes
Index of Scripture Commentary
Index of Pages of the Print Edition