from www.ebible.org with slight reformatting by martin ward. book 21 ecclesiastes 001:001 the words of the preacher, the son of david, king in jerusalem: 001:002 "vanity of vanities," says the preacher; "vanity of vanities, all is vanity." 001:003 what does man gain from all his labor in which he labors under the sun? 001:004 one generation goes, and another generation comes; but the earth remains forever. 001:005 the sun also rises, and the sun goes down, and hurries to its place where it rises. 001:006 the wind goes toward the south, and turns around to the north. it turns around continually as it goes, and the wind returns again to its courses. 001:007 all the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full. to the place where the rivers flow, there they flow again. 001:008 all things are full of weariness beyond uttering. the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. 001:009 that which has been is that which shall be; and that which has been done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. 001:010 is there a thing of which it may be said, "behold, this is new?" it has been long ago, in the ages which were before us. 001:011 there is no memory of the former; neither shall there be any memory of the latter that are to come, among those that shall come after. 001:012 i, the preacher, was king over israel in jerusalem. 001:013 i applied my heart to seek and to search out by wisdom concerning all that is done under the sky. it is a heavy burden that god has given to the sons of men to be afflicted with. 001:014 i have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and a chasing after wind. 001:015 that which is crooked can't be made straight; and that which is lacking can't be counted. 001:016 i said to myself, "behold, i have obtained for myself great wisdom above all who were before me in jerusalem. yes, my heart has had great experience of wisdom and knowledge." 001:017 i applied my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly. i perceived that this also was a chasing after wind. 001:018 for in much wisdom is much grief; and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow. 002:001 i said in my heart, "come now, i will test you with mirth: therefore enjoy pleasure;" and behold, this also was vanity. 002:002 i said of laughter, "it is foolishness;" and of mirth, "what does it accomplish?" 002:003 i searched in my heart how to cheer my flesh with wine, my heart yet guiding me with wisdom, and how to lay hold of folly, until i might see what it was good for the sons of men that they should do under heaven all the days of their lives. 002:004 i made myself great works. i built myself houses. i planted myself vineyards. 002:005 i made myself gardens and parks, and i planted trees in them of all kinds of fruit. 002:006 i made myself pools of water, to water from it the forest where trees were reared. 002:007 i bought male servants and female servants, and had servants born in my house. i also had great possessions of herds and flocks, above all who were before me in jerusalem; 002:008 i also gathered silver and gold for myself, and the treasure of kings and of the provinces. i got myself male and female singers, and the delights of the sons of men--musical instruments, and that of all sorts. 002:009 so i was great, and increased more than all who were before me in jerusalem. my wisdom also remained with me. 002:010 whatever my eyes desired, i didn't keep from them. i didn't withhold my heart from any joy, for my heart rejoiced because of all my labor, and this was my portion from all my labor. 002:011 then i looked at all the works that my hands had worked, and at the labor that i had labored to do; and behold, all was vanity and a chasing after wind, and there was no profit under the sun. 002:012 i turned myself to consider wisdom, madness, and folly: for what can the king's successor do? just that which has been done long ago. 002:013 then i saw that wisdom excels folly, as far as light excels darkness. 002:014 the wise man's eyes are in his head, and the fool walks in darkness- and yet i perceived that one event happens to them all. 002:015 then said i in my heart, "as it happens to the fool, so will it happen even to me; and why was i then more wise?" then said i in my heart that this also is vanity. 002:016 for of the wise man, even as of the fool, there is no memory for ever, seeing that in the days to come all will have been long forgotten. indeed, the wise man must die just like the fool! 002:017 so i hated life, because the work that is worked under the sun was grievous to me; for all is vanity and a chasing after wind. 002:018 i hated all my labor in which i labored under the sun, seeing that i must leave it to the man who comes after me. 002:019 who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? yet he will have rule over all of my labor in which i have labored, and in which i have shown myself wise under the sun. this also is vanity. 002:020 therefore i began to cause my heart to despair concerning all the labor in which i had labored under the sun. 002:021 for there is a man whose labor is with wisdom, with knowledge, and with skillfulness; yet he shall leave it for his portion to a man who has not labored for it. this also is vanity and a great evil. 002:022 for what has a man of all his labor, and of the striving of his heart, in which he labors under the sun? 002:023 for all his days are sorrows, and his travail is grief; yes, even in the night his heart takes no rest. this also is vanity. 002:024 there is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink, and make his soul enjoy good in his labor. this also i saw, that it is from the hand of god. 002:025 for who can eat, or who can have enjoyment, more than i? 002:026 for to the man who pleases him, god gives wisdom, knowledge, and joy; but to the sinner he gives travail, to gather and to heap up, that he may give to him who pleases god. this also is vanity and a chasing after wind. 003:001 for everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: 003:002 a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 003:003 a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; 003:004 a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; 003:005 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; 003:006 a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; 003:007 a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 003:008 a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace. 003:009 what profit has he who works in that in which he labors? 003:010 i have seen the burden which god has given to the sons of men to be afflicted with. 003:011 he has made everything beautiful in its time. he has also set eternity in their hearts, yet so that man can't find out the work that god has done from the beginning even to the end. 003:012 i know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice, and to do good as long as they live. 003:013 also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy good in all his labor, is the gift of god. 003:014 i know that whatever god does, it shall be forever. nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; and god has done it, that men should fear before him. 003:015 that which is has been long ago, and that which is to be has been long ago: and god seeks again that which is passed away. 003:016 moreover i saw under the sun, in the place of justice, that wickedness was there; and in the place of righteousness, that wickedness was there. 003:017 i said in my heart, "god will judge the righteous and the wicked; for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work." 003:018 i said in my heart, "as for the sons of men, god tests them, so that they may see that they themselves are like animals. 003:019 for that which happens to the sons of men happens to animals. even one thing happens to them. as the one dies, so the other dies. yes, they have all one breath; and man has no advantage over the animals: for all is vanity. 003:020 all go to one place. all are from the dust, and all turn to dust again. 003:021 who knows the spirit of man, whether it goes upward, and the spirit of the animal, whether it goes downward to the earth?" 003:022 therefore i saw that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his works; for that is his portion: for who can bring him to see what will be after him? 004:001 then i returned and saw all the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold, the tears of those who were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter. 004:002 therefore i praised the dead who have been long dead more than the living who are yet alive. 004:003 yes, better than them both is him who has not yet been, who has not seen the evil work that is done under the sun. 004:004 then i saw all the labor and achievement that is the envy of a man's neighbor. this also is vanity and a striving after wind. 004:005 the fool folds his hands together and ruins himself. 004:006 better is a handful, with quietness, than two handfuls with labor and chasing after wind. 004:007 then i returned and saw vanity under the sun. 004:008 there is one who is alone, and he has neither son nor brother. there is no end to all of his labor, neither are his eyes satisfied with wealth. for whom then, do i labor, and deprive my soul of enjoyment? this also is vanity, yes, it is a miserable business. 004:009 two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. 004:010 for if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow; but woe to him who is alone when he falls, and doesn't have another to lift him up. 004:011 again, if two lie together, then they have warmth; but how can one keep warm alone? 004:012 if a man prevails against one who is alone, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken. 004:013 better is a poor and wise youth than an old and foolish king who doesn't know how to receive admonition any more. 004:014 for out of prison he came forth to be king; yes, even in his kingdom he was born poor. 004:015 i saw all the living who walk under the sun, that they were with the youth, the other, who succeeded him. 004:016 there was no end of all the people, even of all them over whom he was--yet those who come after shall not rejoice in him. surely this also is vanity and a chasing after wind. 005:001 guard your steps when you go to god's house; for to draw near to listen is better than to give the sacrifice of fools, for they don't know that they do evil. 005:002 don't be rash with your mouth, and don't let your heart be hasty to utter anything before god; for god is in heaven, and you on earth. therefore let your words be few. 005:003 for as a dream comes with a multitude of cares, so a fool's speech with a multitude of words. 005:004 when you vow a vow to god, don't defer to pay it; for he has no pleasure in fools. pay that which you vow. 005:005 it is better that you should not vow, than that you should vow and not pay. 005:006 don't allow your mouth to lead you into sin. don't protest before the messenger that this was a mistake. why should god be angry at your voice, and destroy the work of your hands? 005:007 for in the multitude of dreams there are vanities, as well as in many words: but you must fear god. 005:008 if you see the oppression of the poor, and the violent taking away of justice and righteousness in a district, don't marvel at the matter: for one official is eyed by a higher one; and there are officials over them. 005:009 moreover the profit of the earth is for all. the king profits from the field. 005:010 he who loves silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he who loves abundance, with increase: this also is vanity. 005:011 when goods increase, those who eat them are increased; and what advantage is there to its owner, except to feast on them with his eyes? 005:012 the sleep of a laboring man is sweet, whether he eats little or much; but the abundance of the rich will not allow him to sleep. 005:013 there is a grievous evil which i have seen under the sun: wealth kept by its owner to his harm. 005:014 those riches perish by misfortune, and if he has fathered a son, there is nothing in his hand. 005:015 as he came forth from his mother's womb, naked shall he go again as he came, and shall take nothing for his labor, which he may carry away in his hand. 005:016 this also is a grievous evil, that in all points as he came, so shall he go. and what profit does he have who labors for the wind? 005:017 all his days he also eats in darkness, he is frustrated, and has sickness and wrath. 005:018 behold, that which i have seen to be good and proper is for one to eat and to drink, and to enjoy good in all his labor, in which he labors under the sun, all the days of his life which god has given him; for this is his portion. 005:019 every man also to whom god has given riches and wealth, and has given him power to eat of it, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labor--this is the gift of god. 005:020 for he shall not often reflect on the days of his life; because god occupies him with the joy of his heart. 006:001 there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, and it is heavy on men: 006:002 a man to whom god gives riches, wealth, and honor, so that he lacks nothing for his soul of all that he desires, yet god gives him no power to eat of it, but an alien eats it. this is vanity, and it is an evil disease. 006:003 if a man fathers a hundred children, and lives many years, so that the days of his years are many, but his soul is not filled with good, and moreover he has no burial; i say, that an untimely birth is better than he: 006:004 for it comes in vanity, and departs in darkness, and its name is covered with darkness. 006:005 moreover it has not seen the sun nor known it. this has rest rather than the other. 006:006 yes, though he live a thousand years twice told, and yet fails to enjoy good, don't all go to one place? 006:007 all the labor of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled. 006:008 for what advantage has the wise more than the fool? what has the poor man, that knows how to walk before the living? 006:009 better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the desire. this also is vanity and a chasing after wind. 006:010 whatever has been, its name was given long ago; and it is known what man is; neither can he contend with him who is mightier than he. 006:011 for there are many words that create vanity. what does that profit man? 006:012 for who knows what is good for man in life, all the days of his vain life which he spends like a shadow? for who can tell a man what will be after him under the sun? 007:001 a good name is better than fine perfume; and the day of death better than the day of one's birth. 007:002 it is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men, and the living should take this to heart. 007:003 sorrow is better than laughter; for by the sadness of the face the heart is made good. 007:004 the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. 007:005 it is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools. 007:006 for as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool. this also is vanity. 007:007 surely extortion makes the wise man foolish; and a bribe destroys the understanding. 007:008 better is the end of a thing than its beginning. the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. 007:009 don't be hasty in your spirit to be angry, for anger rests in the bosom of fools. 007:010 don't say, "why were the former days better than these?" for you do not ask wisely about this. 007:011 wisdom is as good as an inheritance. yes, it is more excellent for those who see the sun. 007:012 for wisdom is a defense, even as money is a defense; but the excellency of knowledge is that wisdom preserves the life of him who has it. 007:013 consider the work of god, for who can make that straight, which he has made crooked? 007:014 in the day of prosperity be joyful, and in the day of adversity consider; yes, god has made the one side by side with the other, to the end that man should not find out anything after him. 007:015 all this have i seen in my days of vanity: there is a righteous man who perishes in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man who lives long in his evil-doing. 007:016 don't be overly righteous, neither make yourself overly wise. why should you destroy yourself? 007:017 don't be too wicked, neither be foolish. why should you die before your time? 007:018 it is good that you should take hold of this. yes, also from that don't withdraw your hand; for he who fears god will come forth from them all. 007:019 wisdom is a strength to the wise man more than ten rulers who are in a city. 007:020 surely there is not a righteous man on earth, who does good and doesn't sin. 007:021 also don't take heed to all words that are spoken, lest you hear your servant curse you; 007:022 for often your own heart knows that you yourself have likewise cursed others. 007:023 all this have i proved in wisdom. i said, "i will be wise;" but it was far from me. 007:024 that which is, is far off and exceedingly deep. who can find it out? 007:025 i turned around, and my heart sought to know and to search out, and to seek wisdom and the scheme of things, and to know that wickedness is stupidity, and that foolishness is madness. 007:026 i find more bitter than death the woman whose heart is snares and traps, whose hands are chains. whoever pleases god shall escape from her; but the sinner will be ensnared by her. 007:027 behold, this have i found, says the preacher, one to another, to find out the scheme; 007:028 which my soul still seeks; but i have not found: one man among a thousand have i found; but a woman among all those have i not found. 007:029 behold, this only have i found: that god made man upright; but they search for many schemes. 008:001 who is like the wise man? and who knows the interpretation of a thing? a man's wisdom makes his face shine, and the hardness of his face is changed. 008:002 i say, "keep the king's command!" because of the oath to god. 008:003 don't be hasty to go out of his presence. don't persist in an evil thing, for he does whatever pleases him, 008:004 for the king's word is supreme. who can say to him, "what are you doing?" 008:005 whoever keeps the commandment shall not come to harm, and his wise heart will know the time and procedure. 008:006 for there is a time and procedure for every purpose, although the misery of man is heavy on him. 008:007 for he doesn't know that which will be; for who can tell him how it will be? 008:008 there is no man who has power over the spirit to contain the spirit; neither does he have power over the day of death. there is no discharge in war; neither shall wickedness deliver those who practice it. 008:009 all this have i seen, and applied my mind to every work that is done under the sun. there is a time in which one man has power over another to his hurt. 008:010 so i saw the wicked buried. indeed they came also from holiness. they went and were forgotten in the city where they did this. this also is vanity. 008:011 because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil. 008:012 though a sinner commits crimes a hundred times, and lives long, yet surely i know that it will be better with those who fear god, who are reverent before him. 008:013 but it shall not be well with the wicked, neither shall he lengthen days like a shadow; because he doesn't fear god. 008:014 there is a vanity which is done on the earth, that there are righteous men to whom it happens according to the work of the wicked. again, there are wicked men to whom it happens according to the work of the righteous. i said that this also is vanity. 008:015 then i commended mirth, because a man has no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be joyful: for that will accompany him in his labor all the days of his life which god has given him under the sun. 008:016 when i applied my heart to know wisdom, and to see the business that is done on the earth (for also there is that neither day nor night sees sleep with his eyes), 008:017 then i saw all the work of god, that man can't find out the work that is done under the sun, because however much a man labors to seek it out, yet he won't find it. yes even though a wise man thinks he can comprehend it, he won't be able to find it. 009:001 for all this i laid to my heart, even to explore all this: that the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are in the hand of god; whether it is love or hatred, man doesn't know it; all is before them. 009:002 all things come alike to all. there is one event to the righteous and to the wicked; to the good, to the clean, to the unclean, to him who sacrifices, and to him who doesn't sacrifice. as is the good, so is the sinner; he who takes an oath, as he who fears an oath. 009:003 this is an evil in all that is done under the sun, that there is one event to all: yes also, the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead. 009:004 for to him who is joined with all the living there is hope; for a living dog is better than a dead lion. 009:005 for the living know that they will die, but the dead don't know anything, neither do they have any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten. 009:006 also their love, their hatred, and their envy has perished long ago; neither have they any more a portion forever in anything that is done under the sun. 009:007 go your way--eat your bread with joy, and drink your wine with a merry heart; for god has already accepted your works. 009:008 let your garments be always white, and don't let your head lack oil. 009:009 live joyfully with the wife whom you love all the days of your life of vanity, which he has given you under the sun, all your days of vanity: for that is your portion in life, and in your labor in which you labor under the sun. 009:010 whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in sheol, where you are going. 009:011 i returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all. 009:012 for man also doesn't know his time. as the fish that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare, even so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falls suddenly on them. 009:013 i have also seen wisdom under the sun in this way, and it seemed great to me. 009:014 there was a little city, and few men within it; and a great king came against it, besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it. 009:015 now a poor wise man was found in it, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; yet no man remembered that same poor man. 009:016 then said i, wisdom is better than strength. nevertheless the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard. 009:017 the words of the wise heard in quiet are better than the cry of him who rules among fools. 009:018 wisdom is better than weapons of war; but one sinner destroys much good. 010:001 dead flies cause the oil of the perfumer to send forth an evil odor; so does a little folly outweigh wisdom and honor. 010:002 a wise man's heart is at his right hand, but a fool's heart at his left. 010:003 yes also, when the fool walks by the way, his understanding fails him, and he says to everyone that he is a fool. 010:004 if the spirit of the ruler rises up against you, don't leave your place; for gentleness lays great offenses to rest. 010:005 there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, the sort of error which proceeds from the ruler. 010:006 folly is set in great dignity, and the rich sit in a low place. 010:007 i have seen servants on horses, and princes walking like servants on the earth. 010:008 he who digs a pit may fall into it; and whoever breaks through a wall may be bitten by a snake. 010:009 whoever carves out stones may be injured by them. whoever splits wood may be endangered thereby. 010:010 if the axe is blunt, and one doesn't sharpen the edge, then he must use more strength; but skill brings success. 010:011 if the snake bites before it is charmed, then is there no profit for the charmer's tongue. 010:012 the words of a wise man's mouth are gracious; but a fool is swallowed by his own lips. 010:013 the beginning of the words of his mouth is foolishness; and the end of his talk is mischievous madness. 010:014 a fool also multiplies words. man doesn't know what will be; and that which will be after him, who can tell him? 010:015 the labor of fools wearies every one of them; for he doesn't know how to go to the city. 010:016 woe to you, land, when your king is a child, and your princes eat in the morning! 010:017 happy are you, land, when your king is the son of nobles, and your princes eat in due season, for strength, and not for drunkenness! 010:018 by slothfulness the roof sinks in; and through idleness of the hands the house leaks. 010:019 a feast is made for laughter, and wine makes the life glad; and money is the answer for all things. 010:020 don't curse the king, no, not in your thoughts; and don't curse the rich in your bedchamber: for a bird of the sky may carry your voice, and that which has wings may tell the matter. 011:001 cast your bread on the waters; for you shall find it after many days. 011:002 give a portion to seven, yes, even to eight; for you don't know what evil will be on the earth. 011:003 if the clouds are full of rain, they empty themselves on the earth; and if a tree falls toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falls, there shall it be. 011:004 he who observes the wind won't sow; and he who regards the clouds won't reap. 011:005 as you don't know what is the way of the wind, nor how the bones grow in the womb of her who is with child; even so you don't know the work of god who does all. 011:006 in the morning sow your seed, and in the evening don't withhold your hand; for you don't know which will prosper, whether this or that, or whether they both will be equally good. 011:007 truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to see the sun. 011:008 yes, if a man lives many years, let him rejoice in them all; but let him remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many. all that comes is vanity. 011:009 rejoice, young man, in your youth, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth, and walk in the ways of your heart, and in the sight of your eyes; but know that for all these things god will bring you into judgment. 011:010 therefore remove sorrow from your heart, and put away evil from your flesh; for youth and the dawn of life are vanity. 012:001 remember also your creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come, and the years draw near, when you will say, "i have no pleasure in them;" 012:002 before the sun, the light, the moon, and the stars are darkened, and the clouds return after the rain; 012:003 in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those who look out of the windows are darkened, 012:004 and the doors shall be shut in the street; when the sound of the grinding is low, and one shall rise up at the voice of a bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low; 012:005 yes, they shall be afraid of heights, and terrors will be in the way; and the almond tree shall blossom, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail; because man goes to his everlasting home, and the mourners go about the streets: 012:006 before the silver cord is severed, or the golden bowl is broken, or the pitcher is broken at the spring, or the wheel broken at the cistern, 012:007 and the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to god who gave it. 012:008 vanity of vanities, says the preacher. all is vanity! 012:009 further, because the preacher was wise, he still taught the people knowledge. yes, he pondered, sought out, and set in order many proverbs. 012:010 the preacher sought to find out acceptable words, and that which was written blamelessly, words of truth. 012:011 the words of the wise are like goads; and like nails well fastened are words from the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd. 012:012 furthermore, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh. 012:013 this is the end of the matter. all has been heard. fear god, and keep his commandments; for this is the whole duty of man. 012:014 for god will bring every work into judgment, with every hidden thing, whether it is good, or whether it is evil. this ebook was produced by david widger with the help of derek andrew's text from january 1992 and the work of bryan taylor in november 2002. book 21 ecclesiastes 21:001:001 the words of the preacher, the son of david, king in jerusalem. 21:001:002 vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. 21:001:003 what profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun? 21:001:004 one generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever. 21:001:005 the sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose. 21:001:006 the wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. 21:001:007 all the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again. 21:001:008 all things are full of labour; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing. 21:001:009 the thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. 21:001:010 is there any thing whereof it may be said, see, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us. 21:001:011 there is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after. 21:001:012 i the preacher was king over israel in jerusalem. 21:001:013 and i gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven: this sore travail hath god given to the sons of man to be exercised therewith. 21:001:014 i have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit. 21:001:015 that which is crooked cannot be made straight: and that which is wanting cannot be numbered. 21:001:016 i communed with mine own heart, saying, lo, i am come to great estate, and have gotten more wisdom than all they that have been before me in jerusalem: yea, my heart had great experience of wisdom and knowledge. 21:001:017 and i gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: i perceived that this also is vexation of spirit. 21:001:018 for in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. 21:002:001 i said in mine heart, go to now, i will prove thee with mirth, therefore enjoy pleasure: and, behold, this also is vanity. 21:002:002 i said of laughter, it is mad: and of mirth, what doeth it? 21:002:003 i sought in mine heart to give myself unto wine, yet acquainting mine heart with wisdom; and to lay hold on folly, till i might see what was that good for the sons of men, which they should do under the heaven all the days of their life. 21:002:004 i made me great works; i builded me houses; i planted me vineyards: 21:002:005 i made me gardens and orchards, and i planted trees in them of all kind of fruits: 21:002:006 i made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees: 21:002:007 i got me servants and maidens, and had servants born in my house; also i had great possessions of great and small cattle above all that were in jerusalem before me: 21:002:008 i gathered me also silver and gold, and the peculiar treasure of kings and of the provinces: i gat me men singers and women singers, and the delights of the sons of men, as musical instruments, and that of all sorts. 21:002:009 so i was great, and increased more than all that were before me in jerusalem: also my wisdom remained with me. 21:002:010 and whatsoever mine eyes desired i kept not from them, i withheld not my heart from any joy; for my heart rejoiced in all my labour: and this was my portion of all my labour. 21:002:011 then i looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that i had laboured to do: and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun. 21:002:012 and i turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly: for what can the man do that cometh after the king? even that which hath been already done. 21:002:013 then i saw that wisdom excelleth folly, as far as light excelleth darkness. 21:002:014 the wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness: and i myself perceived also that one event happeneth to them all. 21:002:015 then said i in my heart, as it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me; and why was i then more wise? then i said in my heart, that this also is vanity. 21:002:016 for there is no remembrance of the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all be forgotten. and how dieth the wise man? as the fool. 21:002:017 therefore i hated life; because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me: for all is vanity and vexation of spirit. 21:002:018 yea, i hated all my labour which i had taken under the sun: because i should leave it unto the man that shall be after me. 21:002:019 and who knoweth whether he shall be a wise man or a fool? yet shall he have rule over all my labour wherein i have laboured, and wherein i have shewed myself wise under the sun. this is also vanity. 21:002:020 therefore i went about to cause my heart to despair of all the labour which i took under the sun. 21:002:021 for there is a man whose labour is in wisdom, and in knowledge, and in equity; yet to a man that hath not laboured therein shall he leave it for his portion. this also is vanity and a great evil. 21:002:022 for what hath man of all his labour, and of the vexation of his heart, wherein he hath laboured under the sun? 21:002:023 for all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief; yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night. this is also vanity. 21:002:024 there is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour. this also i saw, that it was from the hand of god. 21:002:025 for who can eat, or who else can hasten hereunto, more than i? 21:002:026 for god giveth to a man that is good in his sight wisdom, and knowledge, and joy: but to the sinner he giveth travail, to gather and to heap up, that he may give to him that is good before god. this also is vanity and vexation of spirit. 21:003:001 to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: 21:003:002 a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 21:003:003 a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; 21:003:004 a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; 21:003:005 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; 21:003:006 a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; 21:003:007 a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 21:003:008 a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. 21:003:009 what profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth? 21:003:010 i have seen the travail, which god hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it. 21:003:011 he hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that god maketh from the beginning to the end. 21:003:012 i know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life. 21:003:013 and also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of god. 21:003:014 i know that, whatsoever god doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and god doeth it, that men should fear before him. 21:003:015 that which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and god requireth that which is past. 21:003:016 and moreover i saw under the sun the place of judgment, that wickedness was there; and the place of righteousness, that iniquity was there. 21:003:017 i said in mine heart, god shall judge the righteous and the wicked: for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work. 21:003:018 i said in mine heart concerning the estate of the sons of men, that god might manifest them, and that they might see that they themselves are beasts. 21:003:019 for that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity. 21:003:020 all go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. 21:003:021 who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth? 21:003:022 wherefore i perceive that there is nothing better, than that a man should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion: for who shall bring him to see what shall be after him? 21:004:001 so i returned, and considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter. 21:004:002 wherefore i praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive. 21:004:003 yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun. 21:004:004 again, i considered all travail, and every right work, that for this a man is envied of his neighbour. this is also vanity and vexation of spirit. 21:004:005 the fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh. 21:004:006 better is an handful with quietness, than both the hands full with travail and vexation of spirit. 21:004:007 then i returned, and i saw vanity under the sun. 21:004:008 there is one alone, and there is not a second; yea, he hath neither child nor brother: yet is there no end of all his labour; neither is his eye satisfied with riches; neither saith he, for whom do i labour, and bereave my soul of good? this is also vanity, yea, it is a sore travail. 21:004:009 two are better than one; because they have a good reward for their labour. 21:004:010 for if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow: but woe to him that is alone when he falleth; for he hath not another to help him up. 21:004:011 again, if two lie together, then they have heat: but how can one be warm alone? 21:004:012 and if one prevail against him, two shall withstand him; and a threefold cord is not quickly broken. 21:004:013 better is a poor and a wise child than an old and foolish king, who will no more be admonished. 21:004:014 for out of prison he cometh to reign; whereas also he that is born in his kingdom becometh poor. 21:004:015 i considered all the living which walk under the sun, with the second child that shall stand up in his stead. 21:004:016 there is no end of all the people, even of all that have been before them: they also that come after shall not rejoice in him. surely this also is vanity and vexation of spirit. 21:005:001 keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of god, and be more ready to hear, than to give the sacrifice of fools: for they consider not that they do evil. 21:005:002 be not rash with thy mouth, and let not thine heart be hasty to utter any thing before god: for god is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few. 21:005:003 for a dream cometh through the multitude of business; and a fool's voice is known by multitude of words. 21:005:004 when thou vowest a vow unto god, defer not to pay it; for he hath no pleasure in fools: pay that which thou hast vowed. 21:005:005 better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay. 21:005:006 suffer not thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin; neither say thou before the angel, that it was an error: wherefore should god be angry at thy voice, and destroy the work of thine hands? 21:005:007 for in the multitude of dreams and many words there are also divers vanities: but fear thou god. 21:005:008 if thou seest the oppression of the poor, and violent perverting of judgment and justice in a province, marvel not at the matter: for he that is higher than the highest regardeth; and there be higher than they. 21:005:009 moreover the profit of the earth is for all: the king himself is served by the field. 21:005:010 he that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that loveth abundance with increase: this is also vanity. 21:005:011 when goods increase, they are increased that eat them: and what good is there to the owners thereof, saving the beholding of them with their eyes? 21:005:012 the sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep. 21:005:013 there is a sore evil which i have seen under the sun, namely, riches kept for the owners thereof to their hurt. 21:005:014 but those riches perish by evil travail: and he begetteth a son, and there is nothing in his hand. 21:005:015 as he came forth of his mother's womb, naked shall he return to go as he came, and shall take nothing of his labour, which he may carry away in his hand. 21:005:016 and this also is a sore evil, that in all points as he came, so shall he go: and what profit hath he that hath laboured for the wind? 21:005:017 all his days also he eateth in darkness, and he hath much sorrow and wrath with his sickness. 21:005:018 behold that which i have seen: it is good and comely for one to eat and to drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labour that he taketh under the sun all the days of his life, which god giveth him: for it is his portion. 21:005:019 every man also to whom god hath given riches and wealth, and hath given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labour; this is the gift of god. 21:005:020 for he shall not much remember the days of his life; because god answereth him in the joy of his heart. 21:006:001 there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, and it is common among men: 21:006:002 a man to whom god hath given riches, wealth, and honour, so that he wanteth nothing for his soul of all that he desireth, yet god giveth him not power to eat thereof, but a stranger eateth it: this is vanity, and it is an evil disease. 21:006:003 if a man beget an hundred children, and live many years, so that the days of his years be many, and his soul be not filled with good, and also that he have no burial; i say, that an untimely birth is better than he. 21:006:004 for he cometh in with vanity, and departeth in darkness, and his name shall be covered with darkness. 21:006:005 moreover he hath not seen the sun, nor known any thing: this hath more rest than the other. 21:006:006 yea, though he live a thousand years twice told, yet hath he seen no good: do not all go to one place? 21:006:007 all the labour of man is for his mouth, and yet the appetite is not filled. 21:006:008 for what hath the wise more than the fool? what hath the poor, that knoweth to walk before the living? 21:006:009 better is the sight of the eyes than the wandering of the desire: this is also vanity and vexation of spirit. 21:006:010 that which hath been is named already, and it is known that it is man: neither may he contend with him that is mightier than he. 21:006:011 seeing there be many things that increase vanity, what is man the better? 21:006:012 for who knoweth what is good for man in this life, all the days of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow? for who can tell a man what shall be after him under the sun? 21:007:001 a good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth. 21:007:002 it is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. 21:007:003 sorrow is better than laughter: for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. 21:007:004 the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth. 21:007:005 it is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools. 21:007:006 for as the crackling of thorns under a pot, so is the laughter of the fool: this also is vanity. 21:007:007 surely oppression maketh a wise man mad; and a gift destroyeth the heart. 21:007:008 better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. 21:007:009 be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry: for anger resteth in the bosom of fools. 21:007:010 say not thou, what is the cause that the former days were better than these? for thou dost not enquire wisely concerning this. 21:007:011 wisdom is good with an inheritance: and by it there is profit to them that see the sun. 21:007:012 for wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence: but the excellency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it. 21:007:013 consider the work of god: for who can make that straight, which he hath made crooked? 21:007:014 in the day of prosperity be joyful, but in the day of adversity consider: god also hath set the one over against the other, to the end that man should find nothing after him. 21:007:015 all things have i seen in the days of my vanity: there is a just man that perisheth in his righteousness, and there is a wicked man that prolongeth his life in his wickedness. 21:007:016 be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise: why shouldest thou destroy thyself? 21:007:017 be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die before thy time? 21:007:018 it is good that thou shouldest take hold of this; yea, also from this withdraw not thine hand: for he that feareth god shall come forth of them all. 21:007:019 wisdom strengtheneth the wise more than ten mighty men which are in the city. 21:007:020 for there is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not. 21:007:021 also take no heed unto all words that are spoken; lest thou hear thy servant curse thee: 21:007:022 for oftentimes also thine own heart knoweth that thou thyself likewise hast cursed others. 21:007:023 all this have i proved by wisdom: i said, i will be wise; but it was far from me. 21:007:024 that which is far off, and exceeding deep, who can find it out? 21:007:025 i applied mine heart to know, and to search, and to seek out wisdom, and the reason of things, and to know the wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness: 21:007:026 and i find more bitter than death the woman, whose heart is snares and nets, and her hands as bands: whoso pleaseth god shall escape from her; but the sinner shall be taken by her. 21:007:027 behold, this have i found, saith the preacher, counting one by one, to find out the account: 21:007:028 which yet my soul seeketh, but i find not: one man among a thousand have i found; but a woman among all those have i not found. 21:007:029 lo, this only have i found, that god hath made man upright; but they have sought out many inventions. 21:008:001 who is as the wise man? and who knoweth the interpretation of a thing? a man's wisdom maketh his face to shine, and the boldness of his face shall be changed. 21:008:002 i counsel thee to keep the king's commandment, and that in regard of the oath of god. 21:008:003 be not hasty to go out of his sight: stand not in an evil thing; for he doeth whatsoever pleaseth him. 21:008:004 where the word of a king is, there is power: and who may say unto him, what doest thou? 21:008:005 whoso keepeth the commandment shall feel no evil thing: and a wise man's heart discerneth both time and judgment. 21:008:006 because to every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the misery of man is great upon him. 21:008:007 for he knoweth not that which shall be: for who can tell him when it shall be? 21:008:008 there is no man that hath power over the spirit to retain the spirit; neither hath he power in the day of death: and there is no discharge in that war; neither shall wickedness deliver those that are given to it. 21:008:009 all this have i seen, and applied my heart unto every work that is done under the sun: there is a time wherein one man ruleth over another to his own hurt. 21:008:010 and so i saw the wicked buried, who had come and gone from the place of the holy, and they were forgotten in the city where they had so done: this is also vanity. 21:008:011 because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil. 21:008:012 though a sinner do evil an hundred times, and his days be prolonged, yet surely i know that it shall be well with them that fear god, which fear before him: 21:008:013 but it shall not be well with the wicked, neither shall he prolong his days, which are as a shadow; because he feareth not before god. 21:008:014 there is a vanity which is done upon the earth; that there be just men, unto whom it happeneth according to the work of the wicked; again, there be wicked men, to whom it happeneth according to the work of the righteous: i said that this also is vanity. 21:008:015 then i commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labour the days of his life, which god giveth him under the sun. 21:008:016 when i applied mine heart to know wisdom, and to see the business that is done upon the earth: (for also there is that neither day nor night seeth sleep with his eyes:) 21:008:017 then i beheld all the work of god, that a man cannot find out the work that is done under the sun: because though a man labour to seek it out, yet he shall not find it; yea farther; though a wise man think to know it, yet shall he not be able to find it. 21:009:001 for all this i considered in my heart even to declare all this, that the righteous, and the wise, and their works, are in the hand of god: no man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before them. 21:009:002 all things come alike to all: there is one event to the righteous, and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean; to him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the good, so is the sinner; and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an oath. 21:009:003 this is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that there is one event unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead. 21:009:004 for to him that is joined to all the living there is hope: for a living dog is better than a dead lion. 21:009:005 for the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten. 21:009:006 also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished; neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun. 21:009:007 go thy way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for god now accepteth thy works. 21:009:008 let thy garments be always white; and let thy head lack no ointment. 21:009:009 live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity, which he hath given thee under the sun, all the days of thy vanity: for that is thy portion in this life, and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun. 21:009:010 whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest. 21:009:011 i returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all. 21:009:012 for man also knoweth not his time: as the fishes that are taken in an evil net, and as the birds that are caught in the snare; so are the sons of men snared in an evil time, when it falleth suddenly upon them. 21:009:013 this wisdom have i seen also under the sun, and it seemed great unto me: 21:009:014 there was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it: 21:009:015 now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; yet no man remembered that same poor man. 21:009:016 then said i, wisdom is better than strength: nevertheless the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard. 21:009:017 the words of wise men are heard in quiet more than the cry of him that ruleth among fools. 21:009:018 wisdom is better than weapons of war: but one sinner destroyeth much good. 21:010:001 dead flies cause the ointment of the apothecary to send forth a stinking savour: so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour. 21:010:002 a wise man's heart is at his right hand; but a fool's heart at his left. 21:010:003 yea also, when he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool. 21:010:004 if the spirit of the ruler rise up against thee, leave not thy place; for yielding pacifieth great offences. 21:010:005 there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, as an error which proceedeth from the ruler: 21:010:006 folly is set in great dignity, and the rich sit in low place. 21:010:007 i have seen servants upon horses, and princes walking as servants upon the earth. 21:010:008 he that diggeth a pit shall fall into it; and whoso breaketh an hedge, a serpent shall bite him. 21:010:009 whoso removeth stones shall be hurt therewith; and he that cleaveth wood shall be endangered thereby. 21:010:010 if the iron be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, then must he put to more strength: but wisdom is profitable to direct. 21:010:011 surely the serpent will bite without enchantment; and a babbler is no better. 21:010:012 the words of a wise man's mouth are gracious; but the lips of a fool will swallow up himself. 21:010:013 the beginning of the words of his mouth is foolishness: and the end of his talk is mischievous madness. 21:010:014 a fool also is full of words: a man cannot tell what shall be; and what shall be after him, who can tell him? 21:010:015 the labour of the foolish wearieth every one of them, because he knoweth not how to go to the city. 21:010:016 woe to thee, o land, when thy king is a child, and thy princes eat in the morning! 21:010:017 blessed art thou, o land, when thy king is the son of nobles, and thy princes eat in due season, for strength, and not for drunkenness! 21:010:018 by much slothfulness the building decayeth; and through idleness of the hands the house droppeth through. 21:010:019 a feast is made for laughter, and wine maketh merry: but money answereth all things. 21:010:020 curse not the king, no not in thy thought; and curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter. 21:011:001 cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days. 21:011:002 give a portion to seven, and also to eight; for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth. 21:011:003 if the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the earth: and if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be. 21:011:004 he that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap. 21:011:005 as thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of god who maketh all. 21:011:006 in the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good. 21:011:007 truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun: 21:011:008 but if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all; yet let him remember the days of darkness; for they shall be many. all that cometh is vanity. 21:011:009 rejoice, o young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things god will bring thee into judgment. 21:011:010 therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh: for childhood and youth are vanity. 21:012:001 remember now thy creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, i have no pleasure in them; 21:012:002 while the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain: 21:012:003 in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened, 21:012:004 and the doors shall be shut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding is low, and he shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of musick shall be brought low; 21:012:005 also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, and fears shall be in the way, and the almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets: 21:012:006 or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. 21:012:007 then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto god who gave it. 21:012:008 vanity of vanities, saith the preacher; all is vanity. 21:012:009 and moreover, because the preacher was wise, he still taught the people knowledge; yea, he gave good heed, and sought out, and set in order many proverbs. 21:012:010 the preacher sought to find out acceptable words: and that which was written was upright, even words of truth. 21:012:011 the words of the wise are as goads, and as nails fastened by the masters of assemblies, which are given from one shepherd. 21:012:012 and further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh. 21:012:013 let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: fear god, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man. 21:012:014 for god shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil. this ebook was produced by david widger from etext #1581 prepared by dennis mccarthy, atlanta, georgia and tad book, student, pontifical north american college, rome. the holy bible translated from the latin vulgate diligently compared with the hebrew, greek, and other editions in divers languages the old testament first published by the english college at douay a.d. 1609 & 1610 and the new testament first published by the english college at rheims a.d. 1582 with annotations the whole revised and diligently compared with the latin vulgate by bishop richard challoner a.d. 1749-1752 ecclesiastes this book is called ecclesiastes, or the preacher, (in hebrew, coheleth,) because in it, solomon, as an excellent preacher, setteth forth the vanity of the things of this world: to withdraw the hearts and affections of men from such empty toys. ecclesiastes chapter 1 the vanity of all temporal things. 1:1. the words of ecclesiastes, the son of david, king of jerusalem. 1:2. vanity of vanities, said ecclesiastes: vanity of vanities, and all is vanity. 1:3. what hath a man more of all his labour, that he taketh under the sun? 1:4. one generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth standeth for ever. 1:5. the sun riseth, and goeth down, and returneth to his place: and there rising again, 1:6. maketh his round by the south, and turneth again to the north: the spirit goeth forward surveying all places round about, and returneth to his circuits. 1:7. all the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea doth not overflow: unto the place from whence the rivers come, they return, to flow again. 1:8. all things are hard: man cannot explain them by word. the eye is not filled with seeing, neither is the ear filled with hearing. 1:9. what is it that hath been? the same thing that shall be. what is it that hath been done? the same that shall be done. 1:10. nothing under the sun is new, neither is any man able to say: behold this is new: for it hath already gone before in the ages that were before us. 1:11. there is no remembrance of former things: nor indeed of those things which hereafter are to come, shall there be any remembrance with them that shall be in the latter end. 1:12. i ecclesiastes was king over israel in jerusalem, 1:13. and i proposed in my mind to seek and search out wisely concerning all things that are done under the sun. this painful occupation hath god given to the children of men, to be exercised therein. 1:14. i have seen all things that are done under the sun, and behold all is vanity, and vexation of spirit. 1:15. the perverse are hard to be corrected, and the number of fools is infinite. 1:16. i have spoken in my heart, saying: behold i am become great, and have gone beyond all in wisdom, that were before me in jerusalem: and my mind hath contemplated many things wisely, and i have learned. 1:17. and i have given my heart to know prudence, and learning, and errors, and folly: and i have perceived that in these also there was labour, and vexation of spirit, 1:18. because in much wisdom there is much indignation: and he that addeth knowledge, addeth also labour. ecclesiastes chapter 2 the vanity of pleasures, riches, and worldly labours. 2:1. i said in my heart: i will go, and abound with delights, and enjoy good things. and i saw that this also was vanity. 2:2. laughter i counted error: and to mirth i said: why art thou vainly deceived? 2:3. i thought in my heart, to withdraw my flesh from wine, that i might turn my mind to wisdom, and might avoid folly, till i might see what was profitable for the children of men: and what they ought to do under the sun, all the days of their life. 2:4. i made me great works, i built me houses, and planted vineyards, 2:5. i made gardens, and orchards, and set them with trees of all kinds, 2:6. and i made me ponds of water, to water therewith the wood of the young trees, 2:7. i got me menservants, and maidservants, and had a great family: and herds of oxen, and great flocks of sheep, above all that were before me in jerusalem: 2:8. i heaped together for myself silver and gold, and the wealth of kings, and provinces: i made me singing men, and singing women, and the delights of the sons of men, cups and vessels to serve to pour out wine: 2:9. and i surpassed in riches all that were before me in jerusalem: my wisdom also remained with me. 2:10. and whatsoever my eyes desired, i refused them not: and i withheld not my heart from enjoying every pleasure, and delighting itself in the things which i had prepared: and esteemed this my portion, to make use of my own labour. 2:11. and when i turned myself to all the works which my hands had wrought, and to the labours wherein i had laboured in vain, i saw in all things vanity, and vexation of mind, and that nothing was lasting under the sun. 2:12. i passed further to behold wisdom, and errors and folly, (what is man, said i that he can follow the king his maker?) 2:13. and i saw that wisdom excelled folly, as much as light differeth from darkness. 2:14. the eyes of a wise man are in his head: the fool walketh in darkness: and i learned that they were to die both alike. 2:15. and i said in my heart: if the death of the fool and mine shall be one, what doth it avail me, that i have applied myself more to the study of wisdom? and speaking with my own mind, i perceived that this also was vanity. 2:16. for there shall be no remembrance of the wise no more than of the fool forever, and the times to come shall cover all things together with oblivion: the learned dieth in like manner as the unlearned. 2:17. and therefore i was weary of my life, when i saw that all things under the sun are evil, and all vanity and vexation of spirit. 2:18. again i hated all my application wherewith i had earnestly laboured under the sun, being like to have an heir after me, 2:19. whom i know not whether he will be a wise man or a fool, and he shall have rule over all my labours with which i have laboured and been solicitous: and is there anything so vain? 2:20. wherefore i left off and my heart renounced labouring anymore under the sun. 2:21. for when a man laboureth in wisdom, and knowledge, and carefulness, he leaveth what he hath gotten to an idle man: so this also is vanity, and a great evil. 2:22. for what profit shall a man have of all his labour, and vexation of spirit, with which he hath been tormented under the sun? 2:23. all his days are full of sorrows and miseries, even in the night he doth not rest in mind: and is not this vanity? 2:24. is it not better to eat and drink, and to shew his soul good things of his labours? and this is from the hand of god. 2:25. who shall so feast and abound with delights as i? 2:26. god hath given to a man that is good in his sight, wisdom, and knowledge, and joy: but to the sinner he hath given vexation, and superfluous care, to heap up and to gather together, and to give it to him that hath pleased god: but this also is vanity, and a fruitless solicitude of the mind. ecclesiastes chapter 3 all human things are liable to perpetual changes. we are to rest on god's providence, and cast away fruitless cares. 3:1. all things have their season, and in their times all things pass under heaven. 3:2. a time to be born and a time to die. a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. 3:3. a time to kill, and a time to heal. a time to destroy, and a time to build. 3:4. a time to weep, and a time to laugh. a time to mourn, and a time to dance. 3:5. a time to scatter stones, and a time to gather. a time to embrace, and a time to be far from embraces. 3:6. a time to get, and a time to lose. a time to keep, and a time to cast away. 3:7. a time to rend, and a time to sew. a time to keep silence, and a time to speak. 3:8. a time of love, and a time of hatred. a time of war, and a time of peace. 3:9. what hath man more of his labour? 3:10. i have seen the trouble, which god hath given the sons of men to be exercised in it. 3:11. he hath made all things good in their time, and hath delivered the world to their consideration, so that man cannot find out the work which god hath made from the beginning to the end. 3:12. and i have known that there was no better thing than to rejoice, and to do well in this life. 3:13. for every man that eateth and drinketh, and seeth good of his labour, this is the gift of god. 3:14. i have learned that all the works which god hath made, continue for ever: we cannot add any thing, nor take away from those things which god hath made that he may be feared. 3:15. that which hath been made, the same continueth: the things that shall be, have already been: and god restoreth that which is past. 3:16. i saw under the sun in the place of judgment wickedness, and in the place of justice iniquity. 3:17. and i said in my heart: god shall judge both the just and the wicked, and then shall be the time of every thing. 3:18. i said in my heart concerning the sons of men, that god would prove them, and shew them to be like beasts. 3:19. therefore the death of man, and of beasts is one, and the condition of them both is equal: as man dieth, so they also die: all things breathe alike, and man hath nothing more than beast: all things are subject to vanity. man hath nothing more, etc... viz., as to the life of the body. 3:20. and all things go to one place: of earth they were made, and into earth they return together. 3:21. who knoweth if the spirit of the children of adam ascend upward, and if the spirit of the beasts descend downward? who knoweth, etc... viz., experimentally: since no one in this life can see a spirit. but as to the spirit of the beasts, which is merely animal, and become extinct by the death of the beast, who can tell the manner it acts so as to give life and motion, and by death to descend downward, that is, to be no more? 3:22. and i have found that nothing is better than for a man to rejoice in his work, and that this is his portion. for who shall bring him to know the things that shall be after him? ecclesiastes chapter 4 other instances of human miseries. 4:1. i turned myself to other things, and i saw the oppressions that are done under the sun, and the tears of the innocent, and they had no comforter; and they were not able to resist their violence, being destitute of help from any. 4:2. and i praised the dead rather than the living: 4:3. and i judged him happier than them both, that is not yet born, nor hath seen the evils that are done under the sun. 4:4. again i considered all the labours of men, and i remarked that their industries are exposed to the envy of their neighbour: so in this also there is vanity, and fruitless care. 4:5. the fool foldeth his hands together, and eateth his own flesh, saying: 4:6. better is a handful with rest, than both hands full with labour, and vexation of mind. 4:7. considering i found also another vanity under the sun: 4:8. there is but one, and he hath not a second, no child, no brother, and yet he ceaseth not to labour, neither are his eyes satisfied with riches, neither doth he reflect, saying: for whom do i labour, and defraud my soul of good things? in this also is vanity, and a grievous vexation. 4:9. it is better therefore that two should be together, than one: for they have the advantage of their society: 4:10. if one fall he shall be supported by the other: woe to him that is alone, for when he falleth, he hath none to lift him up. 4:11. and if two lie together, they shall warm one another: how shall one alone be warmed? 4:12. and if a man prevail against one, two shall withstand him: a threefold cord is not easily broken. 4:13. better is a child that is poor and wise, than a king that is old and foolish, who knoweth not to foresee for hereafter. 4:14. because out of prison and chains sometimes a man cometh forth to a kingdom: and another born king is consumed with poverty. 4:15. i saw all men living, that walk under the sun with the second young man, who shall rise up in his place. 4:16. the number of the people, of all that were before him is infinite: and they that shall come afterwards, shall not rejoice in him: but this also is vanity, and vexation of spirit. 4:17. keep thy foot, when thou goest into the house of god, and draw nigh to hear. for much better is obedience, than the victims of fools, who know not what evil they do. ecclesiastes chapter 5 caution in words. vows are to be paid. riches are often pernicious: the moderate use of them is the gift of god. 5:1. speak not any thing rashly, and let not thy heart be hasty to utter a word before god. for god is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few. 5:2. dreams follow many cares: and in many words shall be found folly. 5:3. if thou hast vowed any thing to god, defer not to pay it: for an unfaithful and foolish promise displeaseth him: but whatsoever thou hast vowed, pay it. 5:4. and it is much better not to vow, than after a vow not to perform the things promised. 5:5. give not thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin: and say not before the angel: there is no providence: lest god be angry at thy words, and destroy all the works of thy hands. 5:6. where there are many dreams, there are many vanities, and words without number: but do thou fear god. 5:7. if thou shalt see the oppressions of the poor, and violent judgments, and justice perverted in the province, wonder not at this matter: for he that is high hath another higher, and there are others still higher than these: 5:8. moreover there is the king that reigneth over all the land subject to him. 5:9. a covetous man shall not be satisfied with money: and he that loveth riches shall reap no fruit from them: so this also is vanity. 5:10. where there are great riches, there are also many to eat them. and what doth it profit the owner, but that he seeth the riches with his eyes? 5:11. sleep is sweet to a labouring man, whether he eat little or much: but the fulness of the rich will not suffer him to sleep. 5:12. there is also another grievous evil, which i have seen under the sun: riches kept to the hurt of the owner. 5:13. for they are lost with very great affliction: he hath begotten a son, who shall be in extremity of want. 5:14. as he came forth naked from his mother's womb, so shall he return, and shall take nothing away with him of his labour. 5:15. a most deplorable evil: as he came, so shall he return. what then doth it profit him that he hath laboured for the wind? 5:16. all the days of his life he eateth in darkness, and in many cares, and in misery, and sorrow. 5:17. this therefore hath seemed good to me, that a man should eat and drink, and enjoy the fruit of his labour, wherewith he hath laboured under the sun, all the days of his life, which god hath given him: and this is his portion. 5:18. and every man to whom god hath given riches, and substance, and hath given him power to eat thereof, and to enjoy his portion, and to rejoice of his labour: this is the gift of god. 5:19. for he shall not much remember the days of his life, because god entertaineth his heart with delight. ecclesiastes chapter 6 the misery of the covetous man. 6:1. there is also another evil, which i have seen under the sun, and that frequent among men: 6:2. a man to whom god hath given riches, and substance, and honour, and his soul wanteth nothing of all that he desireth: yet god doth not give him power to eat thereof, but a stranger shall eat it up. this is vanity and a great misery. 6:3. if a man beget a hundred children, and live many years, and attain to a great age, and his soul make no use of the goods of his substance, and he be without burial: of this man i pronounce, that the untimely born is better than he. 6:4. for he came in vain, and goeth to darkness, and his name shall be wholly forgotten. 6:5. he hath not seen the sun, nor known the distance of good and evil: 6:6. although he lived two thousand years, and hath not enjoyed good things: do not all make haste to one place? 6:7. all the labour of man is for his mouth, but his soul shall not be filled. 6:8. what hath the wise man more than the fool? and what the poor man, but to go thither, where there is life? 6:9. better it is to see what thou mayst desire, than to desire that which thou canst not know. but this also is vanity, and presumption of spirit. 6:10. he that shall be, his name is already called: and it is known, that he is a man, and cannot contend in judgment with him that is stronger than himself. 6:11. there are many words that have much vanity in disputing. ecclesiastes chapter 7 prescriptions against worldly vanities: mortification, patience, and seeking wisdom. 7:1. what needeth a man to seek things that are above him, whereas he knoweth not what is profitable for him in his life, in all the days of his pilgrimage, and the time that passeth like a shadow? or who can tell him what shall be after him under the sun? 7:2. a good name is better than precious ointments: and the day of death than the day of one's birth. 7:3. it is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting: for in that we are put in mind of the end of all, and the living thinketh what is to come. 7:4. anger is better than laughter: because by the sadness of the countenance the mind of the offender is corrected. anger... that is, correction, or just wrath and zeal against evil. 7:5. the heart of the wise is where there is mourning, and the heart of fools where there is mirth. 7:6. it is better to be rebuked by a wise man, than to be deceived by the flattery of fools. 7:7. for as the crackling of thorns burning under a pot, so is the laughter of a fool: now this also is vanity. 7:8. oppression troubleth the wise, and shall destroy the strength of his heart. 7:9. better is the end of a speech than the beginning. better is the patient man than the presumptuous. 7:10. be not quickly angry: for anger resteth in the bosom of a fool. 7:11. say not: what thinkest thou is the cause that former times were better than they are now? for this manner of question is foolish. 7:12. wisdom with riches is more profitable, and bringeth more advantage to them that see the sun. 7:13. for as wisdom is a defence, so money is a defence: but learning and wisdom excel in this, that they give life to him that possesseth them. 7:14. consider the works of god, that no man can correct whom he hath despised. 7:15. in the good day enjoy good things, and beware beforehand of the evil day: for god hath made both the one and the other, that man may not find against him any just complaint. 7:16. these things also i saw in the days of my vanity: a just man perisheth in his justice, and a wicked man liveth a long time in his wickedness. 7:17. be not over just: and be not more wise than is necessary, lest thou become stupid. over just... viz., by an excessive rigour in censuring the ways of god in bearing with the wicked. 7:18. be not overmuch wicked: and be not foolish, lest thou die before thy time. be not overmuch wicked... that is, lest by the greatness of your sin you leave no room for mercy. 7:19. it is good that thou shouldst hold up the just, yea and from him withdraw not thy hand: for he that feareth god, neglecteth nothing. 7:20. wisdom hath strengthened the wise more than ten princes of the city. 7:21. for there is no just man upon earth, that doth good, and sinneth not. 7:22. but do not apply thy heart to all words that are spoken: lest perhaps thou hear thy servant reviling thee. 7:23. for thy conscience knoweth that thou also hast often spoken evil of others. 7:24. i have tried all things in wisdom. i have said: i will be wise: and it departed farther from me, 7:25. much more than it was: it is a great depth, who shall find it out? 7:26. i have surveyed all things with my mind, to know, and consider, and seek out wisdom and reason: and to know the wickedness of the fool, and the error of the imprudent: 7:27. and i have found a woman more bitter than death, who is the hunter's snare, and her heart is a net, and her hands are bands. he that pleaseth god shall escape from her: but he that is a sinner, shall be caught by her. 7:28. lo this have i found, said ecclesiastes, weighing one thing after another, that i might find out the account, 7:29. which yet my soul seeketh, and i have not found it. one man among a thousand i have found, a woman among them all i have not found. 7:30. only this i have found, that god made man right, and he hath entangled himself with an infinity of questions. who is as the wise man? and who hath known the resolution of the word? of the word... that is, of this obscure and difficult matter. ecclesiastes chapter 8 true wisdom is to observe god's commandments. the ways of god are unsearchable. 8:1. the wisdom of a man shineth in his countenance, and the most mighty will change his face. 8:2. i observe the mouth of the king, and the commandments of the oath of god. 8:3. be not hasty to depart from his face, and do not continue in an evil work: for he will do all that pleaseth him: 8:4. and his word is full of power: neither can any man say to him: why dost thou so? 8:5. he that keepeth the commandment, shall find no evil. the heart of a wiser man understandeth time and answer. 8:6. there is a time and opportunity for every business, and great affliction for man: 8:7. because he is ignorant of things past, and things to come he cannot know by any messenger. 8:8. it is not in man's power to stop the spirit, neither hath he power in the day of death, neither is he suffered to rest when war is at hand, neither shall wickedness save the wicked. 8:9. all these things i have considered, and applied my heart to all the works that are done under the sun. sometimes one man ruleth over another to his own hurt. 8:10. i saw the wicked buried: who also when they were yet living were in the holy place, and were praised in the city as men of just works: but this also is vanity. 8:11. for because sentence is not speedily pronounced against the evil, the children of men commit evils without any fear. 8:12. but though a sinner do evil a hundred times, and by patience be borne withal, i know from thence that it shall be well with them that fear god, who dread his face. 8:13. but let it not be well with the wicked, neither let his days be prolonged, but as a shadow let them pass away that fear not the face of the lord. 8:14. there is also another vanity, which is done upon the earth. there are just men to whom evils happen, as though they had done the works of the wicked: and there are wicked men, who are as secure as though they had the deeds of the just: but this also i judge most vain. 8:15. therefore i commended mirth, because there was no good for a man under the sun, but to eat, and drink, and be merry, and that he should take nothing else with him of his labour in the days of his life, which god hath given him under the sun. no good for a man, etc... some commentators think the wise man here speaks in the person of the libertine: representing the objections of these men against divine providence, and the inferences they draw from thence, which he takes care afterwards to refute. but it may also be said, that his meaning is to commend the moderate use of the goods of this world, preferably to the cares and solicitudes of worldlings, their attachment to vanity and curiosity, and presumptuously diving into the unsearchable ways of divine providence. 8:16. and i applied my heart to know wisdom, and to understand the distraction that is upon earth: for there are some that day and night take no sleep with their eyes. 8:17. and i understood that man can find no reason of all those works of god that are done under the sun: and the more he shall labour to seek, so much the less shall he find: yea, though the wise man shall say, that he knoweth it, he shall not be able to find it. ecclesiastes chapter 9 man knows not certainty that he is in god's grace. after death no more work or merit. 9:1. all these things have i considered in my heart, that i might carefully understand them: there are just men and wise men, and their works are in the hand of god: and yet man knoweth not whether he be worthy of love, or hatred: 9:2. but all things are kept uncertain for the time to come, because all things equally happen to the just and to the wicked, to the good and to the evil, to the clean and to the unclean, to him that offereth victims, and to him that despiseth sacrifices. as the good is, so also is the sinner: as the perjured, so he also that sweareth truth. 9:3. this is a very great evil among all things that are done under the sun, that the same things happen to all men: whereby also the hearts of the children of men are filled with evil, and with contempt while they live, and afterwards they shall be brought down to hell. 9:4. there is no man that liveth always, or that hopeth for this: a living dog is better than a dead lion. 9:5. for the living know that they shall die, but the dead know nothing more, neither have they a reward any more: for the memory of them is forgotten. know nothing more... viz., as to the transactions of this world, in which they have now no part, unless it be revealed to them; neither have they any knowledge or power now of doing any thing to secure their eternal state, (if they have not taken care of it in their lifetime:) nor can they now procure themselves any good, as the living always may do, by the grace of god. 9:6. their love also, and their hatred, and their envy are all perished, neither have they any part in this world, and in the work that is done under the sun. 9:7. go then, and eat thy bread with joy, and drink thy wine with gladness: because thy works please god. 9:8. at all times let thy garments be white, and let not oil depart from thy head. 9:9. live joyfully with the wife whom thou lovest, all the days of thy unsteady life, which are given to thee under the sun, all the time of thy vanity: for this is thy portion in life, and in thy labour wherewith thou labourest under the sun. 9:10. whatsoever thy hand is able to do, do it earnestly: for neither work, nor reason, nor wisdom, nor knowledge shall be in hell, whither thou art hastening. 9:11. i turned me to another thing, and i saw that under the sun, the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to the learned, nor favour to the skilful: but time and chance in all. 9:12. man knoweth not his own end: but as fishes are taken with the hook, and as birds are caught with the snare, so men are taken in the evil time, when it shall suddenly come upon them. 9:13. this wisdom also i have seen under the sun, and it seemed to me to be very great: 9:14. a little city, and few men in it: there came against it a great king, and invested it, and built bulwarks round about it, and the siege was perfect. 9:15. now there was found in it a man poor and wise, and he delivered the city by his wisdom, and no man afterward remembered that poor man. 9:16. and i said that wisdom is better than strength: how then is the wisdom of the poor man slighted, and his words not heard? 9:17. the words of the wise are heard in silence, more than the cry of a prince among fools. 9:18. better is wisdom, than weapons of war: and he that shall offend in one, shall lose many good things. ecclesiastes chapter 10 observations on wisdom and folly, ambition and detraction. 10:1. dying flies spoil the sweetness of the ointment. wisdom and glory is more precious than a small and shortlived folly. 10:2. the heart of a wise man is in his right hand, and the heart of a fool is in his left hand. 10:3. yea, and the fool when he walketh in the way, whereas he himself is a fool, esteemeth all men fools. 10:4. if the spirit of him that hath power, ascend upon thee, leave not thy place: because care will make the greatest sins to cease. 10:5. there is an evil that i have seen under the sun, as it were by an error proceeding from the face of the prince: 10:6. a fool set in high dignity, and the rich sitting beneath. 10:7. i have seen servants upon horses: and princes walking on the ground as servants. 10:8. he that diggeth a pit, shall fall into it: and he that breaketh a hedge, a serpent shall bite him. 10:9. he that removeth stones, shall be hurt by them: and he that cutteth trees, shall be wounded by them. 10:10. if the iron be blunt, and be not as before, but be made blunt, with much labour it shall be sharpened: and after industry shall follow wisdom. 10:11. if a serpent bite in silence, he is nothing better that backbiteth secretly. 10:12. the words of the mouth of a wise man are grace: but the lips of a fool shall throw him down headlong. 10:13. the beginning of his words is folly, and the end of his talk is a mischievous error. 10:14. a fool multiplieth words. a man cannot tell what hath been before him: and what shall be after him, who can tell him? 10:15. the labour of fools shall afflict them that know not how to go to the city. 10:16. woe to thee, o land, when thy king is a child, and when the princes eat in the morning. 10:17. blessed is the land, whose king is noble, and whose princes eat in due season for refreshment, and not for riotousness. 10:18. by slothfulness a building shall be brought down, and through the weakness of hands, the house shall drop through. 10:19. for laughter they make bread, and wine that the living may feast: and all things obey money. 10:20. detract not the king, no not in thy thought; and speak not evil of the rich man in thy private chamber: because even the birds of the air will carry thy voice, and he that hath wings will tell what thou hast said. ecclesiastes chapter 11 exhortation to works of mercy, while we have time, to diligence in good, and to the remembrance of death and judgment. 11:1. cast thy bread upon the running waters: for after a long time thou shalt find it again. 11:2. give a portion to seven, and also to eight: for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth. 11:3. if the clouds be full, they will pour out rain upon the earth. if the tree fall to the south, or to the north, in what place soever it shall fall, there shall it be. if the tree fall, etc... the state of the soul is unchangeable when once she comes to heaven or hell: and a soul that departs this life in the state of grace, shall never fall from grace: as on the other side, a soul that dies out of the state of grace, shall never come to it. but this does not exclude a place of temporal punishments for such souls as die in the state of grace: yet not so as to be entirely pure: and therefore they shall be saved, indeed, yet so as by fire. 1 cor. 3.13, 14, 15. 11:4. he that observeth the wind, shall not sow: and he that considereth the clouds, shall never reap. 11:5. as thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones are joined together in the womb of her that is with child: so thou knowest not the works of god, who is the maker of all. 11:6. in the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening let not thy hand cease: for thou knowest not which may rather spring up, this or that: and if both together, it shall be the better. 11:7. the light is sweet, and it is delightful for the eyes to see the sun. 11:8. if a man live many years, and have rejoiced in them all, he must remember the darksome time, and the many days: which when they shall come, the things past shall be accused of vanity. 11:9. rejoice therefore, o young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart be in that which is good in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of thy eyes: and know that for all these god will bring thee into judgment. 11:10. remove anger from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh. for youth and pleasure are vain. ecclesiastes chapter 12 the creator is to be remembered in the days of our youth: all worldly things are vain: we should fear god and keep his commandments. 12:1. remember thy creator in the days of thy youth, before the time of affliction come, and the years draw nigh of which thou shalt say: they please me not: 12:2. before the sun, and the light, and the moon, and the stars be darkened, and the clouds return after the rain: before the sun, etc... that is, before old age: the effects of which upon all the senses and faculties are described in the following verses, under a variety of figures. 12:3. when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall stagger, and the grinders shall be idle in a small number, and they that look through the holes shall be darkened: 12:4. and they shall shut the doors in the street, when the grinder's voice shall be low, and they shall rise up at the voice of the bird, and all the daughters of music shall grow deaf. 12:5. and they shall fear high things, and they shall be afraid in the way, the almond tree shall flourish, the locust shall be made fat, and the caper tree shall be destroyed: because man shall go into the house of his eternity, and the mourners shall go round about in the street. 12:6. before the silver cord be broken, and the golden fillet shrink back, and the pitcher be crushed at the fountain, and the wheel be broken upon the cistern, 12:7. and the dust return into its earth, from whence it was, and the spirit return to god, who gave it. 12:8. vanity of vanities, said ecclesiastes, and all things are vanity. 12:9. and whereas ecclesiastes was very wise, he taught the people, and declared the things that he had done: and seeking out, he set forth many parables. 12:10. he sought profitable words, and wrote words most right, and full of truth. 12:11. the words of the wise are as goads, and as nails deeply fastened in, which by the counsel of masters are given from one shepherd. 12:12. more than these, my son, require not. of making many books there is no end: and much study is an affliction of the flesh. 12:13. let us all hear together the conclusion of the discourse. fear god, and keep his commandments: for this is all man: all man... the whole business and duty of man. 12:14. and all things that are done, god will bring into judgment for every error, whether it be good or evil. error... or, hidden and secret thing. old groans and new songs being meditations on the book of ecclesiastes by f. c. jennings, new york. glasgow: pickering & inglis, printers & publishers, the publishing office, 73 bothwell street. london: s. bagster & sons, ltd., 15 paternoster row, e.c 1920 preface. the chief object of a word of preface to the following notes is that the reader may not expect from them more, or other, than is intended. they are the result of meditations--not so much of a critical as a devotional character--on the book, in the regular course of private morning readings of the scriptures--meditations which were jotted down at the time, and the refreshment and blessing derived from which, i desired to share with my fellow-believers. some salient point of each chapter has been taken and used as illustrative of what is conceived as the purpose of the book. as month by month passed, however, the subject opened up to such a degree that at the end, one felt as if there were a distinct need entirely to re-write the earlier chapters. it is, however, sent forth in the same shape as originally written; the reader then may accompany the writer, and share with him the delight at the ever-new beauties in the landscape that each turn of the road, as it were, unexpectedly laid out before him. there is one point, however, that it may be well to look at here a little more closely and carefully than has been done in the body of the book, both on account of its importance and of the strong attack that the ecclesiastical infidelity of the day has made upon it: i refer to its authorship. to commence with the strongest position of the attack on the solomon authorship--necessarily the strongest, for it is directly in the field of verbal criticism--it is argued that because a large number of words are found in this book, found elsewhere alone in the post-exilian writers, (as daniel or nehemiah,) therefore the author of the book must surely be post-exilian too. it would be unedifying, and is happily unnecessary, to review this in detail--with a literature so very limited as are the hebrew writings cotemporary with solomon: these few, dealing with other subjects, other ideas, necessitating therefore another character of words, it takes no scholar to see that any argument derived from this must necessarily be taken with the greatest caution. nay, like all arguments of infidelity, it is a sword easily turned against the user. as surely as the valleys lie hid in shadow long after the mountain-tops are shining in the morning sun, so surely must we expect evidences of so elevated a personality as the wise king of israel, to show a fuller acquaintance with the language of his neighbors; and employ, when they best suited him, words from such vocabularies--words which would not come into general use for many a long day; indeed until sorrow, captivity, and shame, had done the same work for the mass, under the chastening hand of god, as abundant natural gifts had done for our wise and glorious author. thus the argument of zöckler--"the numerous aramaisms (words of syriac origin) in the book are among the surest signs of its post-exile origin"--is really turned against himself. were such aramaisms altogether lacking, we might well question whether the writer were indeed that widely-read, eminently literary, gloriously intellectual individual of whom it is said, "his wisdom excelled the children of the east country and all the wisdom of egypt, for he was wiser than all men." surely, that solomon shows he was acquainted with words other than his own hebrew, and made use of such words when they best suited his purpose, is only what common-sense would naturally look for. there is no proof whatever that the _words themselves_ were of late date. christian scholars have examined them one by one as carefully, and certainly at least as conscientiously, as their opponents; and show us, in result, that the words, although not familiar in the hebrew vernacular, were in widely-current use either in the neighboring persian or in that family of languages--syriac and chaldaic--of which hebrew was but a member. the verdict of impartiality must certainly be "not proven," if indeed it be not stronger than that, to the attempt to deny to solomon the authorship of ecclesiastes based on the _words_ used. the next method of argument is one in which we shall feel ourselves more at home, inasmuch as it is not so much a question of scholarship, but ordinary intelligent discernment. time and space forbid that i attempt here a full or detailed exhibit of the sentences, thoughts, ideas in the book itself which are taken as being quite impossible to king solomon. i will, however, attempt to give a representative few that may stand for all. in the body of the book i have touched, in passing, on the argument deduced from the words in the first chapter, "_i was king;_" so need only to ask my readers' attention to it there. that "he says of himself that he was wiser and richer than all before him in jerusalem points, under enlightened exposition, clearly to an author different to the historical solomon." indeed! if my readers can appreciate the force of such an argument, they do more than can i. that the writer should seek that his words should have the full force, his experiences have the full weight that could only attach to one in every way gifted to test all things to their uttermost, is taken as clear proof, "under unbiased exposition," that the only one who was _exactly thus gifted was not the author_! the claim to freedom from bias is in almost ludicrous harmony with such reasoning. again, "that also which is said--chap. vii. 10--of the depravity of the times accords little with the age of solomon, the most brilliant and prosperous of israelitish history." another lovely example of rationalistic "freedom from bias"! for what is this that is said of the "depravity of the times" so inconsistent with the glory of solomon's reign in chap. vii. 10? "say not thou, what is the cause that the former days were better than these? for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this." and this is proof of the "depravity of the times"!--not proof, mark, of just that very thing that is the heart and soul of the book: the weary, unsatisfied, empty heart of poor man looking backward or forward for the satisfaction that the present always fails to give "under the sun," and which he, who was wiser than all who came before him, solomon, warns his readers _against_! oh, poor blind rationalism! missing all the beauties of god's word in its own exceeding cleverness, or--folly! how would the present application of such reasoning sound! the victorian era is certainly one of the most "brilliant and prosperous of" english "history"; hence no one can ever speak now of "the good old times." such language is simply impossible; we never hear it! so if some astute reasoner of the future comes across such allusion in any writings, it will be clear proof that the author was _post-victorian_! far more so if, as here, such writer _rebukes_ this tendency! "altogether unkingly sound the complaints in chap. iii. 17 ('i said in my heart god shall judge the righteous and the wicked; for there is a time there for every purpose and for every work'); iv.; x. 5-7 (let my reader refer for himself to these), concerning unjust judges," etc. "these are all lamentations and complaints natural enough in a suffering and oppressed subject; but not in a monarch called and authorized to abolish evil." it is most difficult to deal seriously with what, if the writer were not so very learned, we should call nonsense unworthy of a child. look at the verse to which he refers, and which i have quoted in full; and extract from it, if your "biased" judgment will permit, an "unkingly complaint" in any word of it! and it is at such formidable arguments as this that some of us have been trembling, fearing lest the very foundations must give way under the attack! a little familiarity is all that is needed to beget a wholesome contempt. here is one more interesting illustration of the "unbiased," "scientific" reasoning of rationalism. the object is, you know, to "determine exactly the epoch and writer of the book;" and this is how it must be done. "according to chaps, v. 1, and ix. 2, the temple worship was assiduously practised, but without a living piety of heart, and in a hypocritical and self-justifying manner; the complaints in this regard remind us vividly of similar ones of the prophet malachi--chap. i. 6, etc." what then is the basis for all this verbiage about the temple worship? here it is: "keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of god, and be more ready to hear than to give the sacrifice of fools: for they consider not that they do evil." this sentence shows that it is impossible that solomon wrote the book: there were no "fools" in _his_ time, who were more ready to give a careless sacrifice than to hearken: all fools only come into existence _after the exile_, in the days of malachi! and this is "higher criticism"! enough as to this line. we will now ask our learned friends, since solomon has been so conclusively proved not to have written it, who did? and when was it written? ah, now we may listen to a very medley of answers!--for opinions here are almost as numerous as the critics themselves. united in the one assurance that solomon could not have written it, they are united in nothing else. one is assured it was hezekiah, another is confident it was zerubbabel, a third is convinced it was jesus the son of joiada--and so on. "all opinions," as dr. lewis says, "are held with equal confidence, and yet in every way are opposed to each other. once set it loose from the solomon time, and there is no other place where it can be securely anchored." this brings us then to the positive assertion that from the evident purpose of the book, the _divine_ purpose, no other than solomon could be its author. he must be of a nation taken out of the darkness and abominations of heathendom;--there was only one such nation,--he must then be an _israelite_. he must live at an epoch when that nation is at the summit of its prosperity;--it never regained that epoch,--he must then have lived _when_ solomon lived. he must, in his own person, by his riches, honor, wisdom, learning, freedom from external political fears, perfect capacity to drink of whatever cup this world can put into his hand to the full--represent the very top-stone of that glorious time; and not one amongst all the sons of men answers to all this but _solomon the son of david, king in jerusalem_. to him who is "greater than solomon"--to him who is "above the sun"--to him whom it is the divine purpose of the book to highly exalt above all--would i commit this feeblest effort to show that purpose, and, as his condescending grace permits, further it. f. c. j. old groans and new songs; or, _meditations on ecclesiastes._ perhaps there is no book within the whole canon of scripture so perplexing and anomalous, at first sight, as that entitled "ecclesiastes." its terrible hopelessness, its bold expression of those difficulties with which man is surrounded on every side, the apparent fruitlessness of its quest after good, the unsatisfactory character, from a christian standpoint, of its conclusion: all these points have made it, at one and the same time, an enigma to the superficial student of the word, and the arsenal whence a far more superficial infidelity has sought to draw weapons for its warfare against clear revelation. and yet here it is, embedded in the very heart of those scriptures which we are told were "given by inspiration of god, and which are profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of god may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works." then with this precious assurance of its "profitableness" deeply fixed in our hearts by a living faith, and in absolute dependence on that blessed one who is the one perfect teacher, let us consider the book. first, then, let us seek to get all the light we can from all the exterior marks it bears before seeking to interpret its contents. for our primary care with regard to this, as indeed with regard to every book in the bible, must be to discover, if possible, what is the object of the book,--from what standpoint does the writer approach his subject. and first we find it in that group of books through which the voice of man is prominent--job, psalms, proverbs, canticles. in these is heard the music of man's soul; often--nay, mostly--giving sorrowful and striking evidence of discord, in wail and groan, in tear and sigh; and yet again, in response evidently to the touch of some master hand, that knows it well,--a tender, gracious, compassionate touch,--rising into a song of sweetest harmony that speaks eloquently of its possibilities, and bears along on its chords the promise and hope of a complete restoration. but we shall search our book in vain for any such expression of joy. no song brightens its pages; no praise is heard amid its exercises. and yet perfectly assured we may be that, listened to aright, it shall speak forth the praise of god's beloved son; looked at in a right light, it shall set off his beauty. if "he turns the wrath of man to praise him," surely we may expect no less from man's sorrows and ignorance. this, then, we may take it, is the object of the book, to show forth by its dark background the glory of the lord, to bring into glorious relief against the black cloud of man's need and ignorance the bright light of a perfect, holy, revelation; to let man tell out, in the person of his greatest and wisest, when he, too, is at the summit of his greatness, with the full advantage of his matured wisdom, the solemn questions of his inmost being; and show that greatness to be of no avail in solving them,--that wisdom foiled in the search for their answers. this, then, we will conclude, is the purpose of the book and the standpoint from which the writer speaks, and we shall find its contents confirm this in every particular. it has been well said that as regards each book in holy writ the "key hangs by the door,"--that is, that the first few sentences will give the gist of the whole. and, indeed, pre-eminently is such the case here. the first verse gives us who the writer is; the second, the beginning and ending of his search. and therein lies the key of the whole; for the writer is the son of david, the man exalted by jehovah to highest earthly glory. through rejection and flight, through battle and conflict, had the lord brought david to this excellence of glory and power. all this his "son" entered into in its perfection and at once. for it is that one of his sons who speaks who is _king_, and in _jerusalem_, the city of god's choice, the beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth. such is the story of verse 1. nothing could possibly go beyond the glory that is compassed by these few words. for consider them, and you will see that they ascribe "_wisdom_, and _honor_, and _riches_, and _power_" to him of whom they are spoken; but it is human wisdom and earthly power, all "under the sun." and now listen to the "song" that should surely accompany this ascription; note the joy of a heart fully and completely satisfied now that the pinnacle of human greatness is attained. here it is: "vanity of vanities," saith the preacher, "vanity of vanities; all is vanity!" the word _hahvehl_ is always translated, as here, "vanity." it is sometimes applied to "idols," as deut. xxxii. 21, and would give the idea of emptiness--nothingness. what a striking contrast! man has here all that nature can possibly give; and his poor heart, far from singing, is _empty_ still, and utters its sad bitter groan of disappointment. now turn and contemplate that other scene, where the true son of david, only now a "_lamb as it had been slain_," is the center of every circle, the object of every heart. tears are dried at the mention of his name, and song after song bursts forth, till the whole universe of bliss pours forth its joy, relieves its surcharged heart in praise. "vanity of vanities," saith the preacher. that is the _old_ groan. "thou art worthy to take the book, and to open the seals thereof, for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed to god by thy blood, out of every kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation, and hast made them kings and priests, and they shall reign over the earth." that is the _new_ song. oh, blessed contrast! does it not make him who himself has replaced the groan by the song precious? has it, then, no value? and this is just the purpose of the whole book, to furnish such striking contrasts whereby the "new" is set off in its glories against the dark background of the "old,"--rest against labor, hope against despair, song against groan; and so the third verse puts this very explicitly,--"what profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun?" the wisest and the greatest of men is seeking for an answer to this question. and this verse is too important in its bearing on the whole book to permit our passing it without looking at that significant word "profit" a little closer. and here one feels the advantage of those helps that a gracious god has put into our hands in these days of special attack upon his revelation, whereby even the unlearned may, by a little diligence, arrive at the exact shade of the meaning of a word. the word "profit," then, is, in the hebrew, _yithrohn_, and is found in this exact form only in this book, where it is translated "profit," as here, or "excellency," as in chap. ii. 13. the septuagint translates it into a greek one, meaning "advantage," or perhaps more literally, "that which remains over and above." in eph. iii. 20 it is rendered "exceeding abundantly above." hence we gather that our word intends to convey to us the question, "after life is over, after man has given his labor, his time, his powers, and his talents, what has he received in exchange that shall satisfy him for all that he has lost? do the pleasures obtained during life fully compensate for what is spent in obtaining them? do they satisfy? and do they remain to him as "profit" over and above that expenditure? in a word, what "under the sun" can satisfy the longing, thirsting, hungering heart of man, so that he can say, "my heart is filled to overflowing, its restless longings are stilled, i have found a food that satisfies its hunger, a water that quenches its thirst"? a question all-important, surely, and it will be well worth listening to the experience of this seeker, who is fitted far above his fellows for finding this satisfactory good, if it can be found "under the sun." first, then, the preacher, like a good workman, takes account of what material he has to work with. "have i," he says, "any thing that others have not had, or can i hope to find any thing that has not been before?" at once he is struck with that "law of circuit" that is stamped on every thing: generation follows generation; but no new earth, _that_ remains ever the same; the sun wheels ceaselessly in its one course; the winds circle from point to point, but whirl about to their starting-place; the waters, too, follow the same law, and keep up one unbroken circuit. where can rest be found in such a scene? whilst there is unceasing change, nothing is _new_; it is but a repetition of what has been before, and which again soon passes, leaving the heart empty and hungry still. again, then, let us use this dark background to throw forward another scene. see, even now, "above the sun" him who is the head and perfect exponent of the creation called the _new_. is there any law of constant unsatisfying circuit in him? nay, indeed, every sight we get of him is _new_; each revelation of himself perfectly satisfies, and yet awakens appetite for further views. "no pause, no change those pleasures shall ever seek to know; the draught that lulls our thirsting but wakes that thirst anew." or, again, look at that blessed "law of circuit" spoken of in another way by one who has indeed been enlightened by a light "above the sun" in every sense of the word, in 2 cor. ix. it is not the circling of winds or waters, but of "grace" direct from the blessed god himself. mark the perfection stamped upon it both by its being a complete circle--never ending, but returning again to its source,--and by the numerical stamp of perfection upon it in its seven distinct parts (or movements) as shown by the sevenfold recurrence of the word "all," or "every," both coming from the same greek word. 1. "god is able to make _all_ grace abound unto you." there is an inexhaustible _source_. we may come and come and come again, and never find _that_ fountain lowered by all our drafts upon it. sooner, far sooner, should the ocean be emptied by a teacup than infinite "power" and "love" be impoverished by all that his saints could draw from him. _all_ grace. 2. "that ye _always_." there is no moment when this circle of blessing need stop flowing. it is ever available. no moment--by day or night, in the quiet of the closet or in the activities of the day's duties, when in communion with friends or in the company of foes,--when that grace is not available. at _all_ times. 3. "having _all_ sufficiency"--perfect competence to meet just the present emergency. a sufficiency, let us mark, absolutely independent of nature's resources,--a sufficiency beautifully illustrated by "unlearned and ignorant" peter and john in the presence of the learned sanhedrim. let us rejoice and praise god as we trace these three glorious links in this endless chain of blessing. _all_ sufficiency. 4. "in _all_ things" (or "in every way"). it is no matter from what side the demand may come, this precious grace is there to meet it. is it to deal with another troubled anxious soul, where human wisdom avails nothing? divine wisdom and tact shall be supplied. courage if danger presents itself, or "all long-suffering with joyfulness" if afflictions tear the heart. in _all_ things. 5. "may abound to _every_ good work." now filled to the brim, and still connected with an inexhaustible supply, the vessel _must_ overflow, and that on every side. no effort, no toil, no weariness, no drawing by mechanical means from a deep well; but the grace-filled heart, abiding (and that is the only condition) in complete dependence upon its god, naturally overflows on every side--to _all_ good work. 6. "being enriched in _every thing_" (we omit the parenthesis, although full of its own divine beauty), (or, "in every way"). this is in some sort a repetition of no. 5, but goes as far beyond it as the word "enriched" is fuller than the word "sufficient." the latter fills the vessel, as we have said, up to the brim; the former adds another drop, and over it flows. in view of these "exceeding great and precious promises," we may say,- "oh wherefore should we do ourselves this wrong, or others, that we are not always strong?" since we may be enriched in _all_ things. 7. "to _all_ bountifulness." this stream of grace is never to stagnate, or it will lose all its character of blessing, as the manna hoarded for a second day "bred worms, and stank." thus every single christian becomes a living channel of blessing to all around, and the circle is now completed, by once more returning to the point whence it started, "which causeth through us thanksgiving to god," and closes with no weary wail of "all things are full of labor," but joyful songs resound on every side, and at every motion of this circle of blessing ascends "thanksgiving to god." for just exactly the same full measure is seen in the thanksgiving ascending at the end as in the grace descending in the beginning. there it "abounded," filling the vessel full till it overflowed in the same measure, "abounding" in blessings to others who needed, and these forthwith pass on the stream in "abounding" thanksgiving to god. the apostle himself, as if he could not suffer himself to be excluded from the circle of blessing, adds his own note at the close with "thanks be unto god for his unspeakable gift." and shall we not, too, dear brother or sister now reading these lines, let our feeble voice be heard in this sweet harmony of praise? has not this contrast between the new song and the old groan, again we may ask, great value? having, then, seen in these first few verses the purpose of the book and the standpoint of the writer, we may accompany him in the details of his search. first he repeats, what is of the greatest importance for us to remember (v. 12), "i, the preacher, was king over israel in jerusalem." he would not have us forget that, should he fail in his search for perfect satisfaction, it will not be because he is not fully qualified both by his abilities and his position to succeed. but infidelity, and its kinsman rationalism, raise a joyful shout over this verse; for to disconnect the books of the bible from the writers whose name they bear is a long step toward overthrowing the authority of those books altogether. if the believer's long-settled confidence can be proved vain in one point, and that so important a point, there is good "hope" of eventually overthrowing it altogether. so, with extravagant protestations of loyalty to the scriptures, they, joablike, "kiss" and "stab" simultaneously, wonderfully manifesting in word and work that dual form of the evil one, who, our lord tells us, was both "liar and murderer from the beginning." and many thousand professing christians are like amasa of old, their ear is well pleased with the fair sound of "art thou in health, my brother?" and they, too, take "no heed to the sword" in the inquirer's hand. judas, too, in his day, illustrates strongly that same diabolical compound of "deceit and violence," only the enemy finds no unwary amasa in jesus the lord. "betrayest thou the son of man with a kiss" tears the vail from him at once; and in the same way the feeblest believer who abides in him, is led of that same spirit; and "good words and fair speeches" do not deceive, nor can betrayal be hidden behind the warmest protestations of affection. but to return: "how could," cries this sapient infidelity, which today has given itself the modest name of "higher criticism,"--"how could solomon say, 'i _was_ king,' when he never ceased to be that?" ah! one fears if that same lord were to speak once more as of old, he would again say, "o fools and blind!" for is it not meet that the writer who is about to give recital of his experiences should first tell us what his position _was_ at the very time of those experiences? that at the very time of all these exercises, disappointments, and groanings, he _was_ still the highest monarch on earth, king over an undivided israel, in jerusalem, with all the resources and glories that accompany this high station, pre-eminently fitting _him_ to speak with authority, and compelling _us_ to listen with the profoundest respect and attention. yes, this glorious monarch "gives his heart"--that is, applies himself with singleness of purpose "to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven." no path that gives the slightest promise of leading to happiness shall be untrodden; no pleasure shall be denied, no toil be shirked that shall give any hope of satisfaction or rest. "this sore travail hath god given to the sons of men to be exercised therewith." that is, the heart of man hungers and thirsts, and he _must_ search till he does find something to satisfy; and if, alas! he fail to find it in "time," if he only drinks here of waters whereof he "that drinks shall thirst again," eternity shall find him thirsting still, and crying for one drop of water to cool his tongue. but then with what bitter despair ecclesiastes records all these searchings! "i have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit," or rather, "pursuit of the wind." exactly seven times he uses this term, "pursuit of the wind," expressing perfect, complete, despairing failure in his quest. he finds things all wrong, but he has no power of righting them; "that which is crooked cannot be made straight, and that which is wanting cannot be numbered." but perhaps we may get the secret of his failure in his next words. he takes a companion or counselor in his search. again exactly seven times he takes counsel with this companion, "_his own heart_,"--"i communed with my own heart." that is the level of the book; the writer's resources are all within himself; no light from without save that which nature gives; no taking hold on another; no hand clasped by another. he and his heart are alone. ah! that is dangerous as well as dreary work to take counsel with one's own heart. "fool" and "lawless one" come to their foolish and wicked conclusions there (ps. xiv. 1); and what else than "folly" could be expected in hearkening to that which is "deceitful above all things"--what else than lawlessness in taking counsel with that which is "desperately wicked"? take not, then, for thy counselor "thine own heart," when divine love has placed infinite wisdom and knowledge at the disposal of lowly faith in the lord jesus christ, "who of god is made unto us wisdom," and "in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." but does our preacher find the rest he desires in the path of his own wisdom? not at all. "for in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow." "grief and sorrow" ever growing, ever increasing, the further he treads that attractive and comparatively elevated path of human wisdom. nor has solomon been a lonely traveler along that road. thousands of the more refined of adam's sons have chosen it; but none have gone beyond "the king," and none have discovered anything in it, but added "grief and sorrow"--sorrowful groan! but the youngest of god's family has his feet, too, on a path of "knowledge," and he may press along that path without the slightest fear of "grief or sorrow" resulting from added knowledge. nay, a new song shall be in his mouth, "_grace_ and _peace_ shall be multiplied _through the knowledge of god and jesus our lord_." (2 pet. i. 2). blessed contrast! "sorrow and grief" multiplied through growth in human wisdom: "grace and peace" multiplied through growth in the knowledge of god and of jesus our lord! my beloved reader, i pray you meditate a little on this striking and precious contrast. here is solomon in all his glory, with a brighter halo of human wisdom round his head than ever had any of the children of men. turn to 1 kings iv. 29:-"and god gave solomon wisdom and understanding exceeding much, and largeness of heart, even as the sand that is on the sea shore. and solomon's wisdom excelled the wisdom of all the children of the east country, and all the wisdom of egypt. for he was wiser than all men; than ethan the ezrahite, and heman, and chalcol, and darda, the sons of mahol: and his fame was in all nations round about. and he spake three thousand proverbs: and his songs were a thousand and five. and he spake of trees, from the cedar tree 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. and there came of all people to hear the wisdom of solomon, from all kings of the earth, which had heard of his wisdom." is it not a magnificent ascription of abounding wisdom? what field has it not capacity to explore? philosophy in its depths--poetry in its beauties--botany and zoology in their wonders. do we envy him? then listen to what his poor heart was groaning all that time: "in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow"! now turn to _our_ portion above the sun--"the knowledge of god and of jesus our lord": infinitely higher, deeper, lovelier, and more wondrous than the fields explored by solomon, in constant unfoldings of riches of wisdom; and each new unfolding bringing its own sweet measure of "grace and peace." have not the lines fallen to us in pleasant places? have we not a goodly heritage? take the feeblest of the saints of god of today, and had solomon in all his glory a lot like one of these? chapter ii. the wise man, having found that wisdom brought with it but increased sorrow, turns to the other side--to all those pleasures that the flesh, as we speak, enjoys. still, he gives us, as in chap. i., the result of his search before he describes it: "i said in my heart, 'go to now; i will prove thee [that is, i will see if i cannot satisfy thee,] with mirth; therefore enjoy pleasure:' and behold, this also is vanity. i said of laughter, 'it is mad;' and of mirth, 'what doeth it?'" for he now has tried wine, the occupation of laying out of vinyards, gardens, parks, the forming of lakes, and the building of houses, all filled without stint, with every thing that sense could crave, or the soul of man could enjoy. the resources at his command are practically limitless, and so he works on and rejoices in the labor, apparently with the idea that now the craving within can be satisfied, now he is on the road to rest. soon he will look round on the result of all his work, and be able to say, "all is very good; i can now rest in the full enjoyment of my labor and be satisfied." but when he does reach the end, when every pleasure tried, every beauty of surrounding created, and he expects to eat the fruit of his work, instantly his mouth is filled with rottenness and decay. "then i looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labor that i had labored to do; and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit; and there was no profit under the sun." thus he groans again,--a groan that has been echoed and re-echoed all down the ages from every heart that has tried to fill the same void by the same means. ah! wise and glorious preacher, it is a large place thou art seeking to fill. "free and boundless its desires." deeper, wider, broader than the whole world, which is at thy disposal to fill it. and thou mayest well say, "what can the man do that cometh after the king?" for thou hadst the whole world and the glory of it at thy command in thy day, and did it enable thee to fill those "free and boundless desires"? no, indeed. after all is cast into that hungry pit, yawning and empty it is still. look well on this picture, my soul; ponder it in the secret place of god's presence, and ask him to write it indelibly on thy heart that thou forget it not. then turn and listen to this sweet voice: "if any man thirst" (and what man does not?) "let him come unto me, and drink. he that believeth on me, as the scripture hath said, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water." thirst not only quenched, but water to spare for other thirsting ones,--the void not only filled, but running over with a constant flow of blessing. who can express the glories of that contrast? pause, beloved reader: turn your eyes from the page, and dwell on it in thy spirit a little. what a difference between "no profit under the sun" and "never thirst"!--a difference entirely due simply to coming to him--jesus. not a coming once and then departing from him once more to try again the muddy, stagnant pools of this world: no, but to pitch our tents by the palm-trees and the springing wells of christ's presence, and so to drink and drink and drink again of him, the rock that follows his people. but is this possible? is this not mere imaginative ecstasy, whilst practically such a state is not possible? no, indeed; for see that man, with all the same hungry longings of solomon or any other child of adam; having no wealth, outcast, and a wanderer without a home, but who has found something that has enabled him to say, "i have learned, in whatsoever state i am, to be content. i know both how to be abased, and i know how to abound: everywhere, and in all things, i am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. i can do all things through christ, who strengtheneth me." (phil. iv. 11-13.) what, then, is the necessary logical deduction from two such pictures but this: the lord jesus infinitely surpasses all the world in filling the hungry heart of man. look, oh my reader, whether thou be sinner or saint, to him--to him alone. this, then, brings us to the twelfth verse of chapter two, which already, thus early in the book, seems to be a summing up of his experiences. "i turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly:" that is i looked "full face," or carefully considered, these three things that i had now tested; and whilst each gave me only disappointment and bitterness as to meeting my deepest needs, yet "i saw that there was a profit in wisdom over folly, as light is profitable over darkness." this then is within the power of human reason to determine. the philosophy of the best of the heathen brought them to exactly the same conclusion. socrates and solomon, with many another worthy name, are here in perfect accord, and testify together that "the wise man's eyes are in his head, but the fool walketh in darkness." not that men _prefer_ wisdom to folly; on the contrary; still even human reason gives this judgment: for the wise man walks at least as a _man_, intelligently; the spirit, the intelligence, having its place. but how much further can reason discern as to the comparative worth of wisdom or folly? the former certainly morally elevates a man _now_; but here comes an awful shadow across reason's path: "but i myself perceived also that one event happeneth to them all. then said i in my heart, as it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me: and why was i then more wise? then i said in my heart, that this also is vanity." ah! in this book in which poor man at his highest is allowed to give voice to his deepest questions, in which all the chaos, and darkness, the "without form and void" state of his poor, distracted, disjointed being is seen; death is indeed the king of terrors, upsetting all his reasonings, and bringing the wisdom and folly, between which he had so carefully discriminated, to one level in a moment. but here, death is looked upon in relation to the "works" of which he has been speaking. wisdom cannot guarantee its possessor the enjoyment of the fruits of his labors. death comes to him as swiftly and as surely as to the fool, and a common oblivion shall, after a little, swallow the memory of each, with their works. this thought the preacher dwells upon, and as he regards it on every side, again and again he groans, "this also is vanity." (_vv._ 19, 21, 23.) "therefore i hated life, yea, all my labor which i took under the sun," and "therefore i went about to cause my heart to despair of all my labor which i took under the sun." for what is there in the labor itself? nothing that satisfies by itself. it is only the anticipation of final satisfaction and enjoyment that can make up for the loss of quiet and ease now; prove _that_ to be a vain hope, and the mere labor and planning night and day are indeed "empty vanity." thus much for labor "under the sun," with self for its object, and death for its limit. now for the contrast again in its refreshing beauty of the "new" as against the "old" "therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the lord, forasmuch as ye know your labor is not in vain in the lord." (1 cor. xv. 58.) "all my labor vanity" is the "groan" of the old, "for death with its terrors cuts me off from my labor and i leave it to a fool." "no labor in vain" is the song of victory of the new, for resurrection with its glories but introduces me to the precious fruit of those labors, to be enjoyed forever. oh my brethren, let us cherish this precious word, "not in vain;" let us be indeed "persuaded" of it, and "embrace" it, not giving up our glorious heritage, and going back, as the christian world largely is in this day, to the mere human wisdom that solomon the king possessed above all, and which only led then, as it must now and ever, to the groan of "vanity!" but "_not_ in vain" is ours. no little one refreshed with even a cup of cold water but that soon the fruit of even that little labor of love shall meet its sweetest recompense in the smile, the approval, the praise of our lord jesus; and that shall make our hearts full to overflowing with bliss; as we there echo and re-echo our own word: it was indeed, "not in vain." the chapter closes with the recognition that, apart from god, it is not in the power of man to get any enjoyment from his labor. our translation of verse 24 seems quite out of harmony with the preacher's previous experiences, and the verse would better read (as in dr. taylor lewis' metrical version): "the good is not in man that he should eat and drink and find his soul's enjoyment in his toil; this, too, i saw, is only from the hands of god." chapter iii. chapter three may be paraphrased, i think, somewhat in this way: yes, life itself emphasizes the truth that nothing is at one stay here;--all _moves_. there is naught abiding, like the winds and waters that he has noted in chapter one; man's life is but a wheel that turns: death follows birth, and all the experiences between are but ever varying shades of good and evil, evil and good. (let us bear in mind this is not faith's view, but simply that of human wisdom. faith sings a song amidst the whirl of life: "with mercy and with judgment, my web of time he wove; and aye the dews of sorrow were lustred with his love.") but then if nothing thus rests as it is, it becomes a necessary deduction that, if wisdom has collected, and labored, and built, folly will follow to possess and scatter, what profit then in toiling? for he sees that this constant travail is of god who, in wisdom inscrutable, and not to be penetrated by human reasoning, would have men exercised by these constant changes, whilst their hearts can be really satisfied with no one of these things, beautiful as each may be in its time. so boundless are its desires that he says, "eternity" has been placed in that heart of man, and naught in all these "time-changes" can fill it. still he can see nothing better for man, than that he should make the best of the present, for he cannot alter or change what god does or purposes, and everything he sees, speaks of his purpose to a constant "round," a recurrence of that which is past (as verse 15 should probably read.) but still man's reason can make one more step now, one further deduction from the _law of circuit_, as soon as god, even though he be known only by nature's light, is introduced; and that is, the present wrong and injustice so evident here, must in some "time" in god's purposes, be righted; god himself being the judge. this seems to be a gleam of real light, similar to the conclusion of the whole book. yes, further, this constant change--is there no reason for it? has god no purpose in it? surely to teach men the very lesson of their own mortality: that there is naught abiding--men and beasts are, as far as unaided human wisdom can see, on one level exactly as to that awful exit from this scene. it is true there may be--and there are strong grounds for inferring that there _is_--a wide difference between the spirit of man, and the spirit of beasts, although the bodies of each are formed of, and return to the dust; but who can tell this absolutely? who has seen and told what is on the other side of that dread portal? none. so then, again says the wise preacher, my wisdom sees only good in enjoying the present, for the future is shrouded in an impenetrable cloud, and none can pierce it. precious beyond expression becomes the glorious bright beam of divine revelation, as against this dense and awful darkness of man's ignorance on such a question. how deep and terrible the groan here, "for all is vanity." yet the pitch-dark background shall serve to throw into glorious relief, the glory of that light that is not from reason, or nature; but from him who is the father of lights. yes, he bids us look on this picture of the wisest of men, tracing man and beast to one end and standing before that awful door through which each has disappeared, confessing his absolute inability to determine if there be any difference between them. death surely triumphs here. it is true that there may be a possible distinction between the "breath," or vital principle of each; but this uncertainty only adds to the mystery, and increases a thousand fold the agonizing need for light. god be thanked that he has given it. the darkest problem that has faced mankind all through the weary ages, has been triumphantly solved; and the sweetest songs of faith ever resound about the empty tomb of the lord jesus--nay rather, about the glorious person of that risen christ himself, for he is himself the leader of the joy. "in the midst of the congregation will i praise thee." so then, in sharp and blessed contrast to the wise man and his groaning, let us lift our eyes up and ever up, past the tombs and graves of earth; yea, past thrones and principalities, and powers in the heavens; up and still up, even to the "_throne of the majesty on high_" itself; and look on one sitting even there, a _man_--oh mark it well, for he has been of woman born--a _man_,--for of that very one it was once said, "is not this the carpenter?"--now crowned with glory and honor; and listen, for he speaks: "i am he that liveth, and was dead, and behold i am alive for evermore." consider him! and whilst we look and listen, how does that word of the preacher sound, "a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast!" and this is our portion, beloved reader. he might indeed have had all the glory of that place, without the agony of the garden, without the suffering and shame of the cross, had he been content to enjoy it alone. but no--he must have his own with him; and now death has been abolished as to its terror and power, so that the groan of old is replaced by the triumphant challenge: "o death, where is thy sting? o grave, where is thy victory?" (1 cor. xv. 55.) the resurrection of jesus not only makes possible--not only makes probable--but absolutely assures the glorious triumphant resurrection of his own who have fallen asleep: "christ the firstfruits, afterward they are christ's at his coming." but further, is this "falling asleep" of the saint to separate him, for a time, from the conscious enjoyment of his saviour's love? is the trysting of the saved one with his saviour to be interrupted for awhile by death? is his song "not all things else are half so dear as is his blissful presence here" to be silenced by death? then were he a strangely conquered foe, and not stingless, if for one hour he could separate us from the enjoyed love of christ. but no, "blessed be the victor's name," not for a moment. "death is ours" and "absent from the body" is only "present with the lord." so that we may answer the preacher's word, "a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast," with the challenge, to which of the _beasts_ said he at any time, "this day shalt thou be with me in paradise"? let the preacher groan, "all is vanity;" the groan is in perfect--if sorrowful--harmony with the darkness and ignorance of human reason; but "_singing_" alone accords with _light_; "joy cometh _in the morning_," and if we but receive it, we have in "jesus risen" light enough for perpetual, unending, song. chapter iv. but we must follow our preacher, who can only turn away with bitterness from this closed door of death, once more to take note of what is "under the sun." and sad and sorrowful it is to him to mark that the world is filled with oppression. he has already, in the previous chapter, noted that "wickedness was there in the place of judgment and iniquity in the place of righteousness," and the natural consequence of this is oppression. wherever men have _power_ they use it to bring forth _tears_; therefore far better, cries solomon, to be out of such a scene altogether; yea, better still, never to have come into it at all. have we no sympathy with the preacher here? does he not give expression to one sad "touch of nature that makes the whole world kin"? do we not recognize that he, too, was traveling through exactly the same scene as we find ourselves to be in? that tears were raining on this crust of earth in that far-off time, exactly as they are to-day? yes, indeed, it was a tear-soaked earth he trod, as well as we. but then that other man was also in the same scene exactly, who said, too, that it was certainly "far better" to be out of it; but--precious contrast! _that_ was because of the loveliness and sweet attraction of one known outside of it; whilst the very needs of others in the scene--those "tears," in a way, of which the wise man speaks, and which he knew no way of stopping--alone kept him in it, and made him consent to stay. for paul had "heard a sweeter story" than solomon had ever in his wisdom conceived; had "found a truer gain" than all solomon's wealth could give him; and his most blessed business it was to proclaim a glad tidings that should dry the tears of the oppressed, give them a peace that no oppressor could take away, a liberty outside all the chains of earth--a spring of joy that tyranny was powerless to affect. now let us, by the grace and loving kindness of our god, consider this a little closer, my readers. we have concluded that we find this book included in the inspired volume for this very purpose, to exalt all "the new" by its blessed contrast with "the old." we may too, if we will, look around on all the sorrows and tears of this sad earth, and groan "better would it be to be dead and out of it; yea, better never to have been born at all." and a wise groan, according to human wisdom, this would be. but when such wisdom has attained to its full, it finds itself far short of the very "foolishness of god"; for, on the other hand we may, if we will, praise god with joyful heart that we are at least _in the only place in the whole universe, where tears can be dried, and gladness be made to take their place_. for is there oppression, and consequent weeping, in heaven? surely not. tears there are, in plenty, in hell; for did not he who is love say, "there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth"? but, alas! those tears can be dried--_never_. but here love can have its own way, and mourning ones may learn a secret that shall surely gild their tears with a rainbow glory of light, and the oppressed and distressed, the persecuted and afflicted, may triumphantly sing, "who shall separate us from the love of christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? nay, in all these things we are _more than conquerors_, through him that loved us." ah, is there not, too, a peculiar beauty in those words "more than conquerors"? what can be more than a conqueror? a ship driven out of its course by the tempest, with anchor dragging or cable parted, is no "conqueror" at all, but the reverse. that ship riding out the gale, holding fast to its anchorage, is truly a conqueror; but that is all. but the vessel being driven by the very tempest to the haven where it would be, is better off still, and thus "more than conqueror." so it is with the saint now; the tempest drives him the closer to him who is indeed his desired haven, and thus he is more than conqueror. is not, then, this earth a unique place?--this life a wonderful time? a few years (possibly a few hours) more, and we shall be out of the scene of sorrow and evil forever; nor can we then prove the power of the love of christ to lift above the sorrow either ourselves or others. o my soul, art thou redeeming the time--"ransoming from loss" (as it might literally be worded) the precious opportunities that are around thee on every side, "because the days are evil"? the very fact that the days are evil--that thou art in the place of tears--gives thee the "opportunities." when the days cease to be evil, those special opportunities, whatever may be the service of the redeemed, will be gone forever. but the preacher still continues his search "under the sun," and turns from oppression and tears to regard what is, on the surface at least, a comparatively happy lot--"right work," by which a man has attained to prosperity and pre-eminence. but as he looks closer at a case which, at first sight, seems to promise real satisfaction, he sees that there is a bitter sting connected with it,--a sting that at once robs it of all its attraction, and makes void all its promise of true rest,--for "for this a man is envied of his neighbor." his success is only cause of bitter jealousy, and makes him the object not of love, but of envy, to all about him. success, then, and a position of pre-eminence above one's competitors, gained by skillful toil, is rather to be avoided as vanity and pursuit of the wind,--a grasping at an empty nothingness. is the opposite extreme of perfect idleness any better? no; for plainly the idler is a fool who "eateth his own flesh"; that is, necessarily brings ruin upon himself. so human wisdom here closes the meditation with--what human wisdom always does take refuge in--the "golden mean," as it is called, "better a single handful with quiet rest, than both hands filled only by wearying toil and vexation of spirit." and true enough this is, as every man who has tested things at all in this world will confirm. accumulation brings with it only disappointment and added care,--everything is permeated with a common poison; and here the wisdom of the old is, in one sense, in full harmony with the higher wisdom of the new, which says "godliness, with contentment, is great gain," and "having food and raiment, let us be therewith content." if we look "above the sun," however, there is a scene where no sting lurks in all that attracts, as here. where god himself approves the desires of his people for more of their own, and says to them with gracious encouragement, "covet earnestly the best gifts." yes; but mark the root-difference between the two: the skillful, or right labor, that appears at first so desirable to the preacher, is only for the worker's own advantage,--it exalts him above his fellows, where he becomes a mark for their bitter envy; but these "gifts" that are to be coveted are as far removed from this as the poles. in that higher scene, the more a gift exalts "self," the less is that gift. the "best"--those which god calls "best"--are those that awake no envy in others; but bring their happy owner lower and ever lower to the feet of his brethren to serve them, to build _them_ up. the corinthians themselves had the lesser gifts in the more showy "tongues," and "knowledge"; but one family amongst them had the _greater_,--"the household of stephanas," for it had addicted itself to the _service_ of the saints. but let us not leave this theme till we have sought to set our hearts a-singing by a sight of him who is, and ever shall be, the source as well as the theme of all our songs. we but recently traced him in his glorious upward path till we found him resting on the throne of the majesty on high. but "he that ascended, what is it but that he also descended?" so, beloved readers, though it may be a happily familiar theme to many, it will be none the less refreshing to look at that "right work" of our blessed lord jesus, "who, being in the form of god, thought it not robbery to be equal with god." that is the glorious platform--as we might, in our human way of speaking, say--upon which he had abode all through the ages of the past. he looks above--there is none, there is nothing higher. he looks on the same plane as himself--he is equal with god. there is his blessed, glorious place, at the highest pinnacle of infinite glory, nothing to be desired, nothing to be grasped at. he moves; and every heart that belongs to that new creation awakens into praise (oh, how different to the "envy" of the old!) as he takes his first step and makes himself of no reputation. and as in our previous paper we followed him in his glorious upward path, so here we may trace his no less glorious and most blessed path down and ever lower down, past godhead to "_no reputation_"; past authority to _service_; past angels, who are servants, to _men_; past all the thrones and dignities of men to the manger at _bethlehem and the lowest walk of poverty_, till he who, but now, was indeed rich is become poor; nay, says of himself that he has not where to lay his head. no "golden mean" of the "handful with quietness" here! yes, and far lower still, past that portion of the righteous man, endless life,--down, down to the humiliation of _death_; and then one more step to a death--not of honor, and respect, and the peace, that we are told marks the perfect man and the upright, but the death of lowest shame, the criminal slave's death, the _cross_! seven distinct steps of perfect humiliation! oh, consider him there, beloved! mocked of all his foes, forsaken of all his friends! the very refuse of the earth, the thieves that earth says are too vile for her, heaping their indignities upon him. "behold the man," spat upon, stricken, and numbered with transgressors; and, as we gaze, let us together listen to that divine voice, "let this mind be in you which was also in christ jesus," for that is _our_ "right work," and there is no fear of a man being "envied of his neighbor" for right work of that kind. but time and space would fail us to take up in detail all these precious contrasts. all solomon's searches "under the sun" tell but one story: there is nought in all the world that can satisfy the heart of man. the next verse furnishes another striking illustration of this. he sees a solitary one, absolutely alone, without kith or kin dependent on him, and yet he toils on, "bereaving his soul of good" as unceasingly as when he first started in life. every energy is still strained in the race for those riches that satisfy not at all. "vanity" is the preacher's commentary on the scene. this naturally leads to the conclusion that solitude, at least, is no blessing; for man was made for companionship and mutual dependence, and in this is safety. (verses 9 to 12.) verses 13 to the end are difficult, as they stand in our authorized version; but they speak, i think, of the striking and extraordinary vicissitudes that are so constant "under the sun." there is no lot abiding. the king on his throne, "old and foolish," changes places with the youth who may even step from the humiliation of prison and chains to the highest dignity: then "better is the poor and wise youth than the old and foolish king." but wider still the preacher looks, and marks the stately march of the present generation with the next that shall follow it; yea, there is no end of the succession of surging generations, each boastful of itself, and taking no joy in--that is, making little account of--that which has gone before. each, in its turn, like a broken wave, making way for its successor. boastful pride, broken in death, but still followed by another equally boastful, or more so, which, in its turn, is humbled also in the silence of the grave. it is the same story of human changes as "the youth" and "the king," only a wider range is taken; but "vanity" is the appropriate groan that accompanies the whole meditation. in this i follow dr. lewis's version:- better the child, though he be poor, if wise, than an old and foolish king, who heeds no longer warning; for out of bondage came the one to reign- the other, in a kingdom born, yet suffers poverty. i saw the living all, that walked in pride beneath the sun, i saw the second birth that in their place shall stand. no end to all the people that have gone before; and they who still succeed, in them shall find no joy. this, too, is vanity,--a chasing of the wind. chapter v. with the opening of this chapter we come to quite a different theme. like a fever-tossed patient, ecclesiastes has turned from side to side for relief and rest; but each new change of posture has only brought him face to face with some other evil "under the sun" that has again and again pressed from him the bitter groan of "vanity." but now, for a moment, he takes his eyes from the disappointments, the evil workings, and the sorrows, that everywhere prevail in that scene, and lifts them up to see how near his wisdom, or human reason, can bring him to _god_. ah, poor bruised and wounded spirit! everywhere it has met with rebuff; but now, like a caged bird which has long beaten its wings against its bars, at length turns to the open door, so now ecclesiastes seems at least to have his face in the right direction,--god and approach to him is his theme,--how far will his natural reason permit his walking in it? will it carry him on to the highest rest and freedom at last? this, it strikes me, is just the point of view of these first seven verses. their meaning is, as a whole, quite clear and simple. "keep thy foot,"--that is, permit no hasty step telling of slight realization of the majesty of him who is approached. nor let spirit be less reverently checked than body. "be more ready to hear, than to give the sacrifice of fools." few be thy words, and none uttered thoughtlessly, for "god is in heaven and thou upon earth," and many words, under such an infinite discrepancy in position, bespeak a fool as surely as a dream bespeaks overcrowded waking hours. oh fear, then, to utter one syllable thoughtlessly or without meaning, for one listens to whom a vow once uttered must be paid, for not lightly canst thou retract the spoken vow with the excuse "it was unintentional,--it was not seriously meant." his messenger or angel is not so deceived; and quickly wilt thou find, in thy wrecked work and purposes astray, that it is _god_ thou hast angered by thy light speech. then avoid the many words which, as idle dreams, are but vanity; but rather "fear thou god." after weighing the many conflicting views as to verses 6 and 7, the context has led me to the above as the sense of the words. nor can there be the slightest question as to the general bearing of the speaker's argument. its central thought, both in position and importance, is found in "god is in heaven and thou upon earth, therefore let thy words be few,"--its weighty conclusion, "fear thou god." now, my beloved readers, there is a picture here well worth looking at attentively. regard him: noble in every sense of the word,--with clearest intellect, with the loftiest elevation of thought, with an absolutely true conception of the existence of god. who amongst men, let thought sweep as wide as it will amongst the children of adam, can go or has gone, beyond him? what can man's mind conceive, he may ask, as well as man's hand do, that cometh after the king? yea, let our minds go over all the combined wisdom of all the ages amongst the wise of the world, and where will you find a loftier, purer, truer conception of god, and the becoming attitude of the creature in approaching him than here? for he is not a heathen, as we speak, this solomon. he has all that man, as man, could possibly have; and that surely includes the knowledge of the existence of god,--his power eternal, and his godhead, as romans i. clearly shows. the heathen themselves have lapsed from that knowledge. "_when they knew god_" is the intensely significant word of scripture. this is, indeed, diametrically contrary to the teaching of modern science--that the barbarous and debased tribes of earth are only in a less developed condition--are on the way _upward_ from the lowest forms of life, from the protoplasm whence all sprang, and have already passed in their upward course the ape, whose likeness they still, however, more closely bear! oh, the folly of earth's wisdom! the pitiful meanness and littleness of the greatest of modern scientific minds that have "come after the king" contrasted even with the grand simple sublimity of the knowledge of ecclesiastes. for this preacher would not be a proper representative _man_ were he in debased heathen ignorance. he could not show us faithfully and truly how far even unaided human reason could go in its recognition of, and approach to, god, if he had lost the knowledge of god. low, indeed, is the level of man's highest, when in this state, as the greeks show us; for whilst they, as distinct from the jews, made wisdom the very object of their search, downward ever do they sink in their struggles, like a drowning man, till they reach a foul, impure, diabolical mythology. their gods are as the stars for multitude. nor are they able to conceive of these except as influenced by the same passions as themselves. is there any reverence in approach to such? not at all. low, sensual, earthly depravity marked ever that approach. that is the level of the lapsed fallen wisdom of earth's wise. how does it compare with solomon's? we may almost say as earth to heaven,--hardly that,--rather as hell to earth. solomon, then, clearly shows us the _highest possible conception of the creature's approach to his creator_. this is as far as man could have attained, let him be at the summit of real wisdom. his reason would have given him nothing beyond this. it tells him that man is a creature, and it is but the most simple and necessary consequence of this that his approach to his creator should be with all the reverence and humility that is alone consistent with such a relationship. but high indeed as, in one point of view, this is, yet how low in another, for is one heart-throb stilled? one tormenting doubt removed? one fear quieted? one deep question answered? one sin-shackle loosened? _not one_. the distance between them is still the distance between earth and heaven. "god is in heaven, and thou upon earth." nor can the highest, purest, best of human reason, as in this wise and glorious king, bridge over that distance one span! "fear thou god" is the sweetest comfort he can give,--the clearest counsel he can offer. consider him again, i say, my brethren, in all his nobility, in all his elevation, in all his bitter disappointment and incompetency. and now, my heart, prepare for joy, as thou turnest to thy own blessed portion. for how rich, how precious, how closely to be cherished is that which has gone so far beyond all possible human conception,--that wondrous revelation by which this long, long distance 'twixt earth and heaven has been spanned completely. and in whom? jesus, the greater than solomon. we have well considered the less,--let us turn to the greater. and where is that second man to be found? afar off on earth, with god in heaven? no, indeed. "for when he had by himself purged our sins he sat down on the right hand of the majesty on high"; and "seeing, then, that we have a great high priest, that is passed _through the heavens_, jesus, the son of god, let us hold fast our confession." oh, let us consider him together, my brethren. in holiest light our representative sits. he who but now was weighted with our guilt, and made sin for us, is in that light ineffable, unapproachable. where, then, are the sins? where, then, the sin? gone for all eternity! nor does his position vary at all with all the varying states, failings, coldness, worldliness, of his people here. with holy calm, his work that has perfected them forever perfectly finished, he _sits_, and their position is thus maintained unchanging. clearly, and without the shadow of the faintest mist to dim, the infinite searching light of god falls on him, but sees nought there that is not in completest harmony with itself. oh, wondrous conception! oh, grandeur of thought beyond all the possibility of man's highest mind! no longer can it be said at least to one man, woman-born though he be, "god is in heaven, and thou upon earth"; for he, of the seed of abraham, of the house of david, is himself in highest heaven. but one step further with me, my brethren. we are in him, there; and that is our place, too. the earthward trend of thought--the letting slip our own precious truth--has introduced a "tongue" into christendom that ought to be foreign to the saint of heaven. no "place of worship" should the christian know--nay, _can_ he really know--short of heaven itself. for, listen: "having, therefore, brethren, boldness to enter _into the holiest_ by the blood of jesus, by the new and living way which he hath consecrated for us through the vail,--that is to say, his flesh,--and having a high priest over the house of god, let us draw near," etc. we too, then, beloved, are not upon earth as to our worship, (let it be mixed with faith in us that hear). israel's "place of worship" was where her high priest stood, and our place of worship is where our great high priest sits. jesus our lord sowed the seed of this precious truth when he answered the poor sinful woman of samaria, "the hour cometh when ye shall neither in this mountain, nor yet at jerusalem, worship the father. but the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the father in spirit and in truth, for the father seeketh such to worship him." but, then, are not "words to be few"? good and wise it was for solomon so to speak; "few words" become the far-off place of the creature on earth before the glorious majesty of the creator in heaven. but if infinite wisdom and love have rent the vail and made a new and living way into the holiest, does he now say "few words"? better, far better, than that; for with the changed position all is changed, and not too often can his gracious ear "hear the voice of his beloved"; and, lest shrinking unbelief should still hesitate and doubt, he says plainly "in _everything_, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto god." for he has shown himself fully, now that vail is down,--all that he is, is revealed to faith; and a heart we find--with reverence and adoring love be it spoken--filled with tenderest solicitude for his people. letting them have cares only that they may have his sympathy in a way that would not otherwise be possible; and thus again he invites "casting all your care upon him, for he careth for you." nor is there a hint in the holiest, of weariness on god's part in listening to his people, nor once does he say "enough; now cease thy prayers and supplications." how could he so speak who says "_pray without ceasing_"? then if, as assuredly we have seen, solomon shows us the highest limit of human thought, reason, or conception, if we go even one step beyond, we have _exceeded_ human thought, reason, or conception; (and in these new testament truths how far beyond have we gone?) and what does that mean but that we are on holy ground indeed, listening to a voice that is distinctly the voice of god,--the god who speaks to us, as he says, in order "_that our joy may be full_." but the preacher continues to give, in verses 8 and 9, such counsel as he can to meet the discordant state of things everywhere apparent. "when thou seest violent oppression exercised by those in authority," he says, "marvel not; think it not strange, as though some strange thing were happening; thou art only looking on a weed-plant that everywhere flourishes 'under the sun,' and still thou mayest remember that these oppressors themselves, high though they be, have superiors above them: yea in the ever-ascending scale of ranks and orders thou mayest have to go to the highest--god himself; but the same truth hold good, and he shall yet call powers and governors to answer for the exercise of their authorities. this for thy comfort, if thou lookest _up_; but, on the other hand, look _down_, and thou shalt see that which goes far to humble the highest; for even the king himself is as dependent as any on the field whence man's food comes." true, indeed, all this; but cold is the comfort, small cause for singing it gives. our own dear apostle seems to have dropped for a moment from his higher vantage-ground to the level of solomon's wisdom when smarting under "oppression and the violent perverting of judgment," he cried to the high priest, "god [the higher than the highest] shall smite thee, thou whited wall." but we hear no joyful singing from him in connection with that indignant protest. on the contrary, the beloved and faithful servant regrets it the next moment, with "i wist not, brethren." not so in the silent suffering of "violent oppression" at philippi. there he and his companion have surely comfort beyond any that solomon can offer, and the overflowing joy of their hearts comes from no spring that rises in this sad desert scene. never before had prisoners in that dismal jail heard aught but groans of suffering coming from that inner prison, from the bruised and wounded prisoners whose feet were made fast in the stocks; but the spirit of god notes, with sweet and simple pathos, "the prisoners heard them"; and oh, how mighty the testimony to that which is "above the sun" was that singing! it came from the christian's proper portion,--your portion and mine, dear fellow-redeemed one,--for jesus, our lord jesus, our saviour jesus, is the alone fountain of a joy that can fill a human heart until it gives forth "songs in the night," even in one of earth's foul abodes of suffering and oppression. he is the portion of the youngest, feeblest believer. rich treasure! let us beware lest any spoil us of that treasure, for we can only "sing" as we enjoy it. but once more let us listen to what the highest, purest attainment of the wisdom of man can give. and now he speaks of wealth and the abundance of earthly prosperity which he, of all men, had so fully tested. "he that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver, nor he that loveth abundance, with increase"; and again there is the sorrowful groan, "this is also vanity." "if goods increase," he continues, "the household necessary to care for them increases proportionately, and the owner gets no further satisfaction from them than their sight affords. nay, he who toils has a distinct advantage over the wealthy, who is denied the quiet repose the former enjoys." carefully the preacher has watched the miser heaping up ever, and robbing himself of all natural enjoyment, until some disaster--"evil travail"--sweeps away in a moment his accumulations, and his son is left a pauper. and such, at least, is every man he marks, be he never so wealthy, when the end comes. inexorable death is, sooner or later, the "evil travail" that strips him as naked as he came; and then, though he has spent his life in selfish self-denial, filling his dark days with vexation, sickness, and irritation, he is snatched from all, and, poor indeed, departs. such the sad story of solomon's experience; but not more sad than true, nor confined by any means to scripture. world-wide it is. nor is divine revelation necessary to tell poor man that silver, nor gold, nor abundance of any kind, can satisfy the heart. hear the very heathen cry "_semper avarus eget_"--"the miser ever _needs_"; or "_avarum irritat non satiat pecunia_"--"the wealth of the miser satisfies not, but irritates." but more weighty and far-reaching is the word of revelation going far beyond the negation of the king. "they that desire to be rich fall into temptation and a snare and many foolish and hurtful lusts, such as drown men in destruction and perdition, for the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil, which some reaching after have been led astray from the faith, and have pierced themselves through with many sorrows." but let us pass to the last three verses of the chapter. the preacher here says, in effect, "now attend carefully to what i tell thee of the result of all my experience in this way. i have discerned a good that i can really call comely or fair. it is for a man to have the means at his command for enjoyment, and the power to enjoy those means. this combination is distinctly the 'gift of god.' from such an one all the evils that make up life pass off without eating deep into his being. a cheerful spirit takes him off from the present evil as soon as it is past. he does not think on it much; for the joy of heart within, _to which god responds_, enables him to meet and over-ride those waves of life and forget them." this is in perfect conformity with the whole scope of our book: and it is surely a mistake that the evangelical doctors and commentators make when they seek to extract truth from solomon's writings that is never to be attained apart from god's revelation. on the other hand, a large school of german rationalists see here nothing beyond the teaching of the epicure: "let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die." rather does it show the high-water mark of human reason, wisdom, and experience,--having much in common with the philosophy of the world, but going far beyond it; and then, at its highest, uttering some wail of dissatisfaction and disappointment, whilst the majestic height of divine revelation towers above it into the very heavens, taking him who receives it far above the clouds and mists of earth's speculations and questionings into the clear sunlight of eternal divine truth. so here solomon--and let us not forget none have ever gone, or can ever go, beyond him--gives us the result of his searchings along the special line of the power of riches to give enjoyment. his whole experience again and again has contradicted this. look at the 12th verse of this very chapter. "the sleep of the laboring man is sweet, _but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep_." no, no. in some way to get _joy_, he confesses he must have _god_. he combines in these verses these two ideas--"joy" and "god." look at them. see how they recur: four times the name of god, thrice a word for joy. now this raises solomon far far above the malarial swamps of mere epicureanism, which excluded god entirely. it shows how perfect the harmony throughout the whole book. it is again, let us recall it, the high-water mark of human reason, intelligence, and experience. he reasons thus: (1) i have proved the vanity and unsatisfactory character of all created things in themselves, and yet can see no good beyond getting enjoyment from them. (2) the power, therefore, for enjoyment cannot be from the things themselves. it must be from god. he must give it. (3) this assumes that there must be some kind of accord between god and the heart, for god is the spring, and not the circumstances without. so far the power of human reason. high it is, indeed; but how unsatisfactory, at its highest. consider all that it leaves unsaid. suppose this were where you and i were, my reader, what should we learn of the way of attaining to this "good that is fair"? shall we ask ecclesiastes one single question that surely needs clear answer in order to attain it? i am a sinner: conscience, with more or less power, constantly accuses. how can this awful matter of my guilt in the sight of that god, the confessed and only source of thy "good," be settled? surely this is absolutely necessary to know ere i can enjoy thy "good that is fair." nay, more: were a voice to speak from heaven, telling me that all the past were blotted out up to this moment, i am well assured that i could not maintain this condition for the next moment. sin would well up from the nature within, and leave me as hopeless as ever. i carry _it_--that awful defiling thing--with me, in me. how is this to be answered, ecclesiastes?--or what help to its answer dost thou give?... and there is silence alone for a reply. once and only once was such a state possible. adam, as he walked in his undefiled eden, eating its fruit, rejoicing in the result of his labor, with no accusing conscience, god visiting him in the cool of the day and responding to all his joy,--there is the picture of ecclesiastes' "good that is fair." where else in the old creation, and how long did that last? no; whilst it is refreshing and inspiring to mark the beautiful intelligence and exalted reasoning of ecclesiastes, recognizing the true place of man in creation, dependent, and consciously dependent, on god for "life and breath and all things," as paul spoke long afterwards, appealing to that in the heathen athenians which even they were _capable_ of responding to affirmatively; yet how he leaves us looking at a "good that is fair," but without a word as to how it is to be attained, in view of, and in spite of, sin. that one short word raises an impassable barrier between us and that fair good, and the more fair the good, the more cruel the pain at being so utterly separated from it; but then, too, the more sweet and precious the love that removes the barrier entirely, and introduces us to a good that is as far fairer than solomon's as solomon's is above the beasts. for we, too, my dear readers, have our "good that is fair." nor need we fear comparison with that of this wisest of men. survey with me a fairer scene than any lighted by this old creation sun can show, and harken to god's own voice, in striking contrast to poor solomon's portraying its lovely and entrancing beauties for our enjoyment. "blessed be the god and father of our lord jesus christ, who hath blessed us with all spiritual blessings in heavenly places in christ, according as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love, having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by jesus christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will to the praise of the glory of his grace wherein he hath made us accepted in the beloved: in whom we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins according to the riches of his grace." dwell a little on this our own fair good; mark its sevenfold perfection; go up and down the land with me. let us press these grapes of eshcol, and taste their excellence together. _first: chosen in him before the foundation of the world_.--a threefold cord, that is, indeed, not soon broken. "chosen," god's own love and wisdom is the fount and spring whence all flows. and that in blessed connection with the dearest object of his love--"in him." "before the foundation of the world." in the stability and changelessness of eternity,--before that scene that is, and ever was, characterized by change, began,--with its mirth and sorrow, sunshine and shadow, life and death. blessed solid rock-foundation for all in god and eternity. _second: to be holy_.--separated from all the defilement that should afterwards come in. thus his electing love is always marked first by separation from all evil. it can never allow its object to be connected with the slightest defilement. the evil was allowed only that he might reveal himself as love and light in dealing with it. _third: without blame_.--so thoroughly is all connected with past defilement met that not a memory of it remains to mar the present joy. the defilement of the old creation with which we were connected has left never a spot nor a stain on the person that could offend infinite holiness. clean, every whit. bless the lord, oh my soul! _fourth: in love_.--thus separated and cleansed from all defilement not mere complacency regards us. not merely for his own pleasure, as men make a beautiful garden, and remove everything that would offend their taste, but active love in all its divine warmth encircles us. my reader, do you enjoy this fair good? if you be but the feeblest believer it is your own. _fifth: adoption of children_.--closest kind of love, and that so implanted in the heart as to put that responsive home-cry of "abba, father," there, and on our lips. yet nothing short of this was the "good pleasure of his will. _sixth.--taken into favor in the beloved_: the wondrous measure of acceptance "in the beloved one." look at him again. all the glory he had in eternity he has now, and more added to it. infinite complacency regards him. that, too, is the measure of our acceptance. _seventh_.--but no shirking that awful word,--no overlooking the awful fact of sin's existence. no; the foundation of our enjoyment of our own fair good is well laid "in whom we have redemption through his blood, _even the forgiveness of sins_." sin, looked at in infinite holy light,--thoroughly looked at,--and blood, precious blood, poured out in atonement for it, and thus put away forever in perfect righteousness. now may the lord grant us to realize more fully, as we progress in our book, the awful hopelessness that weighs on man's sad being, apart from the blessed and infinitely gracious revelation of god. chapter vi. remembering how far the writer of our book excels all who have ever come after him, in ability, wisdom, or riches, his groans of disappointment shall have their true weight with us, and act as lighthouse beacons, warning us from danger, or from spending the one short fleeting life we have in treading the same profitless pathway of groaning. so chapter six opens, still on the same subject of wealth and its power to bless. a sore evil, and one that weighs heavily on man, has solomon seen: riches, wealth, and honor, clustering thick on the head of one person, and yet god has withheld from him the power of enjoying it all. as our own poet, browning, writes that apt illustration of king saul: "a people is thine, and all gifts, which the world offers singly, on one head combine! high ambition, and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them all, brought to blaze on the head of one creature--king saul." so sorrowful is this in our preacher's eyes, and so thoroughly does it bespeak a state of affairs under the sun in confusion, that solomon ventures the strongest possible assertion. better, he says, an untimely birth, that never saw light, than a thousand years twice told, thus spent in vanity, without real good having been found. how bitter life must show itself to lead to such an estimate! better never to have been born than pass through life without finding something that can satisfy. but this is not looking at life simply in itself, for life in itself is good, as the same poet sings: "oh, our manhood's prime vigor! no spirit feels waste, not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced. oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock, the strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver shock of the plunge in a pool's living water! how good is man's life--the mere living! how fit to employ all the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!" it is because man has, of all the creation of god, an awful shadow hanging over him--"death and darkness and the tomb," with the solemn, silent, unknown "beyond" lying before him, robbing him of rest. angels have present pure delight, with no such shadow possible--they die not. the beast may enjoy his pasture, for no thought of a coming death disturbs him. life may be full of a kind of enjoyment to such; but man, poor man, when awake to the possibilities of his own being, as it surely becomes man to be (and that is just the point of this book--we are not looking upon man as a mere animal, but as a reasoning creature, and as such he), is robbed of present rest and enjoyment by an inevitable fate to which he is hastening, and from which there is no possible escape. do not all go to one place?--that vague "sheol," speaking of the grave, and yet the grave, not as the _end_, but an indefinite shadowy existence beyond? all, all go there; and with no light on _that_, better, indeed, "the untimely birth which came in vanity and departs in darkness;" for this, at least, has the more rest. bitter groan this, indeed! for the preacher continues: "does man's labor satisfy him? can he get what is really 'good' from it?" no. for never is his appetite filled so that it desires nothing more. the constant return of its thirst demands constant toil; and fool and wise must alike obey its call. this is not confined to bodily food, but covers that bitter hunger and thirst of the heart, as the use of the word soul (margin) shows. the longings of the wise may be for a higher food. he may aim above the mere sensual, and seek to fill his soul with the refined, but he _fails_, as indeed do all, even "the poor man who knows to walk before the living;" that is, even the poor man who, with all the disadvantages of poverty, has wisdom enough to know how to live so as to command the respect of his fellows. wise indeed must such be; but he, no more than the fool, has found the "good" that forever satisfies hunger and thirst, and calms to rest the wandering of the soul, which, like the restless swallow, is ever on the wing. man is made up of desire, and one glimpse with the eyes, something seen, is at least something secured, and it is better than all mere longing, which is vanity and the pursuit of the wind. for everything has long ago been named _from its own nature_; and in this way its name shows what it is. thus man, too, (adam,) is, and ever has been, known from his name, from "adamah," earth; his name so showing his mortality. if thus he has been made by his creator, how vain for him to hope to escape his fate, for with him no contention is possible. what use, then, in many words (not things) since they afford no relief as against that end? they only increase vanity. then the last sad wail of this subject: "who knoweth what is really _good_--satisfying for man--during the few fleeting years of his vain life here, which he passes as a shadow; and when he is gone, who can tell him what shall be after him under the sun"? let that wail sink down deep into our ears. it is the cry that has been passed, in ever increasing volume, from heart to heart--every empty hollow heart of man echoing and re-echoing, "who will show us any good?" now turn and listen to one who came to answer that fully, and in his word to mary, the sister of lazarus, he does distinctly, in words, answer it. she had chosen the portion that he could call "good." and was that travail and toil, even in service for himself? no, that was rather her sister's portion; but a seat--expressive of rest--(consider it), a listening ear, whilst the lord ministered to her;--and that is all that is needful! what a contrast between this poor rich king, communing with his own heart to find out what is that good portion for man; and the rich poor saint in blessed communion with infinite love, infinite wisdom, infinite power, and resting satisfied! surely, solomon in all his glory had no throne to be compared to hers, as she sat lowly "at his feet." and mark carefully, for thy soul's good, that word of tender grace that the lord said, this is "needful." he who had listened to the groan of man's heart through those long four thousand years, and knew its need fully and exactly, says that this good portion must not be regarded as any high attainment for the few, but as the very breath of life--for all. if he knows that it is needful for thee, then, my soul, fear not but that he will approve thy taking the same place and claiming mary's portion on the ground of thy _need alone_. yes, but does this really answer the root cause of the groan in our chapter? is the shadow of death dispelled by sitting at his feet! is death no longer the dark unknown? shall we learn lessons there that shall rob it of all its terrors, and replace the groan with song? yes, truly, for look at the few significant foot-prints of that dear mary's walk after this. see her at that supper made for the lord at bethany. here martha is serving with perfect acceptance--no word of rebuke to her now; she has learned the lesson of that day spoken of in the tenth of luke. but mary still excels her, for, whilst sitting at his feet in that same day of tenth of luke, she has heard some story that makes her come with precious spikenard to anoint his body for the burial! strange act! and how could that affectionate heart force itself calmly to anoint the object of its love for burial? ah! still a far sweeter story must she have heard "at his feet," and a bright light must have pierced the shadow of the tomb. for, look at that little company of devoted women around his cross, and you will find no trace of the no less devoted mary, the sister of lazarus, there. the other marys may come, in tender affection, but in the dark ignorance of unbelief, to search for him, in his empty tomb on the third day. she, with no less tender affection surely, is not there. is this silence of scripture without significance, or are we to see the reason for it in that "good portion" she had chosen "at his feet"?--and there did she hear, not only the solemn story of his cross leading her to anoint his body for the burial, but the joyful story of his resurrection, so that there was no need for _her_ to seek "the living amongst the dead;"--she _knew_ that he was risen, and she, as long before, "_sat still in the house_"! oh, blessed calm! oh, holy peace! what is the secret of it? wouldst thou learn it! sit, then, too, "at his feet," in simple conscious emptiness and need. give him the still more blessed part of ministering to thee. so all shall be in order. thou shalt have the good portion that shall dispel all clouds of death, and pour over thy being heaven's pure sunlight of resurrection; and, with that light, song shall displace groan, whilst thy lord shall have the still better part--his own surely--of giving; for "more blessed it is to give than to receive." chapter vii. but whilst the king has not that most blessed light, yet there are some things in which he can discriminate; and here are seven comparisons in which his unaided wisdom can discern which is the better:- 1. a good name is better than precious ointment. 2. the day of death " " " the day of birth. 3. the house of mourning " " " the house of feasting. 4. borrow " " " laughter. 5. the rebuke of the wise " " " the song of fools. 6. the end of a thing " " " the beginning. 7. the patient in spirit " " " the proud in spirit. lofty, indeed, is the level to which solomon has attained by such unpopular conclusions, and it proves fully that we are listening in this book to man at his highest, best. not a bitter, morbid, diseased mind, simply wailing over a lost life, and taking, therefore, highly colored and incorrect views of that life, as so many pious commentators say; but the calm, quiet result of the use of the highest powers of reasoning man, as man, possesses; and we have but to turn for a moment, and listen to him who is greater than solomon, to find his holy and infallible seal set upon the above conclusions. "blessed are the pure in heart,--they that mourn,--and the meek," is surely in the same strain exactly; although reasons are there given for this blessedness of which solomon, with all his wisdom, had never a glimpse. let us take just one striking agreement, and note the contrasts: "it is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart. sorrow is better than laughter; for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better. the heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth." that is, the loftiest purest wisdom of man recognizes a quality in sorrow itself that is purifying. "in the sadness of the face the heart becometh fair." in a scene where all is in confusion,--where death, as king of terrors, reigns supreme over all, forcing his presence on us hourly, where wickedness and falsehood apparently prosper, and goodness and truth are forced to the wall,--in such a scene of awful disorder, laughter and mirth are but discord, and grate upon the awakened spirit's ear with ghastly harshness. whilst an honest acceptance of the truth of things as they are, looking death itself full in the face, the house of mourning not shunned, but sought out; the sorrow within is at least in harmony with the sad state of matters without; the "ministration of death" has its effect, the spirit learns its lesson of humiliation; and this, says all wisdom, is "_better_." and yet this very level to which reason can surely climb by her own unaided strength may become a foothold for faith to go further. unless wrong, discord, and death, are the normal _permanent_ condition of things, then sorrow, too, is not the normal permanent state of the heart; but this merely remains a question, and to its answer no reason helps us. age after age has passed with no variation in the fell discord of its wails, tears, and groans. generation has followed in the footsteps of generation, but with no rift in the gloomy shadow of death that has overhung and finally settled over each. six thousand years of mourning leave unaided reason with poor hope of any change in the future,--of any expectation of true comfort. but then listen to that authoritative voice proclaiming, as no "scribe" ever could, "blessed are they that mourn, _for they shall be comforted_." ah, there is a bright light breaking in on the dark clouds, with no lightning-flash of added storm, but a mild and holy ray,--the promise of a day yet to break o'er our sorrow-stricken earth, when there shall be no need for mourning, for death no more shall reign, but be swallowed up in victory. but turn over a few pages more, and the contrast is still further heightened. the sun of divine revelation is now in mid-heaven; and not merely future, but present, comfort is revealed by its holy and blessed beam. come, let us enter now into the "house of mourning," not merely to clasp hands with the mourners, and to sit there in the silence of ecclesiastes' helplessness for the benefit of our own hearts, nor even to whisper the promise of a future comfort, but, full of the comfort of a present hope, to pour out words of comfort into the mourners' ears. tears still are flowing,--nor will we rebuke them. god would never blunt those tender sensibilities of the heart that thus speaks the hand that made it; but he would take from the tears the bitterness of hopelessness, and would throw on them his own blessed light,--a new direct word of revelation from himself,--love and light as he is,--till, like the clouds in the physical world, they shine with a glory that even the cloudless sky knows not. _first_, then, all must be grounded and based on faith in the lord jesus. we are talking to those who share with us in a common divine faith. _we believe that jesus died_: but more, _we believe that he rose again_: and here alone is the foundation of true hope or comfort. they who believe not or know not this are as absolutely hopeless--as comfortless--as ecclesiastes: they are "the rest which have no hope." true divine hope is a rare sweet plant, whose root is found _only_ in his empty tomb, whose flower and fruit are in heaven itself. based on this, comforts abound; and in every step the living lord jesus is seen: his resurrection throws its blessed light everywhere. if one has actually risen from the dead, what glorious possibilities follow. for as to those who are falling asleep, is _he_ insensible to that which moves us so deeply? nay; he himself has put them to sleep. they are fallen asleep [not "in," as our version says, but] _through_ (_dia_) jesus. he who so loved them has himself put them to sleep. no matter what the outward, or apparent, causes of their departure to _sight_, faith sees the perfect love of the lord jesus giving "his beloved sleep." sight may take note only of the flying stones as they crush the martyr's body; mark, with horror, the breaking bone, the bruised and bleeding flesh; hear the air filled with the confusion of shouts of imprecation, and mocking blasphemy; but to faith all is different: to her the spirit of the saint, in perfect calm, is enfolded to the bosom of him who has loved and redeemed it, whilst the same lord jesus hushes the bruised and mangled form to _sleep_, as in the holy quiet of the sanctuary. let our faith take firm hold of this blessed word, "fallen asleep through jesus," for our comfort. so shall we be able to instil this comfort into the wounded hearts of others,--comforting them with the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of god. what would solomon have given to have known this? _second_, the mind must be gently loosened from occupation with itself and its own loss; and that by no rebuke or harsh word, so out of place with sorrow, but by the _assumption_, at least, that it is for the loss that the departed themselves suffer that we grieve. it is because we love them that our tears flow: but suppose we know beyond a question that _they_ have suffered no loss by being taken away from this scene, would not that modify our sorrow? yea; would it not change its character completely, extracting bitterness from it? so that blessed lord himself comforted his own on the eve of his departure: "if ye loved me, ye would rejoice because i go unto my father, for my father is greater than i." the more you love me, the less--not the more--will you sorrow. nay; you would change the sorrow into actual joy. _the measure of the comfort is exactly the measure of the love_. that is surely divine. so here, "you are looking forward to the day when your rejected lord jesus shall be manifested in brightest glories: your beloved have not missed their share in that triumph. god will show them the same "path of life" he showed their shepherd (ps. xvi.), and will "bring them with him" in the train of their victorious lord. _third_. but is that triumph, that joy, so far off that it can only be seen through the dim aisles and long vistas of many future ages and generations? must our comfort be greatly lessened by the thought that while that end is "sure," it is still "very far off,"--a thousand years may--nay, some say, _must_--have to intervene; and must we sorrowfully say, like the bereaved saint of old, "i shall go to him, but he shall not return to me"? not at all. better, far better than that. for faith's cheerful and cheering voice is "we who are alive and remain." that day is so close ever to faith that there is nothing between us and it. no long weary waiting expected; and that very _attitude_--that very hope--takes away the "weariness" from the swift passing days. those dear saints of old grasped and cherished this blessed hope that their saviour lord would return even during their life. did they lose anything by so cherishing it? have we gained by our giving it up? has the more "reasonable" expectation that, after all, the tomb shall be our lot as theirs, made our days brighter, happier, and so to speed more quickly? has it made us more separate from the world, more heavenly in character, given us less in common with the worldling? has this safe "reasoning" made us to abound in works of love, labors of faith, and in patience of hope, as did the "unreasonable" and "mistaken" hope of his immediate coming the dear thessalonians of old? for look at the first chapter, and see how the "waiting for the son from heaven" worked. again i ask, have we improved on this? _can_ we improve upon it? was it not far better, then, for them--if these its happy accompaniments--to hold fast, even to their last breath, that hope; and even to pass off this scene clasping it still fondly to their hearts, than our dimmed and dull faith with--it may be boldly said--all the sad loss that accompanies this? hold it fast, my brethren, "_we who are alive and remain_." let that be the only word in our mouths, the only hope in our hearts. it is a cup filled to the brim with comfort. how they ring with life and hope in contrast with the dull, heavy, deathful word of poor ecclesiastes--"for that is the end of all men"! oh, spring up brighter in all our hearts, thou divinely given, divinely sustained hope! _fourth_.--"for the lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of god: and the dead in christ shall rise first." another sweet and holy word of comfort. we have seen jesus putting his saints to sleep, as to their bodies; and here we see the same lord jesus himself bidding them rise. no indiscriminate general resurrection this: "the dead in christ" alone are concerned: they rise first. he who died for them knows them; and they, too, have known his voice in life: that same voice now awakens them, and bids them rise as easily as the little damsel at the "talitha cumi"! how precious is this glorious word of the lord! how perfect the order! no awe-inspiring trumpet, "sounding long and waxing loud," as at sinai of old, awakening the panic-stricken dead, and bidding them come to an awful judgment. such the picture that man's dark unbelief and guilty conscience have drawn. small comfort would we have for mourners were that true. god be thanked it is not. their saviour's well-known voice that our dead have loved shall awaken them, ringing full and true in every tone and note of it with the love he has borne them. then the voice of the archangel michael, the great marshal of god's victorious hosts shall range our ranks. this accomplished, and all in the perfect divine order of victory, the trumpet shall sound and the redeemed shall begin their triumphant, blissful, upward flight. _fifth_.--but the spirit of god desires us to get and to give the comfort of another precious word. in no strange unknown company shall we who are alive and remain start on that homeward journey, but "together with them." who that has known the agony of broken heart-strings does not see the infinitely gracious tender comfort in those three words, "together with them"? there is reunion. once more we shall be in very deed with those we love, with never a thought or fear of parting more to shadow the mutual joy. in view of those three words it were simple impertinence to question whether we shall recognize our dear saints who have preceded us. not only would such a question rob them of their beauty, but of their very meaning. they would be empty and absolutely meaningless in such case. sure, beyond a peradventure, is it that our most cherished anticipations shall be far exceeded in that rapturous moment; for we can but reason from experience, whilst here the sweetest communion has ever been marred by that which there shall not be. how sweet the prospect, my sorrowing bereaved readers! we shall, as god is true, look once more into the very faces of those we have known and loved in the lord on earth. they awake to recognition as magdalene at the word "mary;" not to a renewed earthly companionship, nor to a relationship as known in the flesh, as poor mary thought, but to a sweeter, as well as higher; a warmer, as well as purer communion; for the tie that there shall bind us together is that which is stronger, sweeter than all others, even here,--jesus christ the lord. but stay! does this really meet fully the present sorrow? does it give a satisfying comfort? is there not a lurking feeling of disappointment that certain relationships with their affections are never to be restored; therefore, in certain ways, "recognition" is not probable? for instance, a husband loses the companion of his life. he shall, it is true, meet and recognize with joy a saint whom he knew on earth, but never again his _wife_. that sweet, pure, human affection, is never to be renewed. death's rude hand has chilled that warmth forever. the shock of death has extinguished it forevermore. is that exactly true? is that just as scripture puts it? let us see. we may justly reason that if, in the resurrection, relationships were exactly as here, sorrow would necessarily outweigh joy. to find broken families there would be a perpetuation of earth's keenest distresses. to know that that break was irreparable would cause a grief unutterable and altogether inconsistent with the joy of the new creation. marriage there is not, and hence all relationships of earth we may safely gather are not there. but the natural affections of the soul of man have they absolutely come to nothing? that soul, connected as it is with that which is higher than itself--the spirit--is immortal, and its powers and attributes must be in activity beyond death. it is the seat of the affections here, and, surely, there too. why, then, shall not these affections there have full unhindered play? let us seek to gather something from analogy. knowledge has its seat in the spirit of man, and here he exercises that faculty; nor does the spirit any more than the soul cease to exist; nor are its attributes therefore to be arrested. yet we read of knowledge in that scene, "it shall vanish away." and why? is it not because of the perfect light that there shines? human knowledge is but a candle, and what worth is candlelight when the noonday sun shines? it is overwhelmed, swallowed up, by perfect light. it "vanishes away,"--is not extinguished, any more than is human knowledge, by the shock of death or change; but perfection of light has done away with the very appearance of imperfection. now is this not equally and exactly true of that other part of the divine nature--love? _here_ we both know in part and love in part. _there_ the perfection of love causes that which is imperfect--the human affection of the soul--to "vanish away." the greater swallows up the less. the infinite attraction of the lord jesus--that "glory" which he prayed that we might see (john xvii.)--overwhelms all lower affections with no rough rude shock as of death, but by the very superabundance of the bliss. his glory! what is it but the radiant outshining of his infinitely blessed, infinitely attractive, divine nature,--love and light, light and love,--each swallowing up in their respective spheres every inferior imperfect reflection of them that we have enjoyed here in this scene of imperfection, leaving nothing to be desired, nothing missed; allowing perfect play to every human faculty and affection,--crushing, extinguishing none. death has not been permitted to annul these faculties. the perfect love of the lord jesus has outstripped them, swallowed them up in warmer affections, sweeter communion. the coming of that precious saviour is close: just as close is the fulfillment of those words, "together with them." "he maketh the clouds his chariots," and in those chariots we are taken home "together." _sixth_.--"to meet the lord in the air." another word of divine comfort, again. how bold the assertion! its very boldness is assurance of its truth. it becomes god, and god only, so to speak that his people may both recognize his voice in its majesty and rest on his word. no speculation; no argument; no deduction; no reasoning; but a bare, authoritative statement, startling in its boldness. not a syllable of past scripture on which to build and to give color to it; and yet _when_ revealed, _when_ spoken, in perfect harmony with the whole of scripture. how absolutely impossible for any man to have conceived that the lord's saints should be caught up to meet him "_in the air_." were it not true, its very boldness and apparent foolishness would be its refutation. and what must be the character of mind that would even seek to invent such a thought? what depths of awful wickedness it would bespeak! what cruelty thus to attempt to deceive the whole race! what corruption, thus to speak false in the holiest matters, attaching the lord's name to a falsehood! the spring from which such a statement, if false, could rise must be corrupt indeed. but, oh, how different in fact! what severe righteousness! what depths of holiness! what elevated morality! what warmth of tender affection! what burning zeal, combined with the profoundest reasoning, characterize every word of the writer of this same statement! every word that he has written testifies that he has _not_ attempted to deceive. there is, perhaps, one other alternative: the writer may have _believed himself_ thus inspired, and was thus self-deceived but in this case far gone in disease must his mind have been; nor could it fail constantly to give striking evidence of being thus unhinged in other parts of his writings. this is a subject with which unbalanced minds have shown their inability to be much occupied without the most sorrowful evidences of the disease under which they suffer. let there be independence of the scriptures (as there confessedly is in this case), and let man's mind work in connection with this subject of the lord's second coming, and all history has but one testimony: such minds become unbalanced, and feverish disquietude evidences itself by constant recurrence to the one theme. find, on the other hand, one single instance, if you can, in which such a mind makes mention _once, and only once_, of that subject that has so overmastered every other as to have deceived him into the belief that falsehood is truth, his own imagination is the inspiration of the spirit of god! have you not wondered why this wondrous word of revelation occurs thus in detail once and only once? is it not one of the weapons of those who contend against this our hope that we base too much on this isolated scripture text? not that that is true, for all scripture, as we have said, is in perfect harmony and accord with it; but what a perfect, complete, thorough answer, this fact gives to the other alternative--that the writer was self-deceived. this is impossible; or, like every other self-deceived man that ever lived, he would have pressed his one theme in every letter, forced it on unwilling minds every time he opened his mouth or took up his pen. "no wild enthusiast ever yet could rest till half mankind were like himself possessed." 'tis an attractive theme. long could we linger here, but we must pass on; but before leaving, let us see if we were justified in saying that whilst this word is based on no previous scripture, yet, when spoken, it is in harmony with all. first, then, is it not in perfect accord with the peculiar character and calling of the church? israel, as a nation, finds her final deliverance on the earth. her calling and her hopes have ever been limited to this scene. fitting then, indeed, it is that she be saved by her deliverer's _feet standing once more on the mount of olives_ (zach. xiv. 4), and the judgment of the living nations should then take place. but with the church, how different: her blessings heavenly; her character heavenly; her calling heavenly. is it not, then, in accord with this that her meeting with her lord should be literally heavenly, too? israel, exponent of the righteous government of god, may rightly long to "dip her foot in the blood of the wicked." nor can she expect or know of any deliverance except, as of old, in victories in the day of battle. the church, exponent of the exceeding riches of his grace, is of another spirit; and our deliverance "in the air" permits--nay, necessitates--our echoing that gracious word of our lord, "father, forgive them." then too, how beautifully this rapture follows the pattern of his whom the lord's people now are following even to a dwelling that has no name nor place on earth (john i. 38, 39). the clouds received him: they, too, shall receive us. unseen by the world he left the world, too busy with its occupations to note or care for the departure of him who is its light. so the poor feeble glimmer of the lord's dear people now shall be lost, secretly, as it were, to the world in which they shine as lights, leaving it in awful gloomy darkness till the day dawn and the sun arise. nor is illustration or type lacking. in enoch, caught up before the judgment of the flood, surely we may see a figure of the rapture of the heavenly saints before the antitype of the flood, the tribulation that is to try "the dwellers upon the earth," as in noah brought through that judgment, a picture of the earthly ones. in this connection, too, what could be more exquisitely harmonious than the way in which the lord thus presents himself to the expectant faith of his earthly and heavenly people? to the former the full plain day is ushered in by the sun of righteousness arising with healing in his wings: for that day they look. to the latter, who are watching through the long hours of the night, the bright and morning star shining ere the first beams of the sun are thrown upon the dark world is the object of faith and hope. is not the word that believers shall, "meet the lord in the air" in absolute accord with these different aspects of the lord as star and sun? most certainly it is. more than at any other time, a solid foundation for comfort is needed in times of deep grief. then the hosts of darkness press round the dismayed spirit; clouds of darkness roll across the mental sky; the sun and all light is hidden; in the storm-wrack the fiery darts of the wicked one fall thick as rain. every long-accepted truth is questioned; the very foundations seem to dissolve. a firm foothold, indeed, must we have on which to stand at such a time. faith must be seen not at war with her poor blind--or at least short-sighted--sister reason, but in perfect accord, leading her, with her feebler powers, by the hand. but here is where the world's efforts to comfort--and, indeed, alas, the worldly christians too--lack. sentimentalism abounds here; and the poor troubled heart is told to stand fast on airy speculations, and to distil comfort from wax-flowers, as it were,--the creations of the imagination. how solid the comfort here given in contrast with all this. _god_ speaks, and in the _light_, that with clear yet gentle ray, exactly meets the needs of our present distress,--in the _love_ that in its infinite tenderness and beautiful delicacy knows how to heal the wounded spirit,--in the grand _authority_ that rests on no other word or testimony for proof,--and yet in the perfect, absolute _harmony_ with the whole scope of his own holy word, we, his children, recognize again his voice; for never man could speak thus, and we are comforted, and may comfort one another. _it is true_. _it is divine_. we shall meet the lord in the air. happy journey that, in such a company to such a goal,--to meet the lord! who can picture the joy of that upward flight? what words extract the comfort of that meeting,--the lord,--our lord,--alone with him,--"together with them,"--in the quiet chambers of the air! _seventh_.--"and so shall we ever be with the lord." there is an eternity of unmingled bliss. how short the time of separation, oh ye mourning ones, compared with this! the pain is but for a moment, whilst there is a far more exceeding and eternal weight of comfort. what a contrast! death is the sad, gloomy, mysterious, unknown boundary for all, groans ecclesiastes, "for that is the end of all men." there is no end to the joy of the redeemed, says revelation; and faith sings "forever with the lord." what deep need of himself has this man's heart, that he has made. if in this sad scene we get one ray of true comfort it is when "with him"; one thrill of true joy it is when "with him"; one hour of true peace it is when "with him." we were intended, meant, created, _to need him_. let us remember that, and then see the sweet comfort in that word, "so shall we _ever_ be with the lord." man is at last, may it be said, in his _element_. his spirit gets the communion that it needs--with him forever; his soul, the love it needs, in him forever; his body the perfection it needs--like him forever! is not this revelation self-evidently of god--worthy of him--possible only to him? again, let us ask what would solomon have given for a song like this, instead of his mournful, groan "for death is the end of all men"! alas, as he goes on, he finds that even this is not the case, except as regards the scene "under the sun." he finds it impossible to escape a conclusion, as startling as it is logical, that there is another scene to which death may introduce, from which there is no escape. our writer, ignorant as he confessedly is of this glorious light of divine revelation, still speaks in praise of the feeble glimmer that human wisdom gives. from his point of view, wealth and wisdom are both good,--are a "defense" or "shadow" to their possessors; but still that which men generally esteem the most--wealth--is given the second place; for knowledge, or wisdom, has in itself a positive virtue that money lacks. it "gives life to them that have it," animates, preserves in life, modifies, at least in measure, the evils from which it cannot altogether guard its possessor; and, by giving equanimity to a life of change and vicissitude, proves, in some sort, its own life-giving energy. how infinitely true this is with regard to him who is absolute infinite wisdom, and who is our life, it is our health and joy to remember. the preacher continues: ponder the work of god, but you will find nothing in anything that you can _see_ that shall enable you to forecast the future with any certainty. adversity follows prosperity, and my counsel is to make the best use of both,--enjoy this when it comes, and let that teach you that god's ways are inscrutable, nor can you straighten out the tangle of his providences. evidently he _intends_ these vicissitudes that still follow no definite rule, so that man may recognize his own ignorance and impotence. in one word, reason as you may from all that you can _see_, and your reason will throw no ray of light on god's future dealings. and there again, having brought us face to face with a dense, impenetrable cloud, ecclesiastes leaves us. how awful that dark cloud is, it is difficult for us now to realize, so accustomed are we to the light god's word has given. but were it possible to blot out entirely from our minds all that word has taught us, and place ourselves for a moment just by the side of our "preacher," look alone through _his_ eyes, recognize with him the existence of the creator whose glorious being is so fully shown in all his works, and yet with nothing whereby to judge of his disposition toward us except what we _see_,--in the physical world the blasting storm sweeping over the landscape that but now spoke only in its beauties and bounties of his love and benevolence, leaving in its desolating track, not only ruined homesteads and blighted harvests; but, far worse, the destruction of all our hopes, of all the estimates we had formed of him. in the world of providences the thoughts of his love, based on yesterday's peace and prosperity, all denied and swept away by to-day's sorrows and adversities,--awful, agonizing uncertainty! and, since all is surely in his hand, to be compelled to recognize that he _permits_, at least, these alternations "_to the end that_ (with that express purpose) man should find nothing of what shall be after him"! reason, or intelligence, with all her highest powers, stands hopeless and helpless before that dark future, and wrings her hands in agony. but look, my beloved reader, at that man who speeds his way with fleet and steady footfall. his swift tread speaks no uncertainty nor doubt of mind. mark the earnest, concentrated, forward look. his eye is upward, and something he sees there is drawing him with powerful magnetic attraction quite contrary to the course or path of men at large. he presses against the stream: the multitude are floating in the other direction. as with the kine of bethshemesh, some hidden power takes him in a course quite contrary to all the ties or calls of mere nature. look at him,--irrespective of anything else, the figure itself is a grand sight. the path he has chosen lies through the thorny shrubs of endurance, afflictions, necessities, distresses, stripes, imprisonments, tumults, labors, watchings, and fastings. no soft or winsome meadow-way this, nor one that any would choose, except he were under some strong conviction,--whether true or false,--that will surely be admitted. for men have at rare times suffered much even in the cause of error; but never for that which they themselves _knew_ to be false, and which at the same time brought them no glory,--nothing to feed their vanity, or pride, or exalt them in any way. admit, then, for a moment, that he is self-deceived, under some strong delusion, and that the object of which he is in pursuit is but a phantom. then mark the path in which that phantom leads: it has turned him from being a blasphemer, persecutor, and an insolent, overbearing man (1 tim. 1), into one of liveliest affections, most tender sympathies, a lowly servant of all; it has given him a joy that no wave of trouble can quench, a song that dungeons cannot silence, a transparent truthfulness which permits a lie nowhere; and all this results from that which is in itself a delusion,--a lie! oh, holy "delusion"! oh, wondrous, truth-loving, wonder-working "lie"! was ever such a miracle, that a falsehood works truth?--that a delusion, instead of leading into marsh, or bog, or quicksand, as other will-o'-the-wisps ever and always have, leads along a morally elevated path where every footstep rings with the music of divine certainty, as though it trod upon a rock! such a miracle, contrary to all reason, is worthy of acceptance only by the blind, childish, credulity of infidelity. whatever the object before him, then, it is _real_; his convictions are soberly and well founded; he runs his race to no visionary, misty goal; but some actual reality is the lode-star of his life. let us listen to his own explanation: "forgetting those things that are being, reaching forth unto those that are before, i press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of god in christ jesus." but solomon, the wisest of the wise, groans no man can find out "that which shall come after him"; or, in other words, that future of which paul sings: i have heard a voice that has called from heaven, and looking up i have seen a light that has darkened every other. one in beauty and attraction infinite,--to him i press. _he is before me_, and not till him i reach will i rest. blessed contrast! now, my dear reader, let us also seek to keep our eye on that same object, for the man at whom we have been looking is one just like ourselves, with every passion that we have, and the one who drew him can draw you and me,--who satisfied him can satisfy us, for he who loved and died for him has loved and died for us. and since we are not now contemplating the wondrous cross, but his glory, let us sing together:- oh, my saviour glorified! now the heavens opened wide show to faith's exultant eye one in beauteous majesty. worthy of the sweetest praise that my ransomed heart can raise, is that man in whom alone god himself is fully known. for those clust'ring glories prove that glad gospel "god is love," whilst those wounds, in glory bright, voice the solemn "god is light." holy light, whose searching ray brings but into perfect day beauties that my heart _must_ win to the sinless once made sin. hark, my soul! thy saviour sings; catch the joy that music brings; and, with that sweet flood of song, pour thy whisp'ring praise along. for no film of shade above hides me now from perfect love. deep assurance all is right gives me peace in perfect light. find i then on god's own breast holy, happy, perfect rest, in the person of my lord,- "ever be his name adored!" oh, my saviour glorified, turn my eye from all beside. let me but thy beauty see,- other light is dark to me. but the preacher's experiences of anomalies are by no means ended. these alternations of adversity and prosperity, he says, whilst there is no forecasting _when_ they will come, so there seems to be no safeguard, even in righteousness and wisdom, against them. they are not meted out here at all on the lines of righteousness. the just man dies in his righteousness, whilst the wicked lives on in his wickedness: therefore be not righteous overmuch; do not abstain, or withdraw thyself, from the natural blessings of life, making it joyless and desolate; but then err not on the other side, going into folly and licentiousness,--a course which naturally tends to cut off life itself. it is the narrow way of philosophy: as said the old latins, "medio tutissimus ibis," "midway is safety"; but solomon is here again, as we have seen before, on a far higher moral elevation than any of the heathen philosophers, for he has one sheet-anchor for his soul from the evils of either extreme, in the fear of god. as for the despairing, hopeless groans of "vanity," we, with our god-given grace, learn to feel pity for our author, so for his moral elevation do we admire him, whilst for his sincerity and love of truth we learn to respect and love him. see in the next few verses that clear, cold, true, reason of his, confessing the narrow limits of its powers, and yet the whole soul longs, as if it would burst all bars to attain to that which shall solve its perplexity. "thus far have i attained by wisdom," he says, "and yet still i cry for wisdom. i see far off the place where earth can reach and touch the heavens; but when, by weary toil and labor, i reach that spot, those heavens are as inimitably high above me as ever, and an equally long journey lies between me and the horizon where they meet. oh, that i might be wise; but it was far from me." now, in our version, the next verse reads very tamely and flat, in view of the strong emotion under which it is so clear that the whole of the book was written. "that which is far off and exceeding deep, who can find it out?" the revised, both in text and margin, gives us a hint of another thought, "that which is, or hath been, is afar off," etc. but other scholars, in company with the targum and many an old jewish writer, lift the verse into harmony with the impassioned utterances of this noble man, as he expresses in broken ejaculatory phrase his longings and his powerlessness: "far off, the past,--what is it? deep,--that deep! ah, who can sound? then turned i, and my heart, to learn, explore. to seek out wisdom, reason--sin to know- presumption--folly--vain impiety. he _must_ unravel the mystery, and turns thus, once more, with his sole companion, his own heart, to measure everything,--even sin, folly, impiety,--and more bitter even than that bitter death that has again and again darkened all his counsel and dashed his hopes, is one awful evil that he has found. one was nearest adam in the old creation. taken _from_ his side, a living one, she was placed _at_ his side to share with him his wide dominion over that fair, unsullied scene. strong where he was weak, and weak where he was strong, how evidently was she meant of an all-gracious and all-wise creator as a true helpmeet for him: his complement--filling up his being. but that old creation is as a vessel reversed, so that the highest is now the lowest,--the best has become the worst,--the closest may be the most dangerous; and foes spring even from within households. intensified disorder and confusion! when she who was so clearly intended by her strength of affection to call into rightful play the affections of man's heart, whose very weakness and dependence should call forth his strength--alas, our writer has found that that heart is too often a snare and a net, and those hands drag down to ruin the one to whom they cling. it is the clearest sign of god's judgment to be taken by those nets and bands, as of his mercy, to escape them. thus evil ever works, dual--as is good--in character. opposed to the light and love of god we find a liar and murderer in satan himself; corruption and violence in man, under satan's power. the weaker vessel makes up for lack of strength by deception; and whilst the man of the earth expresses the violence, so the woman of the earth has become, ever and always, the expression of corruption and deceit, as here spoken of by our preacher, "her heart snares and nets; her hands as bands." but further in his search for wisdom, the preacher has found but few indeed who would or could accompany him in his path. a man here and there, one in a thousand, would be his companion, but no single woman. this statement strongly evidences that the gospel is outside his sphere; the new creation is beyond his ken. he takes into no account the sovereign grace of god, that in itself can again restore, and more than restore, all to their normal conditions, and make the weaker vessel fully as much a vessel unto honor as the stronger, giving her a wide and blessed sphere of activity; in which love--the divine nature within--may find its happy exercise and rest. naturally, and apart from this grace, the woman does not give herself to the same exercise of mind as does the man. but then, is it thus that man came from his maker's hands? has he, who stamped his own perfection on all his works, permitted an awful hideous exception in the moral nature of man? does human reason admit such a possible incongruity? no, indeed. folly may claim license for its lusts in the plea of a nature received from a creator. haughty pride, on the other hand, may deny that nature altogether. the clearer, nobler, truer, philosophy of our writer justifies god, even in view of all the evil that makes him groan, and he says, "lo, this only have i found, that god hath made man upright, but they have sought out many inventions." interesting as well as beautiful it is to hear this conclusion of man's reason, not at all in view of the exceeding riches of god's grace, but simply looking at _facts_, in the light that nature gives. man neither is, nor can be, an exception to the rule. god has made him upright. if not so now, it is because he has departed from this state, and his many inventions, or _arts_ (as luther translates the word significantly), his devices, his search after new things (but the word "inventions" expresses the thought of the original correctly), are so many proofs of dissatisfaction and unrest. he may, in that pride, which turns everything to its own glory, point to these very inventions as evidences of his progress; and in a certain way they do unquestionably speak his intelligence and immense superiority over the lower creation. yet the very invention bespeaks need; for most truthful is the proverb, "necessity is the mother of invention"; and surely in the way of nature _necessity_ is not a glory, but a shame. let him glory in his inventions, then; and his glory is in his shame. adam in his eden of delights, upright, content, thought never of invention. he took from god's hand what god gave, with no need to make calls upon his own ingenuity to supply his longings. the fall introduces the inventive faculty, and human ingenuity begins to work to overcome the need, of which now, for the first time, man becomes aware; but we hear no singing in connection with that first invention of the apron of fig-leaves. that faculty has marked his path throughout the centuries. not always at one level, or ever moving in one direction,--it has risen and fallen, with flow and ebb, as the tides; now surging upward with skillful "artifice in brass and iron," and to the music of "harp and organ," until it aims at heaven itself, and the lord again and again interposes and abases by flood and scattering,--now ebbing, till apparently extinct in the low-sunken tribes of earth. its activity is the accompaniment usually of the light that god gives, and which man takes, and turns to his own boasting, with no recognition of the giver, calling it "civilization." the lord's saints are not, for the most part, to be found amongst the line of inventors. the seed of cain, and not the seed of seth, produces them. the former make the earth their home, and naturally seek to beautify it, and make it comfortable. the latter, with deepest soul-thirst, quenched by rills of living water springing not here; with heart-longings satisfied by an infinite, tender, divine love, pass through the earth strangers and pilgrims, to the rest of god. let us glance forward a little. the church is not found on earth; but the earth still is the scene of man's invention; and with that surpassing boast "opposing and exalting himself above all that is called god, or is worshiped; so that he sitteth in the temple of god showing himself that he is god," he heads up his wickedness and ingenuity together, in calling down fire from heaven and in making "the image of the beast to breathe." (rev. xiii. 14, 15.) 'tis his last crowning effort,--his day is over,--and the flood and the scattering of old shall have their awful antitype in an eternal judgment and everlasting abasing. but the heavenly saints have been caught up to their home. is there invention there? does human ingenuity still work? how can it, if every heart is fully satisfied, and nothing can be improved? but then is all at one dead level? no, surely; for "discovery" shall abide when "invention" has vanished away,--constant, never-ceasing "discovery." the unfoldings, hour by hour, and age by age, of a beauty that is infinite and inexhaustible,--the tasting a new and entrancing perfection in a love in which every moment shows some fresh attraction, some new sweet compulsion to praise! discovery is already "ours," my reader--not invention; and each day, each hour, each moment, may be fruitful in discovery. every difficulty met in the day's walk may prove but its handmaid; every trial in the day's path serve but to bring out new and happy discoveries. nay, even grief and sorrow shall have their sweet discoveries, and open up to sight fountains of water hitherto altogether unknown, as with the outcast egyptian mother in the wilderness of paran, till we learn to glory in what hitherto was our sorrow, and to welcome infirmities and ignorance, for they show us a spring of infinite strength and a fountain of unfathomable wisdom, that eternal love puts at our service! oh, to grow in faith's discoveries! philip had a grand opportunity for "discovery," in the sixth of john; but, poor man, he lost it; for he fell back on creature resources, or, in other words, "invention." brought face to face with difficulty, how good it would have been for him to have said, "lord jesus, i am empty of wisdom, nor have i any resources to meet this need; but my heart rests in thee: i joy in this fresh opportunity for thee to display thy glory, for thou knowest what thou wilt do." oh, foolish philip, to talk of every one having a _little_, in that presence of infinite love, infinite power. do i thus blame him? then let this day see me looking upward at every difficulty, and saying "lord, thou knowest what thou wilt do." the morning breaks, my heart awakes, and many thoughts come crowding o'er me,- what hopes or fears, what smiles or tears are waiting in that path before me? am i to roam afar from home, by babel's streams, in gloom despondent? on sorrow's tree must my harp be to grief's sad gusts alone respondent? the mists hang dank, on front and flank, my straining eye can naught discover; but well i know that many a foe around that narrow path doth hover. nor this alone would make me groan,- alas, a traitor dwells within me; with hollow smile and heart of guile the world without, too, plots to win me. thus i'm beset with foes, and yet i would not miss a single danger: each foe's a friend that makes me wend my homeward way,--on earth a stranger. for never haze dims _upward_ gaze,- oh, glorious sight! for there above me upon god's throne there sitteth one who died to save--who lives to love me! and like the dew each dayspring new that tender love shall onward lead me: my thirst shall slake, yet thirst awake till every breath shall pant:--"i need thee." no wisdom give; i'd rather live in conscious lack dependent on thee: each parting way i meet this day then proves my claim to call upon thee. no strength i ask, for thine the task to bear thine own on shepherd-shoulder. then faith may boast when helpless most, and greater need make weakness bolder. then lord, thy breast is, too, my rest; and there, as in my home, i'm hidden,- where quiet peace makes groanings cease, and zion's songs gush forth unbidden. yes, e'en on earth may song have birth, and music rise o'er nature's groanings,- whilst hope new born each springing morn dispel with joy my faithless moanings. chapter viii. still continues the praise of "wisdom." for if, as the last verses of the previous chapters have shown, there be but very few that walk in her paths, she necessarily lifts those few far above the thoughtless mass of men; placing her distinguishing touch even on the features of her disciples, lighting them up with intelligence, and taking away the rudeness and pride that may be natural to them. "man's wisdom lighteth up his face--its aspect stern is changed." if this, then, the result, listen to her counsels: "honor the king," nor be connected with any conspiracy against him. it is true that authorities are as much "out of joint" as everything else under the sun; and instead of being practically "ministers of god for good," are but too often causes of further misery upon poor man; yet wisdom teaches to wait and watch. everything has a time and season; and instead of seeking to put matters right by conspiracy, await the turn of the wheel; for this is most sure, that nothing is absolutely permanent here--the evil of a tyrant's life any more than good. his power shall not release him from paying the debt of nature; it helps him not to retain his spirit. this too i saw,--'twas when i gave my heart to every work that's done beneath the sun,- that there's a time when man rules over man to his own hurt. 'twas when i saw the wicked dead interred, and to and from the holy place (men) came and went. then straight were they forgotten in the city of their deeds. ah, this was vanity! thus our preacher describes the end of the tyrant. death ends his tyranny, as it does, for the time being at least, the misery of those who were under it. men follow him to his burial, to the holy place, return to their usual avocations--all is over and forgotten. the splendor and power of monarchy now show their hollowness and vanity by so quickly disappearing, and even their memory vanishing, at the touch of death. and yet this retributive end is by no means speedy in every case. sentence is often deferred, and the delay emboldens the heart of man to further wickedness. still, he says, "i counsel to fear god, irrespective of present appearances. i am assured this is the better part: fear god, and, soon or late, the end will justify thy choice." beautiful and interesting it is thus to see man's unaided reason, his own intelligence, carrying him to this conclusion: that there is nothing better than to "fear god;" and surely this approves itself to any intelligence. he has impressed the proofs of his glorious being on every side of his creature, man. "day unto day uttereth speech;" and the sun, that rejoiceth as a strong man to run his race, voices aloud, in his wondrous adaptations to the needs of this creation on which he shines, his being--his eternal power and godhead. not only light but warmth he brings, for "there is nothing hid from the heat thereof," and in this twofold benevolence testifies again to his creator, who is love and light. further, wherever he shines he manifests infinite testimonies to the same truth. from the tiny insect that balances or disports itself with the joy of life in his beams, to the grandeur of the everlasting hills, or the majesty of the broad flood of ocean--all--all--with no dissentient, discordant voice, proclaim his being and utter his creative glory. nor does darkness necessarily veil that glory: moon and stars take up the grand and holy strain; and what man can look at all--have all these witnesses reiterating day and night, with ever-fresh testimonies every season, the same refrain, "the hand that made us is divine," and yet say, even in his heart, "there is no god!" surely all reason, all wisdom, human or divine, says "fool!" to such. thus, step by step, human wisdom treads on, and, as here, in her most worthy representative, "the king," concludes that it is most reasonable to give that glorious creator the reverence due, and to "fear" him. but soon, very soon, poor reason has to stop, confounded. something has come into the scene that throws her all astray: verse 14- "'tis vanity, what's done upon the earth; for so it is, that there are righteous to whom it haps as to the vile; and sinners, too, whose lot is like the doings of the just. for surely this is vanity, i said." yes, man's soul must be, if left to the light of nature, like that nature itself. if the sky be ever and always cloudless, then may a calm and unbroken faith be expected, when based on things seen. but it is not so. storm and cloud again and again darken the light of nature, whether that light be physical or moral; and under these storms and clouds reason is swayed from her highest and best conclusions; and the contradictions without, are faithfully reflected within the soul. "and so i commended mirth, because a man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry: for that shall abide with him of his labor the days of his life, which god giveth him under the sun." here we get the heralds of a storm indeed. they are the first big drops that bespeak the coming flood that shall sweep our writer from all reason's moorings; the play of a lightning that shall blind man's wisdom to its own light; the sigh of a wind that soon shall develop into a very blast of despair. what a contradiction to the previous sober conclusion, "it shall be well with them that fear god"! now, seeing that there is no apparent justice in the allotment of happiness here, and the fear of god is often followed by sorrow, while the lawless as often have the easy lot,--looking on this scene, i say, "eat, drink, and be merry;" get what good you can out of life itself; for all is one inextricable confusion. oh, this awful tangle of providences! everything is wrong! all is in confusion! there is law everywhere, and yet law-breaking everywhere. how is it? why is it? is not god the source of order and harmony? whence, then, the discord? is it all his retributive justice against sin? why, then, the thoroughly unequal allotment? here is a man born blind. surely this cannot be because he sinned before his birth! but, then, is it on account of his parents' sinning? why, then, do the guilty go comparatively free, and the guiltless suffer? sin, surely, is the only cause of the infliction. so the disciples of old, brought face to face with exactly this same riddle, the same mystery, ask, "master, who did sin--this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?" "neither." another--higher, happier, more glorious reason, jesus gives: "neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of god should be made manifest in him." so the afflicted parents weep over their sightless babe; so they nurse him through his helpless, darkened childhood, or guide him through his lonely youth, their hearts sorely tempted surely to rebel against the providence that has robbed their offspring of the light of heaven. neighbors, too, can give but little comfort here. why was he born blind? who did _the sin_ that brought this evident punishment? oh wait, sorrowing parents! wait, foolish friends! one is even now on his glorious way who shall with a word unravel the mystery, ease your troubled hearts, quell each rebellious motion, till ye only sorrow that ever a disloyal thought of the god of love and light has been permitted; and, whilst overwhelming you with blessing, answer every question your hearts--nay, even your intelligences--could ask. oh wait, my beloved readers, wait! we, too, look on a world still all in confusion. nay, ourselves suffer with many an afflictive stroke, whose cause, too, seems hidden from us, and to contradict the very character of the god we know. one only is worthy to unlock this, as every other, sealed book--wait! he must make himself known; _and, apart from things being wrong, this were impossible_. "the works of god must be made manifest." precious thought! blessed words! sightless eyes are allowed for a little season, that he--god--may manifest _his_ work in giving them light--accompanied by an everlasting light that knows no dimming. tears may fall in time, that god's gentle and tender touch may dry them, and that for ever and ever. nay, death himself, with all his awful powers shall be made to serve the same end, and, a captive foe, be compelled to utter forth his glory. lazarus is suffering, and the sisters are torn with anxiety; but the lord abides "two days still in the same place where he" is. death is allowed to have his way for a little space--nay, grasp his victim, and shadow with his dark wing the home that jesus loves; and still he moves not. strange, mysterious patience! does he not care? is he calmly indifferent to the anguish in that far-off cottage? has he forgotten to be gracious? or, most agonizing question of all, has some inmate of that home sinned, and chilled thus his love? how questions throng at such a time! but--patience! all shall be answered, every question settled--every one; and the glorious end shall fully, perfectly justify his "waiting." let death have his way. the power and dignity of his conqueror will not permit him to hasten. for haste would bespeak anxiety as to the result; and that result is in no sense doubtful. the body of the brother shall even see corruption, and begin to crumble into dust, under the firm and crushing hand of death. many a tear shall the sisters shed, and poor human sympathy tell out its helplessness. but the victor comes! in the calm of assured victory he comes. and the "express image of the substance" of the living god stands face to face as man with our awful foe, death. and lo, he speaks but a word--"lazarus, come forth!"--and the glory of god shines forth with exceeding brightness and beauty! oh, joyous scene! oh, bright figure of that morn, so soon approaching, when once again that blessed voice shall lift itself up in a "shout," that shall be heard, not in one, but in every tomb of his people, and once more the glory of god shall so shine in the ranks upon ranks of those myriads, that all shall again fully justify his "waiting"! it was indeed a blessed light that shone into the grave of lazarus. such was its glory, that our spirits may quietly rest forever; for we see our lord and eternal lover is conqueror and lord of death. nor need we ask, with our modern poet, who sings sweetly, but too much in the spirit of ecclesiastes, where wert thou, brother, those four days? there lives no record of reply, which, telling what it is to die, had surely added praise to praise. the resurrection of lazarus does tell us what it is for his redeemed to die. it tells that it is but a sleep for the body, till he come to awaken it,--that those who thus sleep are not beyond his power, and that a glorious resurrection shall soon "add praise to praise" indeed. but do not these blessed words give us a hint, at least, of the answer to that most perplexing of all questions, why was evil ever permitted to disturb the harmony and mar the beauty of god's primal creation, defile heaven itself, fill earth with corruption and violence, and still exist even in eternity? ah, we tread on ground here where we need to be completely self-distrustful, and to cleave with absolute confidence and dependence to the revelation of himself! the works of god must be manifested; and he is light and love, and nothing but light and love. every work of his, then, must speak the source whence it comes, and be an expression of light or love; and the end, when he shall again--finding everything very good--rest from his work to enjoy that eternal sabbath, never to be broken, shall shew forth absolutely in heaven, in earth, and in hell, that he is light and love, and nothing but that. light and love!--blending, harmonizing, in perfect equal manifestation, in the cross of the lord jesus, and--light now approving love's activity--in the righteous eternal redemption of all who believe on him; banishing from the new creation every trace of sin, and its companion, sorrow; whilst the lake of fire itself shall prove the necessity of its own existence to display that same nature of god, and naught else--love then approving the activity of light, as we may say. as isaiah shows, in the millennial earth, in those "scenes surpassing fable, and yet true- scenes of accomplished bliss"-there is still sorrowful necessity for an everlasting memorial of his righteousness in "the carcases of those men that have transgressed against me: for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched; and (mark well the _sympathies_ of that scene) they shall be an abhorring to all flesh." love rejected, mercy neglected, truth despised, or held in unrighteousness, grace slighted,--nothing is left whereby the finally impenitent can justify their creation except in being everlasting testimonies to that side of god's nature, "light," whilst "love," and all who are in harmony therewith, unfeignedly _approve_. all shall be right. none shall then be perplexed because "there be just men, unto whom it happeneth according to the work of the wicked; again, there be wicked men to whom it happeneth according to the work of the righteous." all shall be absolutely right. no whisper shall be heard, even in hell itself, of the charges that men so boldly and blasphemously cast at his holy name now. god is all in all. his works are manifested; and whilst it is his strange work, yet judgment _is_ his work, as every age in time has shown; as the eternal age, too, shall show--in time, this judgment is necessarily temporal; in eternity, where character, as all else, is fixed, it must as necessarily be _eternal_! solemn, and perhaps unwelcome, but wholesome theme! we live in a time peculiarly characterized by a lack of reverence for _all_ authority. it is the spirit of the times, and against that spirit the saint must ever watch and guard himself by meditation on these solemn truths. fear is a godly sentiment, a just emotion, in view of the holy character of our god. "i will forewarn whom ye shall fear," said the lord jesus: "fear him which, after he hath killed, hath power to cast into hell; yea, i say unto you, fear him." the first christians, walking in _the fear of the lord_ as well as the comfort of the holy ghost, were multiplied; and when annanias and sapphira fell under god's judgment, great _fear_ came on all the _church_; whilst apostasy is marked by men feeding, themselves without fear. all shall be "_right_." it is the wrong and disorder and unrighteous allotment prevailing here that caused the groans of our writer. let us listen to them. their doleful, despairing sound shall again add sweeter tone to the lovely music of god's revelation, speaking, as it does, of one who solves every mystery, answers every question, heals every hurt; yea, snatches his own from the very grasp of death; for all is _right_, for all is _light_, where jesus is, and he is coming. patience! wait! chapter ix. the last two verses of chapter viii. connect with the opening words of this chapter. the more ecclesiastes applies every faculty he has to solve the riddle under the sun, robbing himself of sleep and laboring with strong energy and will, he becomes only the more aware that that solution is altogether impossible. the contradictions of nature baffle the wisdom of nature. there is no assured sequence, he reiterates, between righteousness and happiness on the one hand, and sin and misery on the other. the whole confusion is in the sovereign hand of god, and the righteous and the wise must just leave the matter there, for "no man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before them." what discrimination is there here? do not all things happen alike to all? yes, further, does not time, unchecked by any higher power, sweep all relentlessly to one common end? love cannot be inferred from the "end" of the righteous, nor hatred from the "end" of the sinner; for it is one and the same death that stops the course of each. oh, this is indeed an "evil under the sun." darker and darker the cloud settles over his spirit; denser and still more dense the fogs of helpless ignorance and perplexity enwrap his intelligence. for, worse still, do men recognize, and live at all reasonably in view of, that common mortality? alas, madness is in their hearts while they live, and after that they go to the dead; and then all hope for them, as far as can be seen, is over forever. dead! what does that mean? it means that every faculty, as far as can be seen, is stilled forever. the dead lion, whose majesty and strength, while living, would have even now struck me with awe, is less formidable as it lies there than a living dog. so with the dead among men: their hatred is no more to be feared, for it can harm nothing; their love is no more to be valued, for it can profit nothing; their zeal and energy are no more to be accounted of, for they can effect nothing; yea, all has come to an end forever under the sun. oh, the awfulness of this darkness! "then i will give," continues ecclesiastes, "counsel for this vain life in conformity with the dense gloom of its close. listen! go eat with joy thy bread, and merrily drink thy wine; let never shade of sorrow mar thy short-lived pleasure; let no mourning on thy dress be seen, nor to thy head be oil of gladness lacking; merrily live with her whom thy affection has chosen as thy life-companion, and trouble not thyself as to god's acceptance of thy works--that has been settled long ago; nor let a sensitive conscience disturb thee: whatsoever is in thy power to do, that do, without scruple or question;[1] for soon, but too soon, these days of thy vanity will close, and in the grave, whither thou surely goest, all opportunities for activity, of whatever character, are over, and that--_forever_!" strange counsel this, for sober and wise ecclesiastes to give, is it not? much has it puzzled many a commentator. luther boldly says it is sober christian advice, meant even now to be literally accepted, "lest you become like the monks, who would not have one look even at the sun." hard labor indeed, however, is it to force it thus into harmony with the general tenor of god's word. but is not the counsel good and reasonable enough under certain conditions? and are not those conditions and premises clearly laid down for us in the context here? it is as if a whirlwind of awful perplexities had swept the writer with irresistible force away from his moorings,--a black cloud filled with the terrors of darkness and death sweeps over his being, and out of the black and terrible storm he speaks--"man has but an hour to enjoy here, and i know nothing as to what comes after, except that death, impenetrable death, ends every generation of men, throws down to the dust the good, the righteous, the sober, as well as the lawless, the false, and the profligate; ends in a moment all thought, knowledge, love, and hatred;--then since i know nothing beyond this vain life, i can only say, have thy fling;--short, short thy life will be, and vain thou wilt find this short life; so get thy fill of pleasure here, for thou goest, and none can help thee, to where all activities cease, and love and hatred end forever." this, we may say, based on these premises, and excluding all other, is reasonable counsel. does not our own apostle paul confirm it? does he not say, if this life be all, this life of vanity under the sun, then let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die? yea, we who have turned aside from this path of present pleasures are of all men most miserable, if this vain life be all. and are we to expect poor unaided human wisdom to face these awful problems of infinite depth without finding the strongest evidence of its utter incapacity and helplessness? like a feather in the blast, our kingly and wise preacher (beyond whom none can ever go) is whirled, for the time being, from his soberness, and, in sorrow akin to despair, gives counsel that is in itself revolting to all soberness and wisdom. nothing could so powerfully speak the awful chaos of his soul; and--mark it well--_in that same awful chaos_ would you and i be at any moment, my reader, if we thought at all, but for one inestimably precious fact. black like unto the outer darkness is the storm-cloud we are looking at, and the wild, despairing, yet sad counsel, to "live merrily" is in strict harmony with the wild, awful darkness, like the sea-gull's scream in the tempest. let us review a little the path of reasoning that has led our author to where he is; only we will walk it joyfully in the light of god. "no man knoweth love or hatred by all that is before him." we have looked upon a scene where a holy victim--infinitely holy--bowed his head under the weight of a judgment that could not be measured. it was but a little while, and the very heavens could not contain themselves with delight at his perfect beauty, his perfect obedience; but again, and yet again, were they opened to express the pleasure of the highest in this lowly man. now, not only are they closed in silence, but a horror seems to enwrap all creation. the sun, obscured by no earth-born cloud, gives out no spark nor ray of light; and in that solemn darkness every voice is strangely hushed. from nine till noon the air was filled with revilings and reproaches--all leveled at the one sinless sufferer; but now, for three hours, these have been absolutely silent, till at last one cry of agony breaks the stillness; and it is from him who "was oppressed and afflicted, yet opened not his mouth; was brought as a lamb to the slaughter; and as a sheep before her shearer is dumb, so opened he not his mouth:"--"eli, eli, lama sabachthani"--"my god, my god, why hast thou forsaken me!" there, my beloved readers, look there! let that cross be before us, and then say, "no man knoweth love or hatred by all that is before them." are not both revealed there as never before? hatred! what caused the blessed god thus to change his attitude towards the one who so delighted him that the heavens burst open, as it were, under the weight of that delight? there is but one answer to that question. _sin_. sin was there on that holiest sufferer--mine, yours, my reader. and god's great hatred of sin is fully revealed there. i know "hatred" when i see god looking at my sin on his infinitely holy, infinitely precious, infinitely beloved son. * * * * let us meditate upon, without multiplying words over this solemn theme, and turn to the love that burns, too, so brightly there. who can measure the infinity of love to us when, in order that that love might have its way unhindered, god forsakes the one who, for all the countless ages of the eternal past, had afforded him perfect "daily" delight, was ever in his bosom--the only one in that wide creation who could satisfy or respond, in the communion of equality, to his affections--and turns away from him; nay, "it pleased the lord to bruise him"; "he hath put him to grief." ponder these words; and in view of who that crucified victim was, and his relationship with god, measure, if you can, the love displayed there, the love in that one short word "so"--"god _so_ loved the world that he gave his only begotten son;"--then, whilst viewing the cross, hear, coming down to us from the lips of the wise king, "no man knoweth love or hatred." hush! ecclesiastes, hush! breathe no such word in such a scene as this. pardonable it were in that day, when you looked only at the disjointed chaos and tangle under the sun; but looking at that cross, it were the most heinous sin, the most unpardonable disloyalty and treason, to say now, "no man knoweth love." rather, adoringly, will we say, "in this was manifested the love of god toward us, because that god sent his only begotten son into the world, that we might live through him. herein is love, not that we loved god, but that he loved us, and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins. and _we have known and believed the love that god has to us_." yea, now let "all things come alike to all:"--that tender love shall shed its light over this stormy scene, and enable the one that keeps _it_ before him to walk the troubled waters of this life in quiet assurance and safety. death still may play sad havoc with the most sensitive of affections; but that love shall, as we have before seen, permit us to weep tears; but not bitter despairing tears. further, it sheds over the spirit the glorious light of a coming day, and we look forward, not to an awful impending gloom, but to a pathway of real light, that pierces into eternity. the day! we are of the day! the darkness passes, the true light already shines! then listen, my fellow-pilgrims, to the _spirit's_ counsel: "but ye, brethren, are not in darkness, that that day should overtake you as a thief. ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day: we are not of the night, nor of darkness. therefore, _let us not sleep_, as do others, but _let us watch and be sober. for they that sleep, sleep in the night; and they that are drunken, are drunken in the night. but let us who are of the day be sober, putting on the breastplate of faith and love, and for an helmet the hope of salvation_." our poor preacher, in the darkness of the cloud of death, counsels, "merrily drink thy wine." and not amiss, with such an outlook, is such advice. in the perfect light of revelation, lighting up present and a future eternity, well may we expect counsel as differing from this as the light in which it is given differs from the darkness. _"the night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armor of light. let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envy. but put on the lord jesus christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to fulfill the lusts thereof_." _amen and amen_. but once again our preacher turns; and now he sees that it is not assuredly possible for the advice he has given to be followed, and that even in this life neither work, device, knowledge, nor wisdom, are effective in obtaining good or in shielding their possessor from life's vicissitudes. the swift--does he always win the race? are there no contingencies that more than counterbalance his swiftness? a slip, a fall, a turned muscle, and--the race is not to the swift. the strong--is he necessarily conqueror in the fight? many an unforeseen and uncontrollable event has turned the tide of battle and surprised the world, till the "fortune of war" has passed into a proverb. the skillful may not be able at all times to secure even the necessaries of life; nor does abundance invariably accompany greater wisdom, whilst no amount of intelligence can secure constant and abiding good.[2] time and doom hap alike to all, irrespective of man's purposes or proposings, and no man knows what his hap shall be, since no skill of any kind can avail to guide through the voyage of life without encountering its storms. from the unlooked-for quarter, too, do those storms burst on us. as the fishes suspect no danger till in the net they are taken, and as the birds fear nothing till ensnared, so we poor children of adam, when our "evil time" comes round, are snared without warning. absolutely true this is, if life be regarded solely by such light as human wisdom gives: "time and doom happen alike to all." the whole scene is like one vast, confused machine, amongst whose intricate wheels, that revolve with an irregularity that defies foresight, poor man is cast at his birth; and ever and anon, when he least expects it, he comes between these wheels; and then he is crushed by some "evil," which may make an end of him altogether or leave him for further sorrows. all things seem to work confusedly for evil, and this caps the climax of ecclesiastes's misery. here is the sequence of his reasoning: firstly, there is no righteous allotment upon earth; the righteous suffer here, whilst the unjust escape. nay, secondly, there is an absolute lack of all discrimination in the death that ends all; and, thirdly, so complete is that end, bringing all so exactly to one dead level, without the slightest difference; and so impenetrable is the tomb to which all go, that i counsel, in my despair, "eat, drink, and be merry, irrespective of any future." fourthly, but, alas! that, too, is impossible; for no "work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom," can assure freedom from the evil doom that haps, soon or late, to all. intensified misery! awful darkness indeed! and our own souls tremble as we stand with ecclesiastes under its shadow and respond to his groanings. for the same scene still spreads itself before us as before him. mixed with the mad laughter and song of fools is the continued groan of sorrow, pain, and suffering, that still tells of "time and doom." a striking instance of this comes to my hand even as i write; and since its pathetic sadness makes it stand out even from the sorrows of this sad world, i would take it as a direct illustration of ecclesiastes's groan. at nyack on the hudson a christian family retire to rest after the happy services of last lord's day, the 21st of october--an unbroken circle of seven children, with their parents. early on the following morning, before it is light, a fire is raging in the house, and four of the little children are consumed in the conflagration. the account concludes: "the funeral took place at eleven o'clock to-day." that is, in a little more than twelve hours after retiring to sleep, four of the members of that family circle were in their graves! here is an "evil time" that has fallen suddenly indeed; and the sad and awful incident enables us to realize just what our writer felt as he penned the words. with one stroke, in one moment, four children, who have had for years their parents' daily thought and care, meet an awful doom, and all that those parents themselves have believed receives a blow whose force it is hard to measure. now listen, as the heathen cry, "where is now their god?" why was not his shield thrown about them? had he not the power to warn the sleeping household of the impending danger? is he so bound by some law of his own making as to forbid his interfering with its working? worse still, was he indifferent to the awful catastrophe that was about to crush the joy out of that family circle? if his was the power, was his love lacking? oh, awful questions when no answer can be given to them;--and nature gives no answer. she is absolutely silent. no human wisdom, even though it be his who was gifted "with a wise and understanding heart, so that none was like him before him, neither after him should any arise like unto him," could give any answer to questions like these. and think you, my reader, that nature does not cry out for comfort, and feel about for light at such a time? nor that the enemy of our souls is not quick in his malignant activity to suggest all kinds of awful doubt? every form of darkness and unbelief is alive to seize such incidents, and make them the texts on which they may level their attacks against the christian's god. but is there really no eye to pity?--no heart to love?--no arm to save? are men really subject to blind law--"time and doom"? hark, my reader, and turn once more to that sweetest music that ever broke on distracted reason's ear. it comes not to charm with a false hope, but with the full authority of god. none but his son who had lain so long in his father's bosom that he knew its blessed heart-beats thoroughly, could speak such words--"are not five sparrows sold for two farthings." here are poor worthless things indeed that may be truly called creatures of chance. "time and doom" must surely "hap" to these. indeed no; "not one of them is forgotten before god." ponder every precious word in simple faith. god's _memory_ bears upon it the lot of every worthless sparrow; it may "fall to the ground," but not without him. he controls their destiny and is interested in their very flight. if it be so with the sparrow, that may be bought for a single mite, shall the _saint_, who has been bought at a price infinitely beyond all the treasures of silver and gold in the universe, even at the cost of the precious blood of his dear son,--shall _he_ be subject to "time and doom"? shall his lot not be shaped by infinite love and wisdom? yes, verily. even the very hairs of his head are all numbered. no joy, no happiness, no disappointment, no perplexity, no sorrow, so infinitesimally small (let alone the greatest) but that the one who controls all worlds takes the closest interest therein, and turns, in his love, every thing to blessing, forcing "_all to work together for good_," and making the very storms of life obedient servants to speed his children to their home. faith _alone_ triumphs here; but faith _triumphs_; and apart from such tests and trials, what opportunity would there be for faith _to_ triumph? may we not bless god, then, (humbly enough, for we know how quickly we fail under trial,) that he _does_ leave opportunity for faith to be in exercise and to get victories? god first reveals himself, and then says, as it were, "now let me see if you have so learned what _i am_ as to trust _me_ against all circumstances, against all that you see, feel, or suffer." and what virtue there must be in the light of god, when so little of it is needed to sustain his child! even in the dim early twilight of the dawning of divine revelation, job, suffering under a very similar and fully equal "evil time," could say, "the lord gave, and the lord hath taken away, blessed be the name of the lord:" accents sweet and refreshing to him who values at an unknown price the confidence of this poor heart of man. and yet what did job know of god? _he_ had not seen the cross. _he_ had not had anything of the display of tenderest unspeakable love that have we. it was but the _dawn_, as we may say, of revelation; but it was enough to enable that poor grief-wrung heart to cry, "though he slay me, yet will i trust him." shall we, who enjoy the very meridian of revelation light;--shall we, who have seen _him slain for us_, say _less_? nay, look at the wondrous _possibilities_ of our calling, my reader,--a song, nothing but a song will do now. not quiet resignation only; but "strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and long-suffering with _joyfulness_,"--and that means a song. how rich, how very rich, is our portion! a goodly heritage is ours. for see what our considerations have brought out: a deep _need_ universally felt; for none escape the sorrows, trials, and afflictions, that belong, in greater or less degree, to this life. the highest, truest, human wisdom can only recognize the need with a groan, for it finds no remedy for it--time and doom hap alike to all. god shows himself a little, and, lo! quiet, patience, and resignation take the place of groaning. the need _is_ met. god reveals his whole heart fully, and no wave of sorrow, no billow of suffering, can extinguish the joy of his child who walks with him. nay, as thousands upon thousands could testify, the darkest hour of trial is made the sweetest with the sense of his love, and tears with song are mingled. oh, for grace to enjoy our rich portion more. but to return to our book. its author rarely proceeds far along any one line without meeting with that which compels him to return. so here; for he adds, in verses 13 to the end of the chapter, "and yet i have seen the very reverse of all this, when apparently an inevitable doom, an 'evil time,' was hanging over a small community, whose resources were altogether inadequate to meet the crisis--when no way of escape from the impending destruction seemed possible--then, at the moment of despair, a 'poor wise man' steps to the front (such the quality there is in wisdom), delivers the city, comes forth from his obscurity, shines for a moment, and, lo! the danger past, is again forgotten, and sinks to the silence whence he came. but _this_ the incident proved to me, that where strength is vain, there wisdom shows its excellence, even though men as a whole appreciate it so little as to call upon it only as a last resource. for let the fools finish their babbling, and their chief get to the end of his talking; then, in the silence that tells the limit of their powers, the quiet voice of wisdom is heard again, and that to effect. thus is wisdom better even than weapons of war, although, sensitive quality that it is, a little folly easily taints it." can we, my readers, fail to set our seal to the truth of all this? we, too, have known something much akin to that "little city with few men," and one poor man, the very embodiment of purest, perfect wisdom, who wrought alone a full deliverance in the crisis--a deliverance in which wisdom shone divinely bright; and yet the mass of men remember him not. a few, whose hearts grace has touched, may count him the chief among ten thousand and the altogether lovely; but the world, though it may call itself by his name, counts other objects more worthy of its attention, and the poor wise man is forgotten "under the sun." not so above the sun. there we see the poor one, the carpenter's son, the nazarene, the reviled, the smitten, the spit-upon, the crucified, seated, crowned with glory and honor, at the right hand of the majesty in the heavens; and there, to a feeble few on earth, he sums up all wisdom and all worth, and they journey on in the one hope of seeing him soon face to face, and being with him and like him forever. [1] i believe this is distinctly the bearing of these words, and not as in our version. [2] there seems lo be an intensive force to these words, constantly and in each phase becoming stronger, in evident antithesis to the "work, device, knowledge, and wisdom," that ecclesiastes had just counseled to use to the utmost in order to obtain "good" in this life. chapter x. the climax of ecclesiastes' exercises seems to have been reached in the previous chapter. the passionate storm is over, and now his thoughts ripple quietly along in proverb and wise saying. it is as if he said "i was altogether beyond my depth. now i will confine myself only to the present life, without touching on the things unseen, and here i can pronounce with assurance the conclusion of wisdom, and sum up both its advantages and yet inadequacy." the proverbs that follow are apparently disjointed, and yet, when closely looked at, are all connected with this subject. he shows, in effect, that, take any view of life, and practically wisdom has manifold advantages. ver. 1. the least ingredient of folly spoils as with the corruption of death the greatest wisdom. (there is only one whose name is as ointment poured forth untainted.) ver. 2. the wise man's heart is where it should be. he is governed by his understanding, (for the heart in the old testament is the seat of the thought as well as of the affections, as the same word, "_lehv_," translated "wisdom" in the next verse shows), a fool is all askew in his own being. his heart is at his left hand. in other words, his judgment is dethroned. ver. 3. nor can he hide what he really is for any length of time. "the way," with its tests, soon reveals him, and he proclaims to all his folly. ver. 4. yielding to the powers above rather than rebelling against them, marks the path of wisdom. this may be an example of the testing of "the way" previously spoken of, for true wisdom shines brightly out in the presence of an angry ruler. folly leaves its place,--a form of expression tantamount to rebelling, and may throw some light on that stupendous primal folly when angels "left their place," or, as jude writes, "kept not their first estate, but left their habitation," and thus broke into the folly of rebelling against the highest. for let any leave their place, and it means necessarily confusion and disorder. if all has been arranged according to the will and wisdom of the highest, he who steps out of the place assigned him rebels, and discord takes the place of harmony. the whole of the old creation is thus in disorder and confusion. all have "left their place." for god, the creator of all, has been dethroned. it is the blessed work of one we know, once more to unite in the bonds of love and willing obedience all things in heaven and in earth, and to bind in such way all hearts to the throne of god, that never more shall one "leave his place." vers. 5-7. but rulers themselves under the sun are not free from folly, and this shows itself in the disorder that actually proceeds from them. orders and ranks are not in harmony. folly is exalted, and those with whom dignities accord are in lowly place. it is another view of the present confusion, and how fully the coming of the highest showed it out! a stable, a manger, rejection, and the cross, were the portion under the sun of the king of kings. that fact rights everything even now, in one sense, to faith for the path closest to the king must be really necessarily the _highest_, though it be in the sight of man the lowest. immanuel, the son of david, walking as a servant up and down the land that was his own--the lord jesus, the son of man, having less than the foxes or birds of the air, not even where to lay his head,--christ, the son of god, wearied with his journey, on the well of sychar,--this has thrown a glory about the lowly path now, that makes all the grandeur of the great ones of the earth less than nothing. let the light of his path shine on this scene, and no longer shall we count it an evil under the sun for folly and lawlessness to have the highest place, as men speak, but rather count it greatest honor to be worthy to suffer for his name, for we are still in the kingdom and patience of the lord jesus christ,--not the kingdom and glory. that shall come soon. vers. 8-10. but then, ecclesiastes continues, is there complete security in the humbler ranks of life? nay, there is no occupation that has not its accompanying danger. digging or hedging, quarrying or cleaving wood,--all have their peculiar difficulties. although there, too, wisdom is still evidently better than brute strength. vers. 11 to 15 turn to the same theme of comparison of wisdom and folly, only now with regard to the use of the tongue. the most gifted charmer (lit. master of the tongue) is of no worth _after_ the serpent has bitten. the waters that flow commend the spring whence they issue. grace speaks for the wise: folly, from beginning to end, proclaims the fool; and nowhere is that folly more manifested than in the boastfulness of assertion as to the future. "predicting words he multiplies, yet man can never know "the thing that shall be; yea, what cometh after who shall tell? "vain toil of fools! it wearieth him,--this man who knoweth naught "that may befall his going to the city." this seems to be exactly in line with the apostle james: "go to now, ye that say, to-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy, and sell, and get gain: ye who know not what shall be on the morrow." vers. 16-18. the land is blessed or cursed according to her head. a well-marked principle in scripture, which has evidently forced itself on the notice of human wisdom in the person of ecclesiastes. a city flourishes under the wise diligence of her rulers, or goes to pieces under their neglect and sensual revelry. for the tendency to decay is everywhere under the sun, and no matter what the sphere,--high or low, city or house,--constant diligence alone offsets that tendency. ver. 19. the whole is greater than its part. money can procure both the feast and the wine; but these are not, even in our preacher's view, the better things, but the poorer, as chapter vii. has shown us. we, too, know that which is infinitely higher than feasts and revelry of earth, and here money avails nothing. "wine and milk," joy and food, are here to be bought without money and without price. the currency of that sphere is not corruptible gold nor silver, but the love that gives,--sharing all it possesses. there it is love that answereth all things:--the more excellent way, inasmuch as it covers and is the spring of all gifts and graces. without love, the circulating medium of that new creation, a man is poor indeed,--is worth nothing, nay, _is_ nothing, (1 cor. xiii.) he may have the most attractive and showy of gifts: the lack of love makes the silver tongue naught but empty sound,--a lack of love makes the deepest understanding naught; and whilst he may be a very model of what the world falsely calls charity, giving of his goods to feed the poor, and even his body to be burned, it is love alone that gives life and substance to it all,--lacking love it profits nothing. he who abounds most in loving, and consequent self-emptying, is the richest there. the words of the lord jesus in luke xii. confirm this: "so is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward god." the two are in direct contrast. rich here--laying up treasure for one's self here--_is_ poverty there, and the love that gives _is_ divine riches. for he who loves most has himself drunk deepest into the very nature of god, for god is love, and his heart fully satisfied with that which alone in all the universe can ever satisfy the heart of man, filled up,--surely, therefore, rich,--pours forth its streams of bounty and blessing according to its ability to all about. how thoroughly the balances of the sanctuary reverse the estimation of the world. but, then, how may we become rich in that true, real sense? to obtain the money that "answereth all things" under the sun, men _toil_ and _plan_. perhaps as the balances of the sanctuary show that selfish accumulation here is poverty there, so the means of attaining true riches may be, in some sort, the opposite to those prevailing for the false--"quietness and confidence." the apostle, closing his beautiful description of charity, says: "follow after charity." ponder its value--meditate on its beauties--till your heart becomes fascinated, and you press with longing toward it. but as it is difficult to be occupied with "love" in the abstract, can we find anywhere an embodiment of love? a person who illustrates it in its perfection, in whose character every glorious mark that the apostle depicts in this 13th chapter of corinthians is shown in perfect moral beauty--yea, who is in himself the one complete perfect expression of love. and, god be thanked, we know one such; and, as we read the sweet and precious attributes of love, we recognize that the holy spirit has pictured every lineament of our lord jesus christ. wouldst thou be rich, then, my soul? follow after, occupy thyself with, press toward, the lord jesus, till his beauties so attract as to take off thy heart from every other infinitely inferior attraction, and the kindling of his love shall warm thy heart with the same holy flame, and thou shalt seek love's ease--love's rest--in pouring out all thou hast in a world where need of all kinds is on every side, and thus be "rich toward god." so may it be for the writer, and every reader, to the praise of his grace. amen. where are we, in time, my readers? are we left as shipwrecked sailors upon a raft, without chart or compass, and know not whether sunken wreck or cliff-bound coast shall next threaten us? no; a true divine chart and compass is in our hands, and we may place our finger upon the exact chronological latitude and longitude in which our lot is cast. mark the long voyage of the professing church past the quiet waters of ephesus, where first love quickly cools and is lost; past the stormy waves of persecution which drive her onward to her desired haven, in smyrna; caught in the dangerous eddy, and drifted to the whirlpool of the world in pergamos, followed by the developed papal hierarchy in thyatira, with the false woman in full command of the ship; past sardis, with its memories of a divine recovery in the reformation of the sixteenth century:--philadelphia and laodicea alone are left; and, with mutual contention and division largely in the place of brotherly love, who can question but that we have reached the last stage, and that there is every mark of laodicea about us? this being so, mark the word of our lord jesus to the present state of the professing church: "thou sayest i am rich and increased with goods, and have need of nothing, but knowest not that thou art poor, and blind, and naked, and wretched, and miserable." yes, in the light of god, in the eyes of the lord, in the judgment of the sanctuary, we live in a day of _poverty_. it is this which characterizes the day in which our lot is cast,--a lack of all true riches, whilst the air is filled with boastings of wealth and attainment. further, i can but believe that we whose eyes scan these lines are peculiarly in danger here. thyatira goes on to the very end. sardis is an offshoot from her. sardis goes on to the end. philadelphia is an offshoot from her. philadelphia goes on to the end, and is thus the stock from whence the proud self-sufficiency of laodicea springs. if we (you and i) have shared in any way in the blessings of philadelphia, we share in the dangers of laodicea. yea, he who thinks he represents or has the characteristics of philadelphia, is most open to the boast of laodicea. let us have to do--have holy commerce--with him who speaks. buy of him the "gold purified by the fire." but how are we to buy? what can we give for that gold, when he says we are already poor? a poor man is a bad buyer. yes, under the sun, where toil and self-dependency are the road to wealth; but above the sun quietness and confidence prevail, and the poor man is the best--the only--buyer. look at that man in mark's gospel, chapter x., with every mark of laodicea upon him. _blind_, by nature; _poor_, for he sat and _begged; naked_, for he has thrown away his garment, and thus surely _pitiable, miserable_, now watch him buy of the lord. "what wilt thou that i should do unto thee?" "lord, that i might receive my sight." "go thy way; thy faith hath made thee whole." and the transaction is complete; the contract is settled; the buying is over. "immediately he received his sight, and followed jesus in the way." yes; there is just one thing that that poor, naked, blind man has, that is of highest value even in the eyes of the lord, and that is the quiet confidence of his poor heart. all scripture shows that that is what god ever seeks,--the heart of man to return and rest in him. it is all that we can give in the purchase, but it buys all he has. "all things are possible to him that believeth." in having to do with the lord jesus we deal with the rich one whose very joy and rest it is to give; and it is surely easy _buying_ from him whose whole heart's desire is to _give_. nothing is required but need and faith to complete the purchase. "need and faith" are our "two mites." they are to us what the two mites were to the poor widow--all our "living," all we have. yet, casting them into the treasury, god counts them of far more value than all the boasted abundance of laodicea. they are the servants, too, that open all doors to the lord. they permit no barriers to keep him at a distance. that gracious waiting lord then may enter, and sweet communion follow as he sups with poor "need and faith"--himself providing all the provender for that supper-feast. chapter xi. we are drawing near the end, and to the highest conclusions of true human wisdom; and full of deepest interest it is to mark the character of these conclusions. reason speaks; that faculty that is rightly termed divine, for its possession marks those who are "the offspring of god." he is the father of _spirits_, and it is in the spirit that reason has her seat; whilst in our preacher she is enthroned, and now with authority utters forth her counsels. here we may listen to just how far she can attain, mark with deepest interest, and indeed admiration, the grand extent of her powers; and at the same time their sorrowful limit,--note their happy harmony up to that limit, with her creator; and then, when with baffled effort and conscious helplessness, in view of the deepest questions that ever stir the heart, she is able to find no answer to them, and groans her exceeding bitter cry of "vanity," _then_ to turn and listen to the grace and love of that creator meeting those needs and answering those questions,--this is inexpressibly precious; and with the light thus given we must let our spirits sing a new song, for we are nigh to god, and it is still true that "none enter the king's gate clothed with sackcloth." joy and praise have their dwelling ever within those boundaries; for he inhabiteth the praises of his people. in the first eight verses of our chapter we shall thus find man's reason running in a beautiful parallel with the divine, and yet in marked contrast with the narrow, selfish, short-sighted policy of the debased wisdom of this world. their broad teaching is very clear; look forward,--live not for the present; but instead of hoarding or laying up for the evil day, cast thy bread--that staff of life, thy living--boldly upon the waters, it shall not be lost. you have, in so doing, intrusted it to the care of him who loseth nothing; and the future, though perhaps far off, shall give thee a full harvest for such sowing. but, to be more explicit, give with a free hand without carefully considering a limit to thy gifts ("a portion to seven and also to eight" would seem to have this bearing), for who knows when, in the future, an evil time to thee may make thee the recipient of others' bounty. can we but admire the harmony, i say again, between the voice of poor, feeble, limited human wisdom and the perfect, absolute, limitless, divine wisdom of new testament revelation: "for i mean not that other men be eased and ye burdened; but by an equality, that now at this time your abundance may be a supply for their want, that their abundance also may be a supply for your want: that there may be equality." this is very closely in the same line. but solomon continues: nay, see the lessons that nature herself would teach (and he is no wise man, but distinctly and scripturally "a fool," who is deaf to her teachings, blind to her symbols). the full clouds find relief by emptying themselves on the parched earth, only to receive those same waters again from the full ocean, after they have fulfilled their benevolent mission; and it is a small matter to which side, north or south, the tree may fall, it is there for the good of whoever may need it there.[1] the accidental direction of the wind determines which way it falls; but either north or south it remains for the good of man. in like manner watch not for favorable winds; dispense on every side, north and south, of thy abundance; nor be too solicitous as to the worthiness of the recipients. he who waits for perfectly favorable conditions will never sow, consequently never reap. results are with god. it is not thy care in sowing at exactly the right moment that gives the harvest; all _that_ is god's inscrutable work in nature, nor can man tell how those results are attained. life in its commencements is as completely enshrouded in mystery now as then. no science, no human wisdom has, or--it may be boldly added--ever can throw the slightest glimmer of clear light upon it. thy part is diligence in sowing, the harvest return is god's care. "in the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy hand" is wisdom's counsel here, just as a higher wisdom teaches "preach the word: be instant in season and out of season." thus human reason and divine wisdom "keep step" together till the former reaches its limit; and very soon, in looking forward, is that limit reached. for listen now to her advice, consequent on the foregoing. therefore she says, let not the enjoyment of the present blind thee to the future; for alas there stands that awful mysterious exit from the scene that has again and again baffled the preacher throughout the book. and here again no science or human reason ever has or ever can throw the faintest glimmer of clear light beyond it. that time is still, at the end of the book, the "days of darkness." as poor job in the day of his trial wails: "i go whence i shall not return, even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death; a land of darkness as darkness itself, and of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness." so ecclesiastes says, "let him remember the days of darkness, for they shall be many." oh sad and gloomy counsel! is _this_ what life is? its bright morning ever to be clouded,--its day to be darkened with the thoughts of its _end_? oh sorrowful irony to tell us to rejoice in the years of life, and yet ever to bear in mind that those years are surely, irresistibly, carrying us on to the many "days of darkness." yes, this is where the highest intellect, the acutest reason, the purest wisdom of any man at any time has attained. but where reason fails, with all her powers, there faith prevails and love adores. where the darkness by reason's light is deepest, there love--infinite and eternal--has thrown its brightest beam, and far from that time beyond the tomb being "the days of darkness," by new testament revelation it is the one eternal blessed day lit up with a light that never dims; yes, even sun and moon unneeded for "the glory of god enlightens it, and the lamb is the light thereof." think of a christian with that blessed hope of the coming of his saviour to take him to that well-lighted home--his father's house--with the sweet and holy anticipations of seeing his own blessed face,--once marred and smitten for him; of never grieving him more, of sin never again to mar his communion with him, of happy holy companionship for eternity with kindred hearts and minds all tuned to the one glorious harmony of exalting "him that sits upon the throne and the lamb,"--of loving him perfectly, of serving him perfectly, of enjoying him perfectly,--think of such a christian saying, as he looks forward to this bliss, "all that cometh is _vanity_," and we may get some measure of the value of the precious word of god. but now with a stronger blow our writer strikes the same doleful chord: "rejoice, o young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things god will bring thee into judgment." one would think that there could be no possible misunderstanding the sorrowful irony of the counsel "to walk in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of thine eyes,"--expressions invariably used in an evil sense (compare num. xv. 39; isa. lvii. 17); and yet, to be consistent with the interpretation to similar counsel in other parts of the book, expounders have sought to give them a _christian_ meaning, as if they were given in the light of revelation and not in the semi-darkness of nature. but here the concluding sentence, "know thou, that for all these things god will bring thee into judgment," is quite unmistakable. but here is indeed a startling assertion. where has our writer learned, with such emphatic certainty, of a judgment to come? have we mistaken the standpoint whence our book was written? has the writer, after all, been listening to another voice that has taught him what is on the other side of the grave? does revelation make itself heard here at last? or may, perhaps, even this be in perfect harmony with all that has gone before, and be one step further--almost the last step--along the path that unaided (but not depraved) human reason may tread? in a word, does nature herself give reason sufficient light to enable her, when in right exercise, to discover a judgment-seat in the shadows of the future? this is surely a question of deepest--yes, thrilling--interest; and, we are confident, must be answered in the affirmative. it is to this point that our writer has been climbing, step by step. nature has taught him that the future must be looked at rather than the present; or, rather, the present must be looked at in the light of the future; for that future corresponds _in its character_ to the present, as the crop does to the seed, only exceeds it _in intensity_ as the harvest exceeds the grain sown. thus bread hoarded gives no harvest; or, in other words, he who lives for the present alone, necessarily, by the simplest and yet strongest law of nature, must suffer loss: _this is judgment by nature's law_. this, too, is the keynote of every verse--"the future," "the future"; and god, who is clearly discerned by reason as behind nature, "which is but the name for an effect whose cause is god,"--god is clearly recognized as returning a harvest in the _future_, in strict and accurate accord with the sowing of the _present_. this is very clear. then how simple and how certain that if this is god's irrefragable law in nature, it must have its fulfillment too in the moral nature of man. it has been one of the chief sorrows of the book that neither wrong nor confusion is righted here, and those "days of darkness" to which _all_ life tends are no discriminative judgment, nor is there anything of the kind in a scene where "all things come alike to all." then surely, most surely, unless indeed man alone sows without reaping,--alone breaks in as an exception to this law,--a thought not consonant with reason,--there must be to him also a harvest of reaping according to what has been sown: in other words a _judgment_. although still, let us mark, our writer does not assume to say anything as to where or when that shall be, or how brought about, this is all uncertain and indefinite: the fact is _certain_; and more clear will the outline of that judgment-seat stand out, as our writer's eyes become accustomed to the new light in which he is standing,--the fact is already certain. solemn, most solemn, is this; and yet how beautiful to see a true reason--but let us emphasize again not _depraved_, but exercising her royal function of sovereignty over the flesh, not subject to it--drawing such true and sure lessons from that which she sees of the law of god in nature. it is a _reasonable_, although in view of sin, a fearful expectation; and with exactness is the word chosen in acts: paul _reasoned_ of judgment to come; and reason, with conscience, recognized the force of the appeal, as "felix trembled." thus that solemn double appointment of man: death and judgment has been discerned by nature's light, and counsel is given in view of each. we said that our writer had reached the climax of his perplexities in view of death in chap. ix. when he counseled us to "merrily drink our wine"; but now judgment discerned, death itself even not necessarily the end, at length soberness prevails; and with an evident solemn sincerity he counsels "therefore remove sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh, for childhood and youth are vanity." [1] the current interpretation of this clause, that it speaks of the future state of man after death, seems hardly in keeping with the context, and certainly not at all in keeping with the character and scope of the book. ecclesiastes everywhere confesses the strict limitation of his knowledge to the present scene. this is the cause of his deepest groanings that he cannot pierce beyond it; and it would be entirely contrary for him here, in this single instance, to assume to pronounce authoritatively of the nature of that place or state of which he says he knows nothing. chapter xii. our last chapter concluded with the words, "for childhood and youth are vanity": that is, childhood proves the emptiness of all "beneath the sun," as well as old age. the heart of the child has the same needs--the same capacity in kind--as that of the aged. _it needs god_. unless it knows him, and his love is there, it is empty; and, in its fleeting character, childhood proves its vanity. but this makes us quite sure that if childhood can feel the need, then god has, in his wide grace, _met the need_; nor is that early life to be debarred from the provision that he has made for it. there are then the same _possibilities_ of filling the heart and life of the young child with that divine love that fills every void, and turns the cry of "vanity" into the song of praise: "yea, out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast perfected praise." but our writer is by no means able thus to touch any chord in the young heart that shall vibrate with the music of praise. such as he has, however, he gives us: "remember now thy creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, i have no pleasure in them." this counsel must not be separated from the context. it is based absolutely and altogether on what has now been discerned: for not only is our writer a man of the acutest intelligence, but he evidently possesses the highest qualities of moral courage. he shirks no question, closes his eyes to no fact, and least of all to that awful fact of man's compulsory departure from this scene which is called "death." but following on, he has found that even this cannot possibly be all; there must be a _judgment_ that shall follow this present life. it is in view of this he counsels "remember thy creator in the days of thy youth," whilst the effect of time is to mature, and not destroy, the powers he has given thee: for not forever will life's enjoyment last; old age comes surely, and he who made thee, holds thy spirit in his hand, so that whilst the body may return to dust, the spirit must return to him who gave it. we will only pause for a moment again to admire the glorious elevation of this counsel. how good were it if the remembrance of a creator-god, to whom all are accountable, could tone, with out quenching, the fire and energy of youthful years, and lead in the clean paths of righteousness. but, alas, how inadequate to meet the actual state of things. solomon himself shall serve to illustrate the utter inadequacy of his own counsel. what comfort or hope could he extract from it? his were now already the years in which he must say "i have no pleasure in them." a more modern poet might have voiced his cry,- "my age is in the yellow leaf, the bud, the fruit of 'life,' is gone: the worm, the canker, and the grief, remain alone!" his youth was no more: its bright days were forever past, never to be restored. what remains, then, for solomon, and the myriads like him? what shall efface the memory of those wasted years, or what shall give a quiet peace, in view of the fast-coming harvest of that wild sowing? can reason--can any human wisdom--find any satisfactory answer to these weighty questions? _none_! verses 2 to 7 beautifully and poetically depict the fall of the city of man's body under the slow but sure siege of the forces of time. gradually, but without one moment's pause, the trenches approach the walls. outwork after outwork falls into the enemy's hands, until he is victor over all, and the citadel itself is taken. verse 2.--first, clouds come over the spirit: the joyousness of life is dulled,--the exuberance of youth is quenched. sorrow follows quickly on the heel of sorrow,--"clouds return after rain." those waves that youth's light bark rode gallantly and with exhilaration, now flood the laboring vessel and shut out the light--the joy--of life. verse 3.--then the hands (the keepers of the house) tremble with weakness, and the once strong men (the knees) now feeble, bend under the weight of the body they have so long borne. the few teeth (grinders) that may remain fail to do their required service. time's finger touches, too, those watchers from the turret-windows (the eyes): shade after shade falls over them; till, like slain sentinels that drop at their posts, they look out again never-more. verse 4.--closer still the enemy presses, till the close-beleaguered fortress is shut out from all communication with the outer world; "the doors are shut in the streets"; the ears are dulled to all sounds. even the grinding of the mill,[1] which in an eastern house rarely ceases, reaches him but as a low murmur, though it be really as loud as the shrill piping of a bird, and all the sweet melodies of song are no longer to be enjoyed. verse 5.--time's sappers, too, are busily at work, although unseen, till the effect of their mining becomes evident in the alarm that is felt at the slightest need of exertion. the white head, too, tells its tale, and adds its testimony to the general decay. the least weight is as a heavy burden; nor can the failing appetite be again awakened. the man is going to his age-long home[2]; for now those four seats of life are invaded and broken up--spinal-cord, brain, heart, and blood,--till at length body and spirit part company, each going whence it came;--that, to its kindred dust; this, to the god who gave it. thus to the high wisdom of solomon man is no mere beast, after all. he may not penetrate the beyond to describe that "age-long home," but never of the _beast_ would he say "the spirit to god who gave it." but his very wisdom again leads us to the most transcendent need of _more_. to tell us this, is to lead us up a mountain-height, to a bridgeless abyss which we have to cross, without having a plank or even a thread to help us. to god the spirit goes,--to god who gave it,--to whom, then, it is responsible. but in what condition? is it conscious still, or does it lose consciousness as in a deep sleep? where does it now abide? how can it endure the searching light--the infinite holiness and purity--of the god to whom it goes? how shall it give account for the wasted years? how answer for the myriad sins of life? how reap what has been sown? silence here--no answer here--is awful indeed,--is _maddening_; and if reason does still hold her seat, then "vanity of vanities, all is vanity," is alone consistent with the fearful silence to such questions, and the scene is fitly ended by a groan. deep even unto the shadow of death is the gloom. every syllable of this last sad wail is as a funeral knell to all our hopes, tolling mournfully; and, like a passing bell, attending _them_, too, to their "age-long home"! oh, well for us if we have heard a clearer voice than that of poor feeble human reason break in upon the silence, and, with a blessed, perfect, lovely combination of wisdom and love, of authority and tenderness, of truth and grace, give soul-satisfying answers to all our questionings. then may we rejoice, if grace permit, with joy unspeakable; and, even in the gloom of this sad scene, lift heart and voice in a shout of victory. we, too, know what it is for the body thus to perish. we, too, though redeemed, still await the redemption of the body, which in the christian is still subject to the same ravages of time,--sickness, disease, pain, suffering, decay. but a gracious revelation has taught us a secret that ecclesiastes never guessed at; and we may sing, even with the fall of nature's walls about us, "though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day." yea, every apparent victory of the enemy is now only to be answered with a "new song" of joyful praise. it is true that, "under the sun," the clouds return after the rain; and, because it is true, we turn to that firmament of faith where our lord jesus is both sun and star, and where the light ever "shineth more and more unto perfect day." _let_ the keepers tremble, and the strong men bow themselves. we may now lean upon another and an everlasting arm, and know another strength which is even _perfected_ in this very weakness. the grinders may cease because they are few; but their loss cannot prevent our feeding ever more and more heartily and to the fill on god's bread of life. _let_ those that look out of the windows be darkened: the inward eye becomes the more accustomed to another--purer, clearer--light; and we see "that which is invisible," and seeing, we hopefully sing- "city of the pearl-bright portal, city of the jasper wall, city of the golden pavement, seat of endless festival,- city of jehovah, salera, city of eternity, to thy bridal-hall of gladness, from this prison would i flee,- heir of glory, that shall be for thee and me!" _let_ doors be shut in the streets, and _let_ all the daughters of music be brought low, so that the babel of this world's discord be excluded, and so that the lord himself be on the _inside_ of the closed door, we may the more undistractedly enjoy the _supper of our life_ with him, and he (the blessed, gracious one!) with us. then naught can prevent his voice being heard, whilst the more sweet and clear (though still ever faint, perhaps) may the echo to that voice arise in melody within the heart, where god himself is the gracious listener! _let_ fears be in the way, we know a love than can dispel all fear and give a new and holy boldness even in full view of all the solemn verities of eternity; for it is grounded on the perfect accepted work of a divine redeemer--the faithfulness of a divine word. the very hoary head becomes not merely the witness of decay, and of a life fast passing; but the "almond-tree" has another, brighter meaning now: it is a figure of that "crown of life" which in the new-creation scene awaits the redeemed. if appetite fail here, the more the inward longing, and the satisfaction that ever goes hand in hand with it, may abound; and the inward man thus be strengthened and enlarged so as to have greater capacity for the enjoyment of those pleasures that are "at god's right hand for evermore." till at length the earthly house of this tabernacle may be dissolved. dust may still return to dust, and there await, what all creation awaits--the glorious resurrection, its redemption. whilst the spirit--yes, what of the spirit? to god who gave it? ah, far better: to god who loved and redeemed it,--to him who has so cleansed it by his own blood, that the very light of god can detect no stain of sin upon it, even though it be the chief of sinners. so amid the ruins of this earthly tabernacle may the triumphant song ascend above the snapping of cords, the breaking of golden bowls and pitchers, the very crash of nature's citadel: "oh, death, where is thy sting? oh, grave, where is thy victory? the sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. but thanks be to god that giveth us the victory through our lord jesus christ." this meets--meets fully, meets satisfactorily--the need. now none will deny that this need is deep,--_real_. hence it can be no mere sentiment, no airy speculation, no poetical imagination, no cunningly devised fable that can meet that need. _the remedy must be as real as the disease, or it avails nothing_. no phantom key may loosen so hard-closed a lock as this: it must be real, and be made for it. for suppose we find a lock of such delicate and complicated construction that no key that can be made will adapt itself to all its windings. many skilled men have tried their hands and failed,--till at length the wisest of all attempts it, and even he in despair cries "vanity." then another key is put into our hands by one who claims to have made the very lock we have found. we apply it, and its intricacies meet every corresponding intricacy; its flanges fill every chamber, and we open it with perfect facility. what is the reasonable, necessary conclusion? we say--and rightly, unavoidably say--"he who made the lock must have made the key. his claim is just: they have been made by one maker." so by the perfect rest it brings to the awakened conscience--by the quiet calm it brings to the troubled mind--by the warm love that it reveals to the craving heart--by the pure light that it sheds in satisfactory answer to all the deep questions of the spirit--by the unceasing unfoldings of depths of perfect transcendent wisdom--by its admirable unity in variety--by the holy, righteous settlement of sin, worthy of a holy, righteous god--by the peace it gives, even in view of wasted years and the wild sowing of the past--by the joy it maintains even in view of the trials and sorrows of the present--by the hope with which it inspires the future;--by all these we know that our key (the precious word that god has put into our hands) is a reality indeed, and as far above the powers of reason as the heavens are above the earth, therefore necessarily--incontestably--divine! this brings us to the concluding words of our book. now who has been leading us all through these exercises? a disappointed sensualist? a gloomy stoic? a cynic--selfish, depressed? not at all. distinctly a wise man;--wise, for he gives that unequivocal proof of wisdom, in that he cares for others. it is the wise who ever seek to "win souls," "to turn many to righteousness." "because the preacher was wise, he still _taught the people knowledge_." no cynic is ecclesiastes. his sympathies are still keen; he knows well and truly the needs of those to whom he ministers: knows too, how man's wretched heart ever rejects its own blessing; so, in true wisdom, he seeks "acceptable words": endeavoring to sweeten the medicine he gives, clothes his counsel in "words of delight" (margin). thus here we find all the "words of delight" that human wisdom _can_ find, in view of life in all its aspects from youth to old age. for whilst it is certainly difficult satisfactorily to trace the order in detail in the book,--and perhaps this is perfectly consistent with its character,--yet there can be no question but that it begins by looking at, and testing, those sensual enjoyments that are peculiarly attractive to _youth_, and ends with the departure of all in _old age_, and, finally--dissolution. there is, evidently, that much method. we may also, further, note that the body of the book is taken up with such themes as interest men who are between these two extremes: occupations, business, politics, and, as men speak, religion. all the various states and conditions of man are looked at: kings, princes, nobles, magistrates, rich and poor, are all taken up and discussed in this search for the one thing that true human reason can call absolutely "good" for man. further method than this might perhaps be inconsistent with the confusion of the scene "under the sun" he is regarding, and his own inability to bring order out of the confusion. there would be thus true method in the _absence_ of method, as the cry of "vanity," doleful as it is, is alone in harmony with the failure of all his efforts. yes, for whilst here he speaks of "words of delight," one can but wonder to what he can refer, unless it be to something still to come. thus far, as he has taken up and dropped, with bitter discouragement, subject after subject, his burdened, overcharged heart involuntarily has burst out with the cry, "vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" words of delight! find one in all that we have gone over that can be to a guilty sinner's ear a "word of delight"--such as it can really _take in as meeting its needs_; for this seems to be the force of the word here translated "acceptable": so perfectly adapted to the needs of the heart it addresses that that heart springs joyfully to embrace it at once. we have surely, thus far, found none such. a judge has been discerned in god; but small delight in this surely, if i am the sinner to be judged. verses 11-14. wisdom's words are not known by quantity, but quality. not many books, with the consequent weary study; but the right word--like a "goad": sharp, pointed, effective--and on which may hang, as on a "nail," much quiet meditation. "given, too, from one shepherd," hence not self-contradictory and confusing to the listeners. in this way ecclesiastes would evidently direct our most earnest attention to what follows: "the conclusion of the whole matter." here is absolutely the highest counsel of true human wisdom--the climax of her reasonings--the high-water-mark of her attainments--the limit to which she can lead us: "fear god, and keep his commandments: for this is the whole duty of man. for god shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be evil." who will deny that this is indeed admirable? is there not a glorious moral elevation in this conclusion? note how it gives the creator-god his rightful place; puts the creature, man, in the absolutely correct relationship of obedience, and speaks with perfect assurance of a discriminative judgment where every single work, yes, "secret thing," shall be shown out in its true character as it is good or evil in his holy sight: where everything that is wrong and distorted here shall be put right. it is truly much, but alas for man if this were indeed the end. alas for one, conscious of having sinned already, and broken his commandments, whether those commandments be expressed in the ten words of the law, as given from sinai, or in that other law which is common to all men, the work of which, "written in their hearts," they show--conscience. there is no gleam of light, ray of hope, or grain of comfort here. a judgment to come, _assured_, can only be looked forward to, with, at the best, gloomy uncertainty, and awful misgiving--if not with assured conviction of a fearful condemnation; and here our writer leaves us with the assurance that this is the "conclusion of the whole matter." who can picture the terrors of this darkness in which such a conclusion leaves us? guilty, trembling, with untold sins and wasted years behind; with the awful consciousness that my very being is the corrupt fountain whence those sins flowed, and yet with a certain judgment before in which no single thing is to escape a divinely searching examination: better had it been to have left us still asleep and unconscious of these things, and so to have permitted us to secure, at least, what pleasure we could out of this present life "under the sun," without the shadow of the future ever thrown over us;--yea, such "conclusion" leaves us "of all men most miserable." i would, beloved reader, that we might by grace realize something of this. nor let our minds be just touched by the passing thoughts, but pause for a few minutes, at least, and meditate on the scene at this last verse in the only book in our bible in which man at his best and highest, in his richest and wisest, is heard telling us his exercises as he looks at this tangled state of affairs "under the sun" and gives us to see, as nowhere else can we see, the very utmost limit to which he, as such, can attain. if this sinks down into our hearts, we shall be the better prepared to apprehend and appreciate the grace that meets him there at the edge of that precipice to which reason leads but which she cannot bridge. oh, blessed grace! in the person of our royal preacher we are here indeed at our "wit's end" in every sense of the word; but that is ever and always the place where another hand may lead us, where another wisdom than poor feeble human reason may find a way of escape, and "deliver us out of our distresses." then let us turn our ear and listen to another voice: "for we must all appear before the judgment-seat of christ, that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad." but stay. is this the promised grace of which even now we spoke? is this the deliverance for which we hoped? a judgment-seat still?--from which still no escape for any: and a "reception" according to the things done, whether they be good or bad! wherein does this differ from solomon's "conclusion of the whole matter"? in just two words only--"_of christ_." it is now the "judgment-seat of christ." added terror, i admit, to his despisers and rejectors; but to you and me, dear fellow-believer, through grace the difference these two words make is infinity itself. for look at him who sits upon the judgment-seat;--be not afraid; regard him patiently and well; he bears many a mark whereby you may know him, and recognize in the judge the very one who has himself borne the full penalty of all your sins. see his hands and his feet, and behold his side! you stand before _his_ judgment-seat. remember, too, the word he spake long ago, but as true as ever, "verily, verily, i say unto you, he that heareth my word, and believeth on him that sent me, hath everlasting life, and shall not come into judgment, but is passed from death unto life"--and as we thus remember both his word and his work, we may be fully assured, even as we stand here, that there must be a sense, and an important sense, in which judgment for us is passed forever. i may not be able to harmonize these scriptures; but i will cleave, at least, to that which i clearly understand; in other words, to that which meets my present needs (for we only truly understand what meets our need); afterward, other needs may arise that shall make the other scriptures equally clear. he bore my sins--the judgment of god has been upon him, cannot, therefore, be upon me--into that judgment i shall never come. then why is it written we must all appear (or rather "be _manifested_," be clearly shown out in true light) before the judgment seat of christ? there is just one thing i need before entering the joys of eternity. i am, as jacob in genesis xxxv., going up "to bethel, to dwell there." i must know that everything is fully suited to the place to which i go. i need, _i must have_, everything out clearly. yes, so clearly, that it will not do to trust even my own memory to bring it out. i need the lord "who loved me and gave himself for me" to do it. _he will_. how precious this is for the believer who keeps his eye on the judge! how blessed for him that ere eternity begins full provision is made for the perfect security of its peace--for a communion that may not be marred by a thought! never after this shall a suspicion arise in our hearts, during the long ages that follow, that there is one thing--one secret thing--that has not been known and dealt with holily and righteously, according to the infinite purity of the judgment seat of christ. suppose that this were not so written; let alone for a moment that there never could be true discriminative rewards; might not memory be busy, and might not some evil thought allowed during the days of the life in the flesh, long, long forgotten, be suddenly remembered, and the awful question arise, "is it possible that that particular evil thing has been overlooked? it was subsequent to the hour that i first accepted him for my saviour. i have had no thought of it since. i am not aware of ever having confessed it." would not _that_ silence the song of heaven, embitter even its joy, and still leave tears to be wiped away? _it shall not be_. all shall be out first. all--"every secret thing." other scriptures shall show us how these things are dealt with. "every man's work shall be made manifest, for the day shall declare it, because it (that is, the day) shall be revealed in fire, and the fire shall try every man's work, of what sort it is. if any man's work abide, he shall receive a reward. if any man's work shall be burnt, he shall suffer loss, but he himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire. if any man defile the temple of god, him shall god destroy." (1 cor. iii.) that day is revealed in fire, (divine judgment,) and gold, silver, precious stones--those works which are of god--alone can stand the test. all others burn like "wood, hay, stubble." look forward a little. in the light of these scriptures, see one standing before that judgment seat. he once hung by the side of the judge himself upon a cross on earth. see his works being manifested. is there one that can be found gold, silver, precious stones? not one. they burn; they all burn: but mark carefully his countenance as his works burn. mark the emotions that manifest themselves through the ever-deepening sense of the wondrous grace that could have snatched such an one as is there being manifested from the burning. not a sign of terror. not a question for a single instant as to his own salvation now. he has been with christ, in the judge's own company, for a long time already, and perfectly established is his heart, in the love that said to him long ago, "this day thou shalt be with me in paradise." now as all his works burn, the fire within burns too, and he is well prepared to sing "unto him who loves us and washed us from our sins in his own blood." and yet stay:--here is something at the very last. it is his word, "dost thou not fear god, seeing thou art in the same condemnation, and we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds, but this man hath done nothing amiss. lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom." gold! gold at last! as we may say; and he too receives praise of god. yes, not one that shall have the solemn joy of standing before that tribunal but has, in some measure, that praise. for is it not written, "then" (at that very time) "shall every one have praise of god." "this honor have all his saints." where and when does this judgment of our works, then, take place? it must be subsequent to our rapture to the air of which we have spoken, and prior to our manifestation with christ as sons of god. for by all the ways of god, through all the ages, those scenes could never be carried out before an unbelieving hostile world. never has he exposed, never will he so expose his saints. all will be over when we come forth with him to live and reign a thousand years. "the bride has made herself ready," and the robes in which she comes forth--the white linen--are indeed the righteousnesses of the saints, but these have been "washed and made white in the blood of the lamb." but "_all_" must stand before him; and not even yet has that been fulfilled. cain and the long line of rejectors of mercy and light, ever broadening as time's sad ages have passed till their path has been called the "broad way," have not yet stood there. has death saved them from judgment? no, for we read of the "resurrection of judgment"--the judgment that comes necessarily after death, and includes the dead, and only the dead. "i saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heavens fled away, and there was found no place for them. and i saw the dead, small and great, stand before god; and the books were opened, and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. and the sea gave up the dead which were in it, and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them, and they were judged every man according to their works, and death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. this is the second death. and whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire." here, too, we see an exact, perfect, retributive, discriminating judgment. the book of life bears not the name of one here. there is that one broad distinction between the saved and the lost--the "life-line," as we may call it. how carefully are we told at the very last of this book of life, that we may most clearly understand, for our comfort, that the feeblest touch of faith of but the hem of his garment--perhaps not even _directly_ his person, but that which is seen surrounding his person, as the visible creation may be said to do--(psalms cii. 25, 6) let any have touched him there, and _life_ results. his name is found in the book of life, and he shall not see the second death. apart from this--the second death: "the lake of fire!" and yet, whilst "darkness and wrath" are the common lot of the rejectors of "light and love," there is, necessarily, almost infinite difference in the degrees of that darkness and fierceness of that wrath, dependent exactly on the degree of rejection of light and love. as our lord tells us, "he that knew his lord's will, and prepared not himself, shall be beaten with many stripes. but he that knew not, and did commit things worthy of stripes shall be beaten with few stripes. for unto whomsoever much is given of him shall be much required; and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more." all is absolutely _right_. nothing more now to be _made_ right the ages of eternity may roll in unbroken peace; with god--manifested in all the universe as light and love--all in all. and now, dear readers, the time has come to say farewell for a season to our writer and to each other. let this leave-taking not be with the groans of ecclesiastes' helplessness in our ears. we have stood by his side and tested with him the sad unsatisfying pleasures connected with the senses under the sun. we have turned from them, and tried the purer, higher pleasures of the intellect and reason, and groaned to find _them_ equally unsatisfying. we have looked through his wearied eyes at this scene, restless in its unending changes, and yet with nothing really new. we have felt a little, with his sensitive, sympathetic heart, for the oppressed and down-trodden "under the sun," and groaned in our helplessness to right their wrongs. we have groaned, too, at his and our inability to understand or solve the contradictory tangle of life that seemed to deny either the providence or the goodness of a clearly recognized creator. we have followed with him along many a hopeful path till it led us to a tomb, and then we have bowed head with him, and groaned in our agonizing inability to pierce further. we have seen, too, with him that there is not the slightest discrimination in that ending of man's race, and worse, even than groans to our ears, has been the wild, sad counsel of despair, "merrily drink thy wine." but quickly recovering from this, we have wondered with great admiration as our guide's clear reason led him, and us, still on and on to discern, a final harvest-judgment that follows all earth's sowings. but there, as we have stood beside him in spirit, before that awful judgment-seat to which he has led us, and turned to him for one word of light or comfort in view of our sin and wrong doings--the deepest need of all--we have been met with a silence too deeply agonizing, even for the groan of vanity. groans, groans, nothing but groans, at every turn! and then with what relief--oh, what relief, ever increasing as the needs increased--have we turned to the greater than the greatest of men "under the sun," and, placing the hand of faith in his, we have been led into other scenes, and have found every single need of our being fully, absolutely, satisfactorily met. our body if now the seat of sin and suffering, yet we have learned to sing in the joyful hope of its soon being "like him forever." our soul's affections have in him a satisfying object, whilst his love may fill the poor, empty, craving heart till it runs over with a song all unknown under the sun,--our spirit's deep questions, as they have come up, have all been met and answered in such sort that each answer strikes a chord that sounds with the melody of delight;--till at last death itself is despoiled of his terrors, and our song is still more sweet and clear in the tyrant's presence, for he is no longer a "king" over us, but our "servant." even the deepest, most awful terror of all to sinners such as we--the judgment-seat--has given us new cause for still more joyful singing; for we have in that pure clear light recognized in god--our creator-god, our redeemer-god--a love so full, so true,--working with a wisdom so infinite, so pure,--in perfect harmony with a righteousness so unbending, so inflexible,--with a holiness not to be flecked or tarnished by a breath,--all combining to put us at joyful ease in the very presence of judgment--to find there, as nowhere else possible, all that is in god in his infinity told out, ("love with us made perfect,") and that means that all the creatures' responsive love must find sweet relief in a song that it will take eternity itself to end. in our father's house we only "begin to be merry," and end nevermore, as we sound the depths of a wisdom that is fathomless, know a "love that passeth knowledge";--singing, singing, nothing but singing, and ever a new song! may god, in his grace, make this the joyful experience of reader and writer, for the lord jesus christ's sake! amen. [1] this differs from the usual interpretation, which makes this verse a metaphor of the mouth and teeth. this has been rejected above, not only on account of the direct evidence of its faultiness, and the fanciful interpretation given to the "sound of grinding," but for the twofold reason that it would make the teeth to be alluded to _twice_, whilst all reference to the equally important sense of "hearing" would be omitted altogether. i have therefore followed dr. lewis's metrical version:- "and closing are the doors that lead abroad, when the hum of the mill is sounding low, though it rise to the sparrow's note, and voices loudest in the song, do all to faintness sink." although, i might here add, i cannot follow this writer in his view that ecclesiastes is describing only the old age of the sensualist. rather is it man as man,--at his highest,--but with only what he can find "under the sun" to enlighten him. [2] the word rendered above "age-long," in our authorized version "long,"--"man goeth to his _long_ home"--is one of those suggestive words with which the hebrew scriptures abound, and which are well worth pondering with interest. to transfer and not translate it into english we might call it "olamic," speaking of a cycle: having a limit, and yet a shadowy, undefined limit. the word therefore in itself beautifully and significantly expresses both the confidence, the faith of the speaker as well as his ignorance. man's existence after death is distinctly predicated. the mere grave is not that olamic home; for the spirit would, in that case, be quite lost sight of; nor, indeed, is the spirit alone there,--the _man_ goes there. it appears to correspond very closely to the greek word hades, "the unseen." man has gone to that sphere beyond human ken, but when the purposes of god are fulfilled, his abode there shall have an end: it is for an "age," but only an "age." all this seems to be wrapped up, as it were, in that one phrase--_beth-olam_, the age-long home. how blessed for us the light that has since been shed on all this. in one case (and indeed already more than in that one) that "age" has already come to an end, and the first fruits of that harvest with which our earth is sown has even now been gathered. we await merely the completion of that harvest: "christ the first fruits: afterwards they that are christ's, at his coming." the bible truth press, 63 fourth avenue, new york. "above the sun." cease, ye saints, your occupation with the sorrow-scenes of earth; let the ear of faith be opened, use the sight of second birth. long your hearts have been acquainted with the tear-drop and the groan; these are _weeds_ of foreign growing, seek the _flowers_ that are your own. he who in the sandy desert looks for springs to quench his thirst finds his fountains are but slime-pits such as siddim's vale accursed; he who hopes to still the longing of the heart within his breast must not search within a scene where naught is at one moment's rest. lift your eyes _above_ the heavens to a sphere as pure as fair; there, no spot of earth's defilement, never fleck of sin-stain there. linger not to gaze on angels, principalities, nor powers; brighter visions yet shall greet you, higher dignities are ours. all night's golden constellations dimly shine as day draws on, and the moon must veil her beauties at the rising of the sun. let the grove be wrapt in silence as the nightingale outflings her unrivaled minstrelsy, th' eclipse of every bird that sings. michael, israel's prince, is glorious, clad in panoply of war; *"who is as the god of israel" is his challenge near and far; but a higher still than michael soon shall meet your raptured gaze, and ye shall forget his glories in _your_ captain's brighter rays. * "michael" means "who is as god." list a moment to the music of the mighty gabriel's voice, with its message strange and tender, making mary's heart rejoice. then on-speed, for sweeter music soon expectant faith shall greet: his who chained another mary willing captive at his feet. but, let mem'ry first glance backward to the scenes "beneath the sun," how the fairest earthly landscape echoed soon some dying groan. there the old-creation's story, shared between the dismal three: sin and suffering and sorrow summed that babel's history. now the contrast--vain ye listen for one jarring note to fall; for each dweller in that scene's in perfect harmony with all. joy has here expelled all sadness, perfect peace displaced all fears- all around that central throne makes the true "music of the spheres." now upsoar ye on faith's pinion, leave all creature things behind, and approach yon throne of glory. love in light ye there shall find; for with thrill of joy behold one--woman-born--upon that throne, and, with deepest self-abasement, in _his_ beauties read your own. joyful scan the glories sparkling from his gracious head to feet;, never one that does not touch some tender chord of memory sweet; and e'en heaven's music lacks till blood-bought ones _their_ voices raise high o'er feebler angel choirs; for richer grace wakes nobler praise. vain the quest amongst the thronging of the heavenly angel band for one trace of human kinship, for one touch of human hand; 'mongst those spirits bright, ethereal, "man" would stand a man alone; higher must he seek for kinship--thought amazing--on god's throne! does it not attract your nature, is it not a rest to see one e'en there at glory's summit, yet with human form like thee? form assumed when love compelled him to take up your hopeless case, form he never will relinquish; ever shall it voice his grace. wondrous grace! thus making heaven but our father's house prepared; since, by one who tells god's love, in wounded human form 'tis shared. see, his head is crowned with glory! yet a glory not distinct from an hour of deepest suffering, and a crown of thorns succinct. draw still closer, with the rev'rence born of love and holy fear; look into those tender eyes which have been dimmed with human tear- tears in which _ye_ see a glory hidden from th' angelic powers; ours alone the state that caused them, their beauty then alone is ours. look once more upon that head: finds memory no attraction there in the time when, homeless-wandering, night-dews filled that very hair? brightest glories sparkle round it--crowned with honor now; and yet, once it found its only pillow on storm-tossed gennesaret! see that hand! it once grasped peter's as he sank beneath the wave,- snatched the widow's son at nain from the portal of the grave,- touched with healing grace the leper, gave the light to him born dark. _deeper love to you is spoken in that nail-print--precious mark_! let your tender gaze now rest on those dear feet that erstwhile trod all the weary, painful journey leading him _from_ god _to_ god; took him in his gentle grace wherever need and suffering thronged, or one lonely soul was found who for the living water longed. those the very feet once bathèd with a pardoned sinner's tears, and anointed, too, with spikenard speaking mary's love and fears; took him weary on his journey under sychar's noontide heat, till the thirsty quenched his thirsting, and the hungry gave him meat. blessed feet! 'tis only _sinners_ see the depth of beauty there; _angels_ never have bowed o'er them with a penitential tear. angels may regard the nail-print, with a holy, reverent calm; ye who read the _love_ it tells of, _must_ break forth with thankful psalm. draw yet nearer, look more fondly; yea, e'en nestle and abide in that covert from the storm-blast, in the haven of his side. that deep wound speaks man's great hatred, but his love surpassing great: _there were focused, at one spear-point, all god's love and all man's hate_! rest, ye saints! your search is ended; ye have reached the source of peace. by the side of jesus risen, earth's dull cares and sorrows cease. here are elim's wells and palm-trees, grateful shade and waters cool, whilst in christ's deep love there's healing far beyond bethesda's pool. closer, closer, cluster round him, till the kindling of that love melt your hearts to like compassions whilst amid like scenes ye move. only thus abiding in him can ye fruitfulness expect, or, 'mid old-creation sorrows, new-creation love reflect. ever closer gather round him, till "the glory of that light" dims the old creation glitter, proves earth's glare to be but--night! gaze upon him till his beauties wing your feet as on ye run, faith soon bursting into sight, in god's clear day "above the sun." f. c. j. works by j. g. bellett. _the patriarchs._ being meditations upon enoch, noah, abraham, isaac, jacob, joseph, and job; with the canticles, and heaven and earth. 435 pp. cloth, post-paid, $1.00. _the evangelists._ a study of the four gospels, "tracing the varied glories of christ, and to notice their characteristics, so as to distinguish the purpose of the spirit of god in each of them." 500 pp. cloth, post-paid, $1.00. _the moral glory of the lord jesus._ a precious little volume for all those who, like mary, would sit at the saviour's feet. cloth, gilt, post-paid, 50 cts. _the son of god._ a treatise dwelling on the eternal glories and godhead of the lord jesus christ;--the "son that dwelleth in the bosom of the father, he hath revealed him." paper, 35 cts.; cloth, 55 cts, post-paid. _short meditations_ on various subjects and portions of scripture. cloth, post-paid, $1.00. _papers on the lord's coming._ contents.--introductory.--the fact itself.--the double bearing of the fact.--"the coming" and "the day"--the two resurrections.--the judgment.--the jewish remnant.--christendom.--the ten virgins.--the talents.--concluding remarks. by c. h. m. price, 15 cts.; cloth, 25 cts. _eight lectures on prophecy._ contents.--the importance of prophetic study.--the second coming of christ premillenial.--god's past dealings with the nation of israel.--the return of the jews.--the millenial reign of christ.--the distinct calling and glory of the church.--the predicted corruption of christianity, and its final results.--the character and doom of the great gentile powers.--the hope of the church, and her removal before the apocalyptic judgments. by w. t. paper, 35 cts.; cloth, 60 cts. _changed in a moment._ a dialogue on the lord's coming to gather up his saints to meet him in the air, as distinct from his coming to the earth in glory, and its present bearing upon the church of god in the world. by h. t. price, 5 cts. _he cometh with clouds; or every eye shall see him._ sequel to "changed in a moment." price, 6 cts. "_awake! awake! behold, the bride-groom cometh._" (matt. xxv. 1-13.) by c. s. 18 cts. per doz. _what god has said on the second coming of christ and the end of the present age._ by c. s. price, 6 cts. _the millennial reign of christ._ a sequel to above. by c. s. price, 6 cts. _the lord's dealings with the convict daniel mann._ by p. j. l. (new edition, 45th thousand.) price, 4 cts. _postage extra--10 cts. per dollar. catalogue sent on application._ a new library of helpful volumes for bible students. the beresford books. _uniform size, crown 8vo. uniform binding, half-bound style. uniform price, half-crown each._ the gospel and its ministry: a handbook of evangelical truth. by robert anderson, c.b., ll.d., author of "human destiny," &c. typical foreshadowings in genesis; or, the world to come, and the divine preparation for it. by william lincoln, author of lectures on the revelation, st. john, &c. [_in the press_. abundant grace: select addresses on salvation, warfare, life, and hope. by w. p. mackay, m.a., author of _grace and truth_. with biographical sketch of author. "i am coming": a book of that blessed hope. by dr. james h. brookes, editor of _the truth_. truths for to-day: seventeen addresses on fundamental truths, by dr. neatby, dr. m'killiam, robert anderson, ll.d., alex. stewart, f. c. bland, g. f. trench, h. groves, &c. always abounding; or, recollections of the life and labours of the late george brealey, the evangelist of the blackdown hills. by w. j. h. brealey. introduction by h. groves, kendal. the books of the bible: their unity as one volume, their diversity of purpose, and the spiritual import of each. by dr. w. p. mackay, of hull, author of "grace and truth." old groans and new songs; or, meditations on the book of ecclesiastes. by f. c. jennings, new york. lays of life and hope: poems on the atonement, advocacy, and appearing of our lord jesus christ, in relation to salvation, pilgrimage, and the blessed hope. by wm. blane. the final crisis of the age: the apocalypse, or book of revelation, considered as such, by thomas ryan, dublin. now and for ever: addresses on truths relating to "yesterday, to-day, and for ever." by t. shuldham henry, m.a. glasgow: pickering & inglis, 73 bothwell st. and the distributed prooreaders team. the sceptics of the old testament job * koheleth * agur with english text translated for the first time from the primitive hebrew as restored on the basis of recent philological discoveries. by e. j. dillon late professor of comparative philology and ancient armenian at the imperial university of kharkoff; doctor of oriental languages of the university of louvain; magistrand of the oriental faculty of the imperial university of st. petersburg; member of the armenian academy of venice; membre de la société asiatique de paris, &c. &c. * * * * * _to alexander vassilyevitch paschkoff, m.a. the following pages are affectionately dedicated_ * * * * * dedicatory note _my dear paschkoff, in the philosophical problems dealt with by the sceptics of the old testament, you will recognise the theme of our numerous and pleasant discussions during the past sixteen years. three of these are indelibly engraven in my memory, and, if i mistake not, in yours. the first took place in st. petersburg one soft indian-summer's evening, in a cosy room on the gagarine quay, from the windows of which we looked out with admiration upon the blue expanse of the neva, as it reflected the burnished gold of the spire of the fortress church. at that time we gazed upon the wavelets of the river and the wonders of the world from exactly the same angle of vision. the second of these memorable conversations occurred after the lapse of nine years. we had met together in the old place, and sauntering out one bitterly cold december evening resumed the discussion, walking to and fro on the moonlit bank of the ice-bound river, until evening merged into night and the moon sank beneath the horizon, leaving us in total darkness, vainly desirous, like goethe, of "light, more light." our last exchange of views took place after six further years had sped away, and we stood last august on the summit of the historic mönchsberg, overlooking the final resting-place of the great paracelsus. the long and interesting discussions which we had on that occasion, just before setting out in opposite directions, you to the east and i to the west, neither of us is likely ever to forget. it is in commemoration of these pleasant conversations, and more especially of the good old times, now past for ever, when we looked out upon the wavelets of the neva and the wonders of the world from the same angle of vision, that i ask you to allow me to associate your name with this translation of the primitive texts of the sceptics of the old testament. yours affectionately, e. j. dillon. trebizond, january 3, 1895._ * * * * * preface a careful perusal of this first english translation of the primitive text of "job," "koheleth," and the "sayings of agur" will, i doubt not, satisfy the most orthodox reader that i am fully warranted in characterising their authors as sceptics. the epithet, i confess, may prove distasteful to many, but the truth, i trust, will be welcome to all. it is not easy to understand why any one who firmly believes that providence is continually educing good from evil should hesitate to admit that it may in like manner allow sound moral principles to be enshrined in doubtful or even erroneous philosophical theories. or, is trust in god to be made dependent upon the confirmation or rejection by physical science of, say, the old testament account of the origin of the rainbow? agur, "job" and "koheleth" had outgrown the intellectual husks which a narrow, inadequate and erroneous account of god's dealings with man had caused to form around the minds of their countrymen, and they had the moral courage to put their words into harmony with their thoughts. clearly perceiving that, whatever the sacerdotal class might say to the contrary, the political strength of the hebrew people was spent and its religious ideals exploded, they sought to shift the centre of gravity from speculative theology to practical morality. the manner in which they adjusted their hopes, fears, and aspirations to the new conditions, strikes the keynote of their respective characters. "job," looking down upon the world from the tranquil heights of genius, is manful, calm, resigned. "koheleth," shuddering at the gloom that envelops and the pain that convulses all living beings, prefers death to life, and freedom from suffering to "positive" pleasure; while agur, revealing the bitterness bred by dispelled illusions and blasted hopes, administers a severe chastisement to those who first called them into being. all three[1] reject the dogma of retribution, the doctrine of eternal life and belief in the coming of a messiah, over and above which they at times strip the notion of god of its most essential attributes, reducing it to the shadow of a mere metaphysical abstraction. this is why i call them sceptics. "job" and "koheleth" emphatically deny that there is any proof to be found of the so-called moral order in the universe, and they unhesitatingly declare that existence is an evil. they would have us therefore exchange our hopes for insight, and warn us that even this is very circumscribed at best. for not only is happiness a mockery, but knowledge is a will-o'-the-wisp. mankind resembles the bricklayer and the hodman who help to raise an imposing edifice without any knowledge of the general plan. and yet the structure is the outcome of their labour. in like manner this mysterious world is the work of man--the mirror of his will. as his will is, so are his acts, and as his acts are, so is his world. or as the ancient hindoos put it: "before the gods we bend our necks, and yet within the toils of fate entangled are the gods themselves. to fate, then, be all honour given. yet fate itself can compass nought, 'tis but the bringer of the meed for every deed that we perform. as then our acts shape our rewards, of what avail are gods or fate? let honour therefore be decerned to deeds alone." but what, i have been frequently asked, will be the effect of all this upon theology? are we to suppose that the writings of these three sceptics were admitted into the canon by mistake, and if not, shall we not have to widen our definition of inspiration until it can be made to include contributions which every christian must regard as heterodox? an exhaustive reply to this question would need a theological dissertation, for which i have neither desire nor leisure. i may say, however, that eminent theologians representing various christian denominations--roman catholic, greek orthodox, anglican and lutheran--have assured me that they could readily reconcile the dogmas of their respective churches with doctrines educible from the primitive text of "job," "koheleth," and agur, whose ethics they are disposed to identify, in essentials, with the teachings of the sermon on the mount. with the ways and means by which they effect this reconciliation i am not now concerned. my object was neither to attack a religious dogma, nor to provoke a theological controversy, but merely to put the latest results of philological science within the reach of him who reads as he runs. and i feel confident that the reader who can appreciate the highest forms of poetry, or who has anxiously pondered over the problems of god, immortality, the origin of evil, &c., will peruse the writings of "job," "koheleth" and agur with a lively interest, awakened, and sustained not merely by the extrinsic value which they possess as historical documents, but by their intrinsic merits as precious contributions to the literature and philosophy of the world. e. j. dillon. constantinople, _new year's day, 1895._ footnotes: [1] in agur's case, this is but an inference from his first saying, but an inference which few would think of calling in question. * * * * * contents the poem of job hebrew philosophy the problem of the poem job's method of solving the problem date of the composition the text and its reconstruction interpolations job's theological and philosophical conceptions analysis of the poem koheleth condition of the text primitive form of the book koheleth's theory of life practical wisdom koheleth's philosophy of life sources of koheleth's philosophy agur the agnostic agur, son of yakeh form and contents of the sayings of agur date of composition agur's philosophy the poem of job (translation of the restored text) the speaker (translation of the restored text) the sayings of agur (translation of the restored text) index the poem of job * * * * * hebrew philosophy according to a theory which was still in vogue a few years ago, the ancient races of mankind were distinguished from each other no less by their intellectual equipment than by their physical peculiarities. thus the semites were supposed to be characterised, among other things, by an inborn aptitude for historical narrative and an utter lack of the mental suppleness, ingenuity, and sharp incisive vision indispensable for the study of the problems of philosophy; while their neighbours, the aryans, devoid of historical talent, were held to be richly endowed with all the essential qualities of mind needed for the cultivation of epic poetry and abstruse metaphysics. this theory has since been abandoned, and many of the alleged facts that once seemed to support it have been shown to be unwarranted assumptions. thus, the conclusive proof, supplied by biblical criticism, of the untrustworthiness of the historical books of the old testament, has removed one alleged difference between aryans and semites, while the discoveries which led to the reconstruction of the primitive poem of job and of the treatise of koheleth have undermined the basis of the other. for these two works deal exclusively with philosophical problems, and, together with the books of proverbs and jesus sirach, are the only remains that have come down to us of the ethical and metaphysical speculations of the ancient hebrews whose descendants have so materially contributed to further this much-maligned branch of human knowledge. and if we may judge by what we know of these two books, we have ample grounds for regretting that numerous other philosophical treatises which were written between the fourth and the first centuries b.c. were deemed too abstruse, too irrelevant, or too heterodox to find a place in the jewish canon.[2] for the book of job is an unrivalled masterpiece, the work of one in whom poetry was no mere special faculty cultivated apart from his other gifts, but the outcome of the harmonious wholeness of healthy human nature, in which upright living, untrammelled thought, deep mental vision, and luxuriant imagination combined to form the individual. hence the poem is a true reflex of the author's mind: it dissolves and blends in harmonious union elements that appeared not merely heterogeneous, but wholly incompatible, and realises, with the concreteness of history, the seemingly unattainable idea which lucretius had the mind to conceive but lacked the artistic hand to execute; in a word, it is the fruit of the intimate union of that philosophy which, reckless of results, dares to clip even angels' wings, and of the art which possesses the secret of painting its unfading pictures with the delicate tints of the rainbow. rich fancy and profound thought co-operate to produce a _tertium quid_--a visible proof that the beautiful is one with the true--for which neither literature nor philosophy possesses a name. it is no wonder, then, that this unique poem, which gives adequate utterance to abstract thought, truly and forcibly states the doubts and misgivings which harrow the souls of thinking men of all ages and nations, and helps them to lift a corner of the veil of delusion and get a glimpse of the darkness of the everlasting night beyond, should appeal to the reader of the nineteenth century with much greater force than to the jews of olden times, who were accustomed to gauge the sublimity of imaginative poetry and the depth of philosophic speculation by the standard of orthodoxy and the bias of nationality. the book of job, from which pope gregory the great fancied he could piece together the entire system of catholic theology, and which thomas of aquin regarded as a sober history, is now known to be a regular poem, but, as tennyson truly remarked, "the greatest poem whether of ancient or modern times," and the diction of which even luther instinctively felt to be "magnificent and sublime as no other book of scripture." and it is exclusively in this light, as one of the masterpieces of the world's literature, that it will be considered in the following pages. whatever religious significance it may be supposed to possess over and above, as one of the canonical books of the hebrew and christian scriptures, will, it is hoped, remain unaffected by this treatment, which is least of all controversial. the flowers that yield honey to the bee likewise delight the bee-keeper with their perfume and the poet with their colours, and there is no adequate reason why the magic verse which strikes a responsive chord in the soul of lovers of high art, and starts a new train of ideas in the minds of serious thinkers, should thereby lose any of the healing virtues it may have heretofore possessed for the suffering souls of the believing. but viewed even as a mere work of art, it would be hopeless to endeavour to press it into the frame of any one of the received categories of literary composition, as is evident from the fact that authorised and unauthorised opinion on the subject has touched every extreme, and still continues oscillating to-day. many commentators still treat it as a curious chapter of old-world history narrated with scrupulous fidelity by the hero or an eye-witness, others as a philosophical dialogue; several scholars regard it as a genuine drama, while not a few enthusiastically aver that it is the only epic poem ever written by a hebrew. in truth, it partakes of the nature of each and every one of these categories, and is yet circumscribed by the laws and limits of none of them. in form, it is most nearly akin to the drama, with which we should be disposed to identify it if the characters of the prologue and epilogue were introduced as _dramatis personae_ in action. but their doing and enduring are presupposed as accomplished facts, and employed merely as a foil to the dialogues, which alone are the work of the author. perhaps the least erroneous way succinctly to describe what in fact is a _unicum_ would be to call it a psychological drama. koheleth, or the preacher, is likewise a literary puzzle which for centuries has baffled the efforts of commentators and aroused the misgivings of theologians. regarded by many as a _vade mecum_ of materialists, by some as an eloquent sermon on the fear of god, and by others as a summary of sceptical philosophy, it is impossible to analyse and classify it without having first eliminated all those numerous later-date insertions which, without improving the author's theology, utterly obscure his meaning and entirely spoil his work. when, by the aid of text criticism, we have succeeded in weeding it of the parasitic growth of ages, we have still to allow for the changing of places of numerous authentic passages either by accident or design, the effects of which are oftentimes quite as misleading as those of the deliberate interpolations. the work thus restored, although one, coherent and logical, is still susceptible of various interpretations, according to the point of view of the reader, none of which, however, can ignore the significant fact that the sceptically ideal basis of koheleth's metaphysics is identical with that of buddha, kant, and schopenhauer, and admirably harmonises with the ethics of job and the pessimism of the new testament. the sayings of agur, on the contrary, tell their own interesting story, without need of note or commentary, to him who possesses a fair knowledge of hebrew grammar, and an average allowance of mother wit. the lively versifier, the keenness of whose sense of humour is excelled only by the bitterness of his satire, could ill afford to be obscure. a member of the literary fraternity which boasts the names of lucian and voltaire, a firm believer in the force of common sense and rudimentary logic, agur ridicules the theologians of his day with a malicious cruelty which is explained, if not warranted, by the pretensions of omniscience and the practice of intolerance that provoked it. the unanswerable argument which jahveh considered sufficient to silence his servant job, agur deems effective against the dogmatical doctors of his own day: "who has ascended into heaven and come down again? * * * * * such an one would i question about god: what is his name?" footnotes: [2] job and ecclesiastes were inserted in the jewish and, one may add, the christian canon, solely on the strength of passages which the authors of these compositions never even saw, and which flatly contradict the main theses of their works. * * * * * the problem of the poem purged of all later interpolations and restored as far as possible to the form it received from the hand of its author, the poem of job is the most striking presentation of the most obscure and fascinating problem that ever puzzled and tortured the human intellect: how to reconcile the existence of evil, not merely with the fundamental dogmas of the ancient jewish faith, but with any form of theism whatever. stated in the terms in which the poet--whom for convenience sake we shall identify with his hero[3] manifestly conceived it, it is this: can god be the creator of all things and yet not be responsible for evil? the infinite being who laid the earth's foundation, "shut in the sea with doors," whose voice is thunder and whose creatures are all things that have being, is, we trust, moral and good. but it is his omnipotence that strikes us most forcibly. almighty in theory, he is all active in fact, and nothing that happens in the universe is brought about even indirectly by any one but himself. there are no second causes at work, no chance, no laws of nature, no subordinate agents, nothing that is not the immediate manifestation of his free will.[4] this is evident to our senses. but what is equally obvious is that his acts do not tally with his attribute of goodness, and that no facts known or imaginable can help us to bridge over the abyss between the infinite justice ascribed to him and the crying wrongs that confront us in his universe, whithersoever we turn.[5] his rule is such a congeries of evils that even the just man often welcomes death as a release, and job himself with difficulty overcame the temptation to end his sufferings by suicide. all the cut-and-dried explanations of god's conduct offered by his human advocates merely render the problem more complicated. his professional apologists are "weavers of lies," and contend for him "with deception," and, worse than all else, he himself has never revealed to his creatures any truth more soothing than the fact they set out with, that the problem is for ever insoluble. wisdom "is hid from the eyes of all living,"[6] and the dead are in "the land of darkness and of gloom,"[7] whence there is no issue. the theological views prevalent in the days of the poet, as expounded by the three friends of job, instead of suggesting some way out of the difficulty were in flagrant contradiction with fact. they appealed to the traditional theory and insisted on having that accepted as the reality. and it was one of the saddest theories ever invented. virtue was at best a mere matter of business, one of the crudest forms of utilitarianism, a bargain between jahveh and his creatures. as asceticism in ancient india was rewarded with the spiritual gift of working miracles, so upright living was followed in judea by material wealth, prosperity, a numerous progeny and all the good things that seem to make life worth living. such at least was the theory, and those who were satisfied with their lot had little temptation to find fault with it for the sake of those who were not. in sober reality, however, the obligation was very one-sided: jahveh, who occasionally failed to carry out his threats, observed or repudiated his solemn promises as he thought fit, whereas those among his creatures who faithfully fulfilled their part of the contract were never sure of receiving their stipulated wage in the promised coin. and at that time none other was current: there was no future life looming in the dim distance with intensified rewards and punishments wherewith to redress the balance of this. and it sadly needed redressing. the victims of seeming injustice naturally felt that they were being hardly dealt with. and as if to make confusion worse confounded, their neighbours, who had ridden roughshod over all law, human and divine, were frequently exempt from misfortune, lived on the fat of the land, and enjoyed a monopoly of the divine blessings. to job, whose consciousness of his own righteousness was clearer and less questionable than the justice of his creator, this theory of retribution seemed unworthy of belief. the creation of this good god, then, is largely leavened with evil for which--all things being the work of his hands--he, and he alone, is answerable. there was no devil in those olden times upon whose broad shoulders the responsibility for sickness, suffering, misery and death could be conveniently shifted. the satan or adversary is still one of the sons of god who, like all his brethren, has free access to the council chamber of the most high, where he is wont to take a critical, somewhat cynical but not wholly incorrect view of motives and of men. in the government of the world he has neither hand nor part, and his interference in the affairs of job is the result of a special permission accorded him by the creator. god alone is the author of good _and of evil_,[8] and the thesis to be demonstrated by his professional apologists consists in showing that the former is the outflow of his mercy, and the latter the necessary effect of his justice acting upon the depraved will of his creatures. but the proof was not forthcoming. personal suffering might reasonably be explained in many cases as the meet and inevitable wage for wrong-doing; but assuredly not in all. job himself was a striking instance of unmerited punishment. even jahveh solemnly declares him to be just and perfect; and job was admittedly no solitary exception; he was the type of a numerous class of righteous, wronged and wretched mortals, unnamed and unknown: "omnes illacrymabiles.... ignotique longa nocte, carent quia vate sacro." job is ready to admit that god, no doubt, is just and good in theory, but he cannot dissemble the obvious fact that his works in the universe are neither; indeed, if we may judge the tree by its fruits, his _régime_ is the rule of an oriental and almighty despot whose will and pleasure is the sole moral law. and that will is too often undistinguishable from malice of the blackest kind. thus "he destroyeth the upright and the wicked, when his scourge slayeth at unawares. he scoffeth at the trial of the innocent; the earth is given into the hand of the wicked." in a word, the poet proclaims that the current theories of traditional theology were disembodied, not incarnate in the moral order of the world, had, in fact, nowhere taken root. the two most specious arguments with which it was sought to prop up this tottering theological system consisted in maintaining that the wicked are often punished and the good recompensed in their offspring--a kind of spiritual entail in which the tenant for life is denied the usufruct for the sake of heirs he never knew--and that such individual claims as were left unadjusted by this curious arrangement were merged in those of the community at large and should be held to be settled in full as long as the weal of the nation was assured. in other words, the individual sows and his offspring or the nation reaps the harvest. but job rejects both pleas as illusory and immoral, besides which, they leave the frequent prosperity of the unrighteous unexplained. "wherefore," he asks, "do the wicked live, become old, yea wax mighty in strength?" the reply that the fathers having eaten sour grapes, the children's teeth will be set on edge, is, he contends, no answer to the objection; it merely intensifies it. for he who sows should reap, and he who sins should suffer. after death the most terrible punishment meted out to the posterity of criminals is powerless to affect their mouldering dust. that, surely, cannot be accepted as a vindication of justice, human or divine. "ye say: god hoards punishment for the children. let him rather requite the wicked himself that he may feel it! his own eyes should behold his downfall, and he himself should drain the almighty's wrath. if his sons are honoured, he will not know it; and if dishonoured, he will not perceive it. only in his own flesh doth he feel pain, and for his own soul will he lament." as to the latter argument, that the well-being of the nation was a settlement in full of the individual's claims to happiness, it was equally irrelevant, even had the principle underlying it been confirmed by experience. granting that a certain wholesale kind of equity was administered, why must the individual suffer for no fault of his own? wherein lies the justice of a being who, credited with omnipotence, permits that by a sweep of the wild hurricane of disaster, "green leaves with yellow mixed are torn away"? but the contention that, viewing the individual merely as a unit of the aggregate, justice would be found to be dealt out fairly on the whole, ran counter to experience. the facts were dead against it. the hebrew nation had fared as badly among neighbouring states as job among his friends and countrymen. in this respect the sorely tried individual was the type of his nation. the destruction of the kingdom of samaria which had occurred nearly two hundred years before and the captivity of judah, which was not yet at an end, gave its death-blow to the theory. "the tents of robbers prosper and they that provoke shaddai[9] are secure." in truth, there was but one issue out of the difficulty: divine justice might not be bounded by time or space; the law of compensation might have a larger field than our earth for its arena; a future life might afford "time" and opportunity to right the wrongs of the present, and all end well in the best of future worlds. this explanation would have set doubts at rest and settled the question for at least two thousand years; and it seemed such a necessary postulate to the fathers of the church, who viewed the matter in the light of christian revelation, that they actually put into job's mouth the words which he would have uttered had he lived in their own days and been a member of the true fold. and they effected this with a pious recklessness of artistic results and of elementary logic that speaks better for their intentions than for their aesthetic taste. in truth, job knows absolutely nothing of a future life, and his friends, equally unenlightened, see nothing for it but to "discourse wickedly for god," and "utter lies on his behalf."[10] there was, in fact, no third course. indeed, if the hero or his friends had even suspected the possibility of a solution based upon a life beyond the tomb, the problem on which the book is founded would not have existed. to ground, therefore, the doctrines of the resurrection, the atonement, &c., upon alleged passages of the poem of job is tantamount to inferring the squareness of a circle from its perfect rotundity. in the authorised version of the bible the famous verses, which have probably played a more important part in the intellectual history of mankind than all the books of the old testament put together, run thus: "for i know _that_ my redeemer liveth, and _that_ he shall stand at the latter _day_ upon the earth: and _though_ after my skin _worms_ destroy this _body_, yet in my flesh shall i see god: whom i shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another; _though_ my reins be consumed within me."[11] now this, it is hardly necessary to say, is not a translation from the poem nor from any known text of it, but the embodiment of the salutary beliefs of well-intentioned theologians--of st. jerome among others-momentarily forgetful of the passage: "will ye speak wickedly for god?" the christian conception of a redeemer would, had he but known it, have proved balm to the heart of the despairing hero. as a matter of mere fact, his own hope at that critical moment was less sublime and very much less christian: the coming of an avenger who would punish his enemies and rehabilitate his name. it was the one worldly and vain longing that still bound him to the earth. other people demanded happiness as their reward for virtue, too often undistinguishable from vice; job challenged the express approval of the deity, asked only that he should not be confounded with vulgar sinners. the typical perfect man, struck down with a loathsome disease, doomed to a horrible death, alone in his misery, derided by his enemies, and, worse than all, loathed as a common criminal by those near and dear to him, gives his friends and enemies, society and theologians, the lie emphatic--nay, he goes the length of affirming that god himself has, failed in his duty towards him. "know, then, that god hath wronged me."[12] his conscience, however, tells him that inasmuch as there is such a thing as eternal justice, a time will come when the truth will be proclaimed and his honour fully vindicated; shaddai will then yearn for the work of his hands, but it will be too late, "for now i must lay myself down in the dust; and thou shalt seek me, but i shall not be." and it is to this conviction, not to a belief in future retribution, that the hero gives utterance in the memorable passage in question: "but i know that my avenger liveth, though it be at the end upon my dust; my witness will avenge these things, and a curse alight upon mine enemies." he knows nothing whatever of the subsistence of our cumbrous clods of clay after they have become the food of worms and pismires; indeed, he is absolutely certain that by the sleep of death "we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to." and he emphasises his views in a way that should have given food for wholesome reflection to his commentators. "there is a future for the tree, and hope remaineth to the palm; cut down, it will sprout again, and its tender branch will not cease. "though its roots wax old in the earth, and its stock lie buried in mould, yet through vapour of water will it bud, and put forth boughs like a plant. "but man dieth and lieth outstretched; he giveth up the ghost, where is he then? he lieth down and riseth not up; till heaven be no more he shall not awake."[13] nothing could well be further removed from the comforting hope of a future life, the resurrection of the body, and eternal rewards, than this unshaken belief that death is our sole redeemer from the terrible evils of life. footnotes: [3] although the former was a jew and the latter a gentile. [4] _cf._ translation, strophe ci.: "is not the soul of every living thing in his hand, and the breath of all mankind?" strophe civ.: "with him is strength and wisdom, the erring one and his error are his." [5] strophe cxcii.-cxciii.: "look upon me and tremble, and lay your hand upon your mouth! when i remember i am dismayed, and trembling taketh hold on my flesh." strophe ccxxi.: "why do the times of judgment depend upon the almighty, and yet they who know him do not see his days? [6] strophe ccxxxiv. [7] strophe lxxxix. [8] "the erring one and his error are his" (god's): strophe civ. _cf_. also strophe cvii. [9] god. [10] strophe cxi. [11] job xix. 25-27. the revised version gives the passage as follows: "but i know that my redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand up at the last upon the earth: and after my skin hath been thus destroyed, yet from my flesh shall i see god: whom i shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another." [12] strophe clxix. [13] job, strophes cxxiv.-cxxvi. of my english translation. * * * * * job's method of solving the problem it is perhaps hardly necessary to point out that the doctrine of eternal pains and rewards as laid down by the christian church, unless reinforced by faith, neither solves the problem nor simplifies it. if the truth must be told, it seems to unenlightened reason to entangle it more hopelessly than before. in simple terms and in its broadest aspect the question may be stated as follows: god created man under conditions of his own choosing which necessarily led to the life-long misery of countless millions upon earth and their never-ending torments in hell. to the question, did he know the inevitable effect of his creative act, the answer is, god is omniscient. to the query, could he have selected other and more humane conditions of existence for his creature--conditions so adjusted that, either with or without probation, man would have been ultimately happy? the reply is, god is almighty. involuntarily, then, the question forces itself upon us, is he all-good? can that being be deemed good who, moved by no necessity, free to create or to abstain from creating, at liberty to create for happiness or for misery, calls mankind into existence under such conditions and surroundings that myriads are miserable, so unutterably miserable, that, compared with their tortures, the wretch bleeding and quivering on the wheel is lolling in the lap of enjoyment? why did god make man under such conditions? or at least how are we to reconcile his having done so with his attribute of goodness? to this question there are many replies but no answer, the former being merely attempts to explain the chronic effects of the primordial ethical poison commonly called original sin. job's main objection to the theological theories in vogue among his contemporaries, and, indeed, to all conceivable explanations of the difficulty, is far more weighty than at first sight appears. everything, he tells us--if anything--is the work of god's hands; and as pain, suffering, evil, are everywhere predominant, it is not easy to understand in what sense god can be said to be good. the poet does not formulate the argument, of which this is the gist, in very precise terms, nor press it home to its last conclusions. but he leaves no doubt about his meaning. some men are relatively good by nature, others wicked; but all men were created by god and act in accordance with the disposition they received from him. if that disposition or character brought forth sin and evil, these then are god's work, not man's, and he alone is responsible therefor. the individual who performs an act through an agent is rightly deemed to have done it himself. a man, therefore, who, being free to do a certain thing or to leave it undone, and perfectly aware of the nature of its necessary consequences, performs it, is held to be answerable for the results, should they prove mischievous. much greater is his responsibility if, instead of being restricted to the choice between undertaking a work certain to prove pernicious and abstaining from it, he was free to select a third course and to accomplish it in such a way that the result would not be evil, but unmixed good. in this case it would hardly seem possible to exonerate the doer from a charge of wanton malice, diabolic in degree. and such is the position in which many theologians seem--to those who view things in the light of reason--to have placed god himself. it was open to him, they maintain, to create or to refrain from creating. having declared for the former alternative, he is chargeable with the consequences. the consequences, however, need not have been evil; he might, had he so willed it, have endowed his creature with such qualities and placed him in such surroundings that, without ceasing to be man, he would never have fallen at all. yet it did not please him to adopt that course. this admission, rationalists urge, is conclusive as to the origin of sin and evil. but the arguments are not yet exhausted. even then the creator might have made everything right by an act which it seems impossible to distinguish from elementary justice. had he regarded the first man who brought sin into the world as a mere individual, and treated him as such--and this, theologians assure us, he could easily have done[14]--he might have punished him as an individual, and the matter would have been at an end. but instead of this, he contemplated him as the type and representative of the human race, and decreed that his sin should, like a subtle spiritual poison, infect the soul of every man coming into the world. in other words, god, who is supposed to hate evil so profoundly that he damns for ever in hell a man guilty of one single "mortal" transgression, enacted that if one sin were committed it should be needlessly made to engender myriads of other sins, and that the tiny seed of evil which was first thrown upon the earth by his creature in a moment of pardonable weakness, and might have so easily been trampled out, should take root, sprout up and grow into a vast upas tree whose poisonous branches overshadow all creation. this proposition, it is contended, explicitly taxes god, if not with the sole authorship of sin and evil, at least with the moral responsibility for propagating it. and this is the prevailing view among modern apologists. as to the origin of evil, it is to be sought for, theologians have discovered, in the free will with which god endowed man. this, they allege, shifts all the responsibility on the human creature because, instead of evil, he might have chosen good. unfortunately, the same argument would seem to apply to the creator himself.[15] he, too, being omnipotent, might have chosen good instead of evil subjects, and created human beings whose acts would have been blameless and virtuous, their will remaining what it is. further, not having done this and having needlessly allowed an abyss to be made by sin between himself and the first man, it was still open to him to have abstained from widening it until it became an impassable gulf between himself and the entire human race. but he did not abstain; instead of localising, he deliberately and wantonly spread the evil, and the ruin that overwhelmed all mankind cannot therefore be said to have sprung from the will of the race, but from his own. again, the interposition of a free will between god and evil, it is urged, affords no real solution of the problem, for the question still remains, why were the workings of that free will evil and not good? obviously because such was its god-created nature; for the action of outward circumstances upon the will neither builds up nor modifies this nature, but simply discloses it to our view. these ideas were adopted, developed and defended by a few of the most profound christian philosophers of the early church, and most ably of all by scotus erigena,[16] who held that the origin of evil which cannot be sought for in god must not be placed _in the free will of man_, because the latter hypothesis would still leave the responsibility with the creator, the human will being his own handiwork. at the root of this argument lies yet another consideration upon which unbelieving thinkers rely still more: it is drawn from the alleged incompatibility between the conception of a created being and free will, and will be noticed presently. it is commonly regarded as the principal difficulty which theists and pantheists are condemned continually to encounter without ever being able to explain--the rock, so to say, upon which their optimistic systems strike, and are shattered to pieces--unless protected by the armour of supernatural faith. but besides the christian and pantheistic theories, there is another explanation of the origin of evil offered by the religion of more than one-third of the human race. it is a theory which can readily be labelled and libelled by the most unphilosophical reader, but cannot be grasped and appreciated without serious study and reflection by the most intelligent, for it is based upon the doctrine that time, space and causality have no existence outside the human mind.[17] the world which we see and know, therefore, and everything it contains is "such stuff as dreams are made of"--the woof and warp being evolved from, and interwoven by, our own minds. underlying the innumerable illusive appearances which we call the world is a reality, a being or force which is one. we and everything else are but manifestations, in time and space, of this one reality with which, however, each and every one of us is at bottom identical and whose sole attribute is unity. this force or will manifests itself in myriads of facets, so to say, in the universe, and these manifestations are not good, constitute, indeed, a sort of fall. intelligence is not one of the primary attributes of this eternal will. it attained to clear consciousness and knowledge only in man and then for the first time perceived that the existence for which it yearned is evil and not good. man therefore is his own work; and existence, as it constitutes a fall, is its own punishment; for his life is a series of inane desires which, when momentarily satiated, are immediately succeeded by others equally vain, fruitless and hollow, and the cessation of desire is the beginning of tedium which is oftentimes still less endurable, seeing that it leaves little room for hope. "life which ye prize is long-drawn agony; only its pains abide, its pleasures are as birds which light and fly." every wish springs from want which causes pain, the attainment of the wished-for object--commonly called pleasure--is but the cessation of that pain: in other words it is a mere negation. man's life is a never-ending oscillation between pleasure and pain: the former mere illusion, the latter a dread reality. the origin of this and of all other evil is individual existence, and individual existence is the free act of the one substance or force which is identical with each and all of us. this theory excludes creation. for free will is utterly incompatible with the state of a created being;[18] because _operari sequitur esse_--_i.e._, the operation, the working of every being, must be the necessary result of its qualities which are themselves known only by the acts they bring forth. if these acts be praiseworthy, the qualities are good: if reprehensible, they are bad. but if the acts are to be free, they should be neither good nor bad. a being therefore to be perfectly free should have no qualities at all--_i.e._, should not be created. for it must be borne in mind that it is not the motives that impart to the will its ethical quality. motives are accidental and operate in the same way as the rays of the sun falling upon a tree or a flower: they reveal the nature of the object but are powerless to change it, for better or for worse.[19] but if this be so, one may ask, why do we feel sorrow, shame, repentance for acts which we were not free to perform or abstain from performing? because we are "metaphysically" free, that is to say, our inborn disposition from which they necessarily emanate, is the work of our free will, which specific acts are not. no doubt, when we do right or wrong, we are conscious that we might have acted differently--_had we willed it_. but this proves nothing; the all-important question being, could we, under the circumstances, have willed otherwise than we did? and to this the reply is an emphatic negative. but for our personal character, be it good or evil, we are answerable, and therefore likewise for the acts that flow from it with the rigorous necessity characteristic of all causality. for individuality in the human race is identical with character, and as individuality is the work of our own free will exercised outside the realm of time and space, we are responsible for it, and conscious of the responsibility, although not of the manner in which it was incurred. our acts, therefore, and they only, show us what we really are; our sufferings what we deserve. the former are the necessary outcome of our character which external circumstances, in the guise of motives, call into play; just as gravitation is acted upon when we shake an apple off the tree. our deeds then being the inevitable resultant of that self-created character acted upon by motives, must consequently follow with the same necessity as any other link in the chain of cause and effect. the knowledge of our character and the foreknowledge of these outward events which, in the unbroken chain of cause and effect, act upon it, would suffice to enable us to foresee our future as readily as astronomers foresee eclipses of the sun and moon. now if the root of all evil be individuality, the essence of all morality is self-denial; and no act performed for the purpose of obtaining happiness, temporal or eternal, is moral. the evil and pain, therefore, which befall us upon earth cannot be regarded as the retribution for the deeds done in this life; for these are necessary and inevitable. they are the fruits of our character whence these acts emanate; and it is only our character which is our own work. with the ethical nature of that character each individual gradually grows acquainted as well in his own case as in that of his neighbour's, solely from a study of his own acts, which often astonish himself quite as much as his friends. brahmanism and buddhism symbolized these notions in the somewhat gross but only intelligible form in which the mind can readily grasp them, viz., in the dogma of the transmigration of souls, according to which a man's good deeds and bad follow him like his shadow from one existence to another, and in this life he expiates the sins or enjoys the fruits of a previous existence:[20] "each man's life the outcome of his former living is; the bygone wrongs bring forth sorrows and woes, the bygone right breeds bliss. "that which ye sow ye reap. see yonder fields! the sesamum was sesamum, the corn was corn. the silence and the darkness knew! so is man's fate born." in the former religion, brahma, who is identical with all of us, produces the world by a kind of fall from his primeval state and remains therein until he has redeemed himself. in the latter there is no god; man being his own handiwork and sin and evil the result of his blind striving after individual existence. it is however in his power, and in his alone, to right the wrong and remedy the evil, by starving out the fatal hunger for life. and in this work, faith, supplication and sacrifice avail him nothing. "pray not! the darkness will not brighten! ask nought from the silence, for it cannot speak! vex not your mournful minds with pious pains! ah, brothers, sisters! seek naught from the helpless gods by gift and hymn, nor bribe with blood, nor feed with fruits and cake; within yourself deliverance must be sought: each man his prison makes." the ethical bearing of this view is more easily discerned than its metaphysical basis. individual existence with its tantalising mirage of pleasures being the root of all evil, the first step towards finding a remedy is to recognise this truth, to obtain insight into the heart of things athwart the veil of maya or delusion. the conviction that all beings are not merely brothers but one and the same essence, is the death of egotistic desire, of the pernicious distinction between me and thee, and the birth of pity, love and sympathy for all men. and this is a very old doctrine. in india it was taught in the veda and the vedanta under the formula _tat tvam asi_--thou art this--_i.e._, individual differs not essentially from individual, nor a man from the whole human race. he who obtains this insight and perceives how sorrow is shadow to life, who weans his thirst for existence, seeks not, strives not, wrongs not, starves out his passions, resigns himself wholly to pain and suffering as to "ills that flow from foregone wrongfulness" and asks for no clue from the silence which can utter naught, he is truly blessed and released from all misery forever. he glides "lifeless to nameless quiet, nameless joy, blessed nirvana." it is probable, not to say certain, that it was an intuition of this kind that finally reconciled job with the grey monotony of misery and seeming injustice which characterises all human existence and enabled him to resign himself cheerfully to whatever might befall. this at least would seem to be the only reasonable construction of which jahveh's apparition and discourse are susceptible. that they are resorted to by the poet solely as an image and symbol of the inner illumination of his hero's intellect, is evident to most readers. nothing that jahveh has to disclose to job and his three friends even remotely resembles a clue to the problem that exercised them. the human mind would be unable to grasp a solution if any existed, for it possesses no forms in which to apprehend it. this will soon become apparent even to the non-philosophical reader who endeavours to _reason_ about a state in which time, space, _and causality_ have no existence. but there is no solution. jahveh virtually asks, as buddha had asked before: "shall any gazer see with mortal eyes, or any searcher know with mortal mind? veil after veil will lift--but there must be veil upon veil behind." unless we assume some such sudden illumination of the mind as buddha obtained under the shadow of the fig-tree and the author of the 73rd psalm among the ruins of the kingdom of juda, it is impossible to account for job's unforeseen and entire resignation, or to bring his former defiant utterances into harmony with the humble sentiments to which he now gives expression. for nothing but his mind had meanwhile undergone a change. all the elements of the problem remained what they were. the evils that had fired his indignation were not denied by their presumptive author, nor was any explanation of them vouchsafed to him. no remedy was promised in this life, no hope held out of redress in a possible world to come. on the contrary, jahveh confirms the terrible facts alleged by his servant; he admits that pleasure and pain are not the meed of deeds done upon earth, and that the explanation we seek, the light we so wistfully long for, will never come; for human existence is not a dark spot in an ocean of dazzling splendour, but a will'-o'-the-wisp that merely intensifies the murkiness of everlasting night. moreover, job was detached from the world already. he had overcome all his passions and kept even his legitimate affections under control. he had no word of regret on losing his cattle, his possessions, his children. during his most exquisite sufferings, he declared that he held only to his good name. this, too, he now gives up and demanding nothing, avers that he is satisfied. "i resign and console myself. though it be in dust and ashes." complete detachment from existence, and not for the sake of some other and better existence (for there is none) is the practical outcome of job's intuition. but in a god-created world made for the delectation of mankind, to forego its pleasures would be to offend the creator, if indeed stark madness could kindle his ire. but to curb one's thirst for life and to spurn its joys because one holds them to be the tap root of all evil, is an action at once intelligible and wise. and this is what job evidently does when he practises difficult virtues and undergoes terrible sufferings without the consciousness of past guilt or the faintest hope of future recompense. as buddha taught his followers: "when the disciple has lost all doubt as to the reality of suffering; when his doubts as to the origin of suffering are dispelled; when he is no longer uncertain as to the possibility of annihilating suffering and when he hesitates no more about the way that leads to the annihilation of suffering: then is he called a holy disciple, one who is in the stream that floweth onwards to perfection, one who is delivered from evil, who is guaranteed, who is devoted to the highest truth."[21] footnotes: [14] one of the best accredited exponents of this theory, which is now generally accepted by catholic divines, is father (now cardinal) mazella. [15] and job more than once applies it. [16] _cf._ editio princeps, oxford, 1681, p. 287. [17] many pious christians who scoff at such emotions, without endeavouring to understand them, would do well to remember that whatever truth there is in the dogma of the immorality of the soul, is dependant upon this proposition, that time, space, and the law of casuality have no real existence whatever, but are merely the furniture of the human mind--the forms in which it apprehends. as time exists only in our consciousness, and as beginning and end can take place only in time, they can affect only our consciousness, which ends in death, but not our souls, which are distinct from mind and consciousness. [18] job, who rejected all secondary causes whatever, could not in logic, and did not in fact, believe in free will as it is commonly understood in our days. [19] _cf_. matt. xii. 33-35. [20] even the bible is not wholly devoid of traces of the same symbol employed to convey the same ideas; _cf._ matt. xi. 14, john ix. 2, for the new testament, and ps. xc. 3 for the old. the apparent inner absurdity of the doctrine of the transmigration of souls arises mainly from our inability to grasp and realise the two propositions which it presupposes--viz., that there is no such thing as time outside of the human mind, and therefore no past or future; and, secondly, that soul is but individualised will momentarily illumined by the intellect which is a function of the brain. metempsychosis was originally no more than a symbol. [21] "samyuttaka-nikayo," vol. iii. chap. iii. p. 24. _cf._ dr. k. e. neumann's "buddhistische anthologie," leiden, 1892, p. 204. * * * * * date of the composition the question which frequently exercised the ingenuity of former commentators, whether the poem of job is the work of one or of many authors, has no longer any actuality. it is absolutely certain that the book, as we find it in the authorised version, and even in the best hebrew manuscripts, is a mosaic put together by a number of writers widely differing in their theological views and separated from each other by whole centuries; and it is equally undoubted that, restored to its original form, it is "a poem round and perfect as a star"--the masterpiece of one of the most gifted artists of his own or any age. to the inquiry where he lived and wrote, numerous tentative replies have been offered but no final answer. to many he is the last of the venerable race of patriarchs, and his verse the sweet, sublime lisping of a childlike nature, disporting itself in the glorious morning of the world.[22] this, however, is but a pretty fancy, which will not stand the ordeal of scientific criticism, nor even the test of a careful common-sense examination. the broader problems that interest thinking minds of a late and reflective age, the profounder feelings and more ambitious aspirations of manhood and maturity, are writ large in every verse of the poem. the lyre gives out true, full notes, which there is no mistaking. the hero is evidently a travelled cosmopolitan, who has outgrown the narrow prejudices of petty patriotism and national religious creeds to such an extent that he studiously eschews the use of the revealed name of the god of his people, and seems to believe at most in a far-away and incomprehensible divinity who sometimes merges into fate. in the god of theologians he had no faith. his comforters, who from the uttermost ends of the earth meet together in a most unpatriarchal manner to discuss the higher problems of philosophy, allude to the views in vogue in the patriarchal age as to traditions of bygone days before the influence of foreign invaders had tainted the purity of the national faith; and passages like xii. 17, xv. 19, seem to point to the captivity of the hebrew people as an accomplished fact. in a word, the strict monotheism of the hero, which at times borders upon half-disguised secularism, has nothing in common with the worship of the patriarchs except the absence of priests and the lack of ceremonies. the language of the poem, flavoured by a strong mixture of arabic and aramaic words and phrases, and the frequent use of imagery borrowed from babylonian mythology, to say nothing of a number of other signs and tokens of a comparatively late age, render the patriarchal hypothesis absolutely untenable.[23] this, at least, is one of the few results of modern research about which there is perfect unanimity among all competent scholars. if the date of the composition of job cannot be fixed with any approach to accuracy, there are at least certain broad limits within which it is agreed on all hands that it should be placed. this period is comprised between the prophetic activity of jeremiah and the second half of the babylonian exile. the considerations upon which this opinion is grounded are drawn mainly, if not exclusively, from authentic passages of job which the author presumably borrowed from other books of the old testament. thus a comparison of the verses in which the hero curses the day of his birth[24] with an identical malediction in jeremiah (xx. 14-15), and of the respective circumstances in which each was written, leads to the conviction that the borrower was not the prophet whose writings must therefore have been familiar to the poet. this conclusion is confirmed by a somewhat far-fetched but none the less valid argument drawn from the circumstance that ezekiel,[25] who would probably have known the poem had it existed in his day, obviously never heard of it; for this prophet, broaching the question, apparently for the first time among his countrymen, as to the justice of human suffering, denies point blank that any man endures unmerited pain,[26] and affirms in emphatic terms that to each one shall be meted out reward or punishment according to his works.[27] and this he could hardly have done had he been aware of the fact that the contradictory proposition was vouched for by no less an authority than jahveh himself. again, it is highly probable, although one would hardly be justified in stating it as an established fact, that certain striking poetic images clothed in the same form of words in job and in the second isaiah,[28] are the coinage of the rich imagination of the latter,[29] from whose writings they must consequently have been taken by the author of job. if this assumption be correct, and it is considerably strengthened by collateral evidence, we should have no choice but to assign to the composition of the poem a date later than that of the second isaiah who wrote between 546 and 535 b.c. the ingenious and learned german critic, dr. cornill, holds it to be no less than two or three hundred years younger still, and bases his opinion principally upon the last verse of the last chapter of the book of job, where the expression (job died) "old and full of days," is, in his opinion, borrowed from the priests' code. it is, however, needless to analyse this argument, seeing that the verse in question was wanting in the septuagint[30] version, and must therefore be held to be a later addition. another question, once a sure test of orthodoxy, the discussion of which has become equally superfluous to-day, is to what extent the narrative is based upon historical facts. the second council of constantinople solemnly condemned theodore, bishop of mopsuestia, one of the most enlightened fathers of the church, for having advanced the opinion that the story of job was a pious fiction and the doctrine it embodies irreconcileable with orthodoxy. it would be rash to say what conclusion a council sitting at the end of the nineteenth century would be likely to arrive at. but it would hardly find fault with the majority of contemporary critics who hold that the prologue and epilogue, which are in prose and contain in outline the popular legend of job, were anterior to the colloquies between the hero and his friends, bear in fact the same relation to the poem that the mediaeval legend of johan faustus does to the masterpiece of goethe. and it was to the popular legend, not to the poem, that ezekiel alluded in the passage in which he instances job as the type of the just man. but one must needs be endowed with a strong and child-like faith to accept, in the light of ancient history and modern science, as sober facts the familiar conversation between jahveh and the adversary in the council-chamber of heaven, the sudden intervention of the latter in the life of job, the ease with which he breaks through the chain of causality and bends even the human will to his purpose, the indecent haste with which he overwhelms the just man with a torrent of calamities in the course of one short day, the apparition of jahveh in a storm-cloud, and many other equally improbable details. improbability, however, is the main feature of all miracles; and faith need not be dismayed even by the seemingly impossible. in any case where it is hopeless to convince, it is needless to discuss, and if there still be readers to whose appreciation of the poem belief in its historical truth is absolutely indispensable, it would be cruel to seek to spoil or even lessen their enjoyment of one of the most sublime creations known to any literature of the world. footnotes: [22] one of the main grounds for this opinion is the absolute ignorance of the mosaic law manifested by the author of job. the line of reasoning is that he must have been either a jew--and in that case have lived before or simultaneously with moses--or else an arab, like his hero, and have written the work in arabic, moses himself probably doing it into hebrew. to a hebrew scholar this sounds as plausible as would the thesis, to one well versed in greek, that the iliad is but a translation from the sanscrit. the talmud makes job now a contemporary of david and solomon, now wholly denies his existence. jerome, and some roman catholic theologians of to-day, identify the author of the poem with moses himself, a view in favour of which not a shred of argument can be adduced. _cf._ loisy, "le livre de job," paris, 1892, p. 37; reuss, "hiob.," braunschweig, 1888, pp. 8 ff. [23] the subject of the date and place of composition has been treated by cornill, "einleitung in das alte testament," 235 fol., by prof. duhm, "the book of job" (_cf._ "the new world," june, 1894), and others. but the most lucid, masterly, and dispassionate discussion of the subject is to be found in prof. cheyne's "job and solomon," chaps. viii.-xii. [24] job a.v. iii. 3-10. [25] 592-572 b.c. [26] ezek. xviii. 2, 3. [27] _ibid._ 4-9. [28] "the second isaiah" is the name now usually given to the unknown author of one of the sublimest books of the old testament, viz., chaps, xl.-lxvi. of the work commonly attributed to isaiah. it was composed most probably between 546 and 535 b.c. [29] they may be found by referring to the parallel passages given in the margin of the authorised version of job; for instance, chap. xiv. one example may suffice: in the second isaiah, xl. 6-8, we read "the voice said, cry. and he said, what shall i cry? all flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof _is_ as the flower of the field: the grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the lord bloweth upon it: surely the people _is_ grass. the grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our god shall stand for ever." in job we find the winged word embodied in the verse 2, chap. xiv. a.v. (strophe cxxi.). man that is born of a woman, poor in days and rich in trouble; he cometh forth as a flower and fadeth, he fleeth like a shadow and abideth not. [30] for the value of the testimony of the septuagint, _cf_. following chapter. * * * * * the text and its reconstruction our authorised version of job is based upon the text handed down to us in existing hebrew manuscripts and upon jerome's latin translation. none of the manuscripts, the most important of which are those of the vatican,[31] of alexandria[32] and of sinai,[33] go further back than the fourth century a.d. and some of the modifications, made by jerome in the latin translation, particularly in chap. xxi. 25-27, into which he introduces the christian idea of the resurrection, were not based upon the various readings of the codices, but inspired by a pious desire to render the work more edifying. as our hebrew manuscripts are all derived from a single copy which was probably contemporaneous with the reign of the emperor hadrian,[34] the words and the corrections of which they reproduce with chinese scrupulosity, the utmost we can expect from them is to supply us with the text as it existed at that relatively late age. the comparative indifference that reigned before that time as to the purity of the text of the most important books of the canon, and the utter carelessness with which down to the first century of the christian era the manuscripts of the hagiographa[35] were treated, render it highly probable that long before the reign of hadrian the poem of job had undergone many and serious modifications. the ease with which words written with consonants only, many of which resembled each other, were liable to be interchanged, strengthens this probability; while a detailed study of the various manuscripts and translations transforms it into certainty. the parallel passages alone of almost any of the books of the old testament yield a rich harvest of divergences. but involuntary errors of the copyists are insufficient to explain all the bewildering changes which disfigure many of the books of the sacred scriptures. the gradual evolution of the hebrew religion from virtual polytheism to the strictest monotheism seemed peremptorily to call for a corresponding change in the writings in which the revelation underlying it was enshrined. a later stadium of the evolution--which, of course, was never felt to be such--might naturally cause the free and easy views and lax practices which once were orthodox and universal to assume the odious form of heresy and impiety, and a laudable respect for the author of revelation was held to impose the sacred duty of bringing the documentary records of ancient practices into harmony with present theories. this was especially true of the books of job and ecclesiastes, in which not only was the general tone lacking in respect for all that the jewish community held sacred, but likewise long and eloquent passages directly called in question the truth of revelation and blasphemously criticised the attributes of the most high. gauged by the narrow standards of the jewish community,[36] some of job's most sublime outbursts of poetic passion must have seemed as impious to his contemporaries as to the theologians of our own country the "blasphemies" hurled by byron's lucifer against the "everlasting tyrant." there can be no doubt that it is to the feeling of holy horror which his plain speaking aroused in the minds of the strait-laced jews of 2400 years ago that we have to ascribe the principal and most disfiguring changes which the poem underwent at the hands of well-meaning censors. it is quite possible even now to point out, by the help of a few disjointed fragments still preserved, the position, and to divine the sense, of certain spiritful and defiant passages which, in the interest of "religion and morals," were remorselessly suppressed, to indicate others which were split up and transposed, and to distinguish many prolix discourses, feeble or powerful word-pictures and trite commonplaces which were deliberately inserted later on, for the sole purpose of toning down the most audacious piece of rationalistic philosophy which has ever yet been clothed in the music of sublime verse. the disastrous results of these corrections which were made at various times and by different persons is writ large in the present text of job as we find it in the hebrew manuscripts and our authorised version, which offer us in many places a jumble of disjointed fragments, incoherent, irrelevant or self-contradictory. in addition to common sense aided by cautious text criticism which enables us to recognise interpolations, to correct copyists' errors and occasionally even to determine the place and the tendency of expunged passages, the means at our disposal for the restoration of the poem are principally two: the laws of hebrew poetry (parallelism and metre) on the one hand, and a comparison of the hebrew text with the ancient greek translation of the septuagint,[37] on the other. a judicious use of these helps which are recognised as such even by the most conservative christians, who condemn without hearing the tried methods and least doubtful conclusions of biblical criticism, enables one to accomplish all that is now possible towards restoring the poem of job to its original form. the nature and the laws of hebrew metre, the discovery of which is indissolubly associated with the name of prof. bickell,[38] are identical with those of syriac poetry. the unit is the line, the syllables of which are numbered and accentuated, the line most frequent containing seven syllables with iambic rhythm. accentuated syllables alternate regularly with unaccentuated, whereby the penultimate has the accent; and the poetic accent always coincides with the grammatical, as in syriac poetry and in the greek verse of early christian times, the structure of which was copied from the syriac. compare for instance the following: [greek: hae parthenos saemeron ton epouranion tiktei, kai hae gae to spaelaion to aprosito parechei.] with a strophe from job: shamáti khéllä rábbot: menáchme 'amal koól' khem, hakeç ledíberé rooch? ma-yámriç'khá, ki táhnä? the second characteristic of hebrew poetry, which is occasionally to be found even in prose, is that repetition of the same thought in a slightly modified form which is commonly known as parallelism. thus, in the poem of job the second line of the strophe expresses an idea very closely resembling that embodied in the first; and the third and fourth run parallel in like manner. for instance, eliphaz, expounding the traditional teaching that the wicked man is punished in this life, says: "his offshoot shall wither before his time, and his branch shall not be green; he shall shake off his unripe grape, like the vine, and shall shed his flower, like the olive." the second important aid to emendation is a careful comparison of the hebrew text with the greek translation known as the septuagint (lxx.), which, undertaken and completed in alexandria between the beginning of the third and the close of the second century b.c., offers the first recorded instance of an entire national literature being rendered into a foreign tongue. the extrinsic value of this work is obvious from the fact that it enables us to construct a text which is centuries older than that of which all our hebrew manuscripts are servile copies, and is over a thousand years more ancient than the very oldest hebrew codices now extant.[39] not indeed that the poem of job had undergone no changes between the time of its composition and the second century b.c. on the contrary, some of the most important interpolations had already been inserted[40] and various excisions and transpositions made before the translator first took the work in hand. but at least the ground is cleared considerably, seeing that no less than four hundred verses which we now read in all our present bibles, hebrew and vernacular, were tacked on to the poem at a date subsequent to the greek translation and therefore found no place in that version. these additions may, on the faith of the septuagint, be struck out with all the less hesitation that both metre and parallelism confirm with their weighty testimony the trustworthy evidence of the orthodox translation that the strophes in question are insertions of a later date. but the value of the septuagint depends upon its greater or less immunity from those disfiguring changes which render the hebrew text incomprehensible and from which few ancient works are wholly free. and unfortunately no such immunity can be claimed for it. what happened to the original text likewise befell the greek translation. desirous of putting an end to the disputes between jews and christians as to the respective merits of the two, a proselyte from ephesus, theodotion by name, undertook to do the bible into greek anew somewhere between 180-192 a.d. the basis of his work was the septuagint, of which he changed nothing that in his opinion could stand; but at the same time he consulted the hebrew manuscripts and vainly endeavoured to effect a compromise between the two. among other innovations, he inserted in his translation the four hundred interpolated verses which, having been added to the hebrew text after it had been first rendered into greek, could not possibly have formed part of the septuagint version. later on (232-254 a.d.) origen, anxious to throw light upon the cause of the divergences between existing translations and the original text, and to provide the means of judging of the respective merits of these, undertook one of those wearisome works of industry, which later on constituted a special feature of the activity of the benedictine monks. the result of his researches was embodied in the hexapla--a book containing, in six parallel columns, the original text in hebrew and in greek letters, the greek translation by aquila, another by symmachus, the text of the septuagint edited by himself, and theodotion's version. now origen, acting upon the gratuitous assumption that the passages wanting in the septuagint had formed part of the original book of job and had been omitted by the translators solely because they failed to understand their meaning, took them from theodotion and incorporated them in his edition of the septuagint as it appeared in the hexapla, merely distinguishing them by means of asterisks. unfortunately, in the course of time these distinctive marks disappeared partially or wholly, thus depriving the old greek translation of its inestimable value as an aid to text criticism; and there remained but five manuscripts in which they were to some extent preserved.[41] until recently it was generally taken for granted by biblical scholars that there were no codices extant in the world but these five, which contained data of a nature to enable us to reconstruct the text of the septuagint. and the assistance given by these manuscripts was dubious at best, for they included the misleading additions incorporated in the text by origen, merely marking them with asterisks, which were not only insufficient in number, but oftentimes wrongly distributed. no one ventured to hope that there was still extant a version from which the spurious verses were rigorously excluded. and the discovery of such a text by my friend, prof. bickell, marks a new epoch in the history of biblical criticism. one day that distinguished scholar, while sauntering about monte pincio with the late coptic bishop, agapios bsciai, was informed by this dignitary that he had found and transcribed a wretched codex of the saidic[42] version of job in the library of the propaganda. hearing that numerous passages were wanting in the newly discovered codex, prof. bickell at once conjectured that this "defective" version might possibly prove to be a translation of the original septuagint text without the later additions; and having studied it at the bishop's house saw his surmise changed to certainty; the text was indeed that of the original septuagint without the disfiguring additions inserted by origen. the late prof. lagarde of göttingen then applied for, and received, permission to edit this precious find; but owing to the desire conceived later on by pope leo xiii. that an undertaking of such importance should be carried out by an ecclesiastic of the roman catholic church, lagarde's hopes were dashed at the eleventh hour, and monsignor ciasca, to whom the task was confided, accomplished all that can reasonably be expected from pious zeal and patient industry. the saidic version, therefore, as embodying a purer and more ancient text of the book of job than any we had heretofore possessed, is one of the most serviceable of the instruments employed in restoring the poem to its primitive form.[43] it frequently enables us to eliminate passages which formerly rendered the author's meaning absolutely incomprehensible, and at other times replaces obscure with intelligible readings which, while differing from those of the massoretic manuscripts, are obviously the more ancient. footnotes: [31] fourth century a.d. [32] fifth century a.d. [33] fourth century a.d. [34] a.d. 117-138. [35] the hagiographa--or, as the hebrews term them, _ketubim_--include job, proverbs, the psalms, the canticle of canticles, ruth, the lamentations, koheleth, esther, daniel, ezra, nehemiah, and chronicles. [36] as distinguished from the pre-exilian people. before the captivity the israelites lived the political life of all independent nations. after the exile they were but a religious community--a church. it was for this church that the "mosaic" legislation of the priests' code was written and the ancient historical records retouched. [37] completed probably in the second century b.c. [38] ewald and others had conjectured long before that the colloquies of job were in verse, but their attempts to reduce them to strophes were of a nature to weaken rather than confirm the theory. that the strophes consisted of four lines is a discovery of prof. bickell's. at first listened to with scepticism, it is now accepted by some of the leading critics of germany, and received with favour by such english scholars as prof. cheyne. [39] st. paul in his quotations from the old testament usually follows the septuagint. but the poem of job he quotes from a lost version, some traces of which are to be found in the works of clement of alexandria. [40] "inserted" is the strongest term that can be applied to editors who lived in a time when to foist one's own elucubrations upon a deceased genius was a work of piety deserving praise. some of the acts which were virtues in job's days have assumed a very different aspect in ours; but good intentions are always at a premium, and the jewish interpolators were animated by the best. [41] two greek, two latin, and one syriac. [42] also called the thebaic version. [43] as a translation it is a poor performance. * * * * * interpolations having thus briefly sketched the instruments by means of which the reconstruction of the poem of job was undertaken, it may not be amiss to illustrate the manner in which they are employed in the light of a few examples. to begin with the structure of the metre. in the authorised version we find (chap. xii. 12) the words: "with the ancient is wisdom, and in length of days understanding." this in hebrew is bishíshim chókhma veórekh yámim t'búna. the first line therefore has five instead of seven syllables and is consequently defective; something must have fallen out. this conclusion, based upon the laws of the metre, is fully borne out by a study of the context; for it is enough to read job's reply from the beginning to see that he could not have set himself to prove, as he is here made to do, that god is as wise as man; his contention really being that man's knowledge is ignorance compared with the wisdom of the being who governs the universe. for he is arguing against the traditionalists who assert that justice is the essential characteristic of the conduct of the world, a thesis refuted by almost everything we see and hear around us. bildad besought his sorely tried friend to learn of bygone generations and to view things through their eyes. "shall they not teach thee?" he asks (viii. 10), to which job's reply is an emphatic negative: "there is _no_ wisdom with the ancient, nor understanding in length of days." to agree with his "friend" would be to throw up his case, and this the authorised version makes him do. god alone is endowed with wisdom; but is he likewise good? to this question his government of the universe alone can furnish an answer. there must evidently then have been a negative particle in the text which a copyist, shocked at the seemingly rash assertion, expunged. if now we add the words "for not" the metre is in order and the sense perfect: ki én bishíshim chókhma veórekh yámim t'búna. take another instance. the first part of v. 14, chap. xiv. is rendered in our version as follows: "if a man die shall he live again?" and the translation would be faithful enough if the hebrew word were _hayichyä_, as our mss. testify, but as an interrogation would destroy the parallelism of the strophe, it is evident that the syllable _ha_, which in hebrew consists of one and not two letters, is an interpolation, and the word should be _yichyä_ and the strophe (composed of v. 13 and 14a). "oh, that thou wouldst hide me in the grave! that thou wouldst secrete me till thy wrath be passed! that thou wouldst appoint me a set time, and remember me! if so be man could die and yet live on." again starting from the recognised principle that the entire poem is composed on a regular plan and consists exclusively of four-line strophes, it is obvious that all the tristichs in chapters xxiv. and xxx. must be struck out. the circumstances that their contents are as irrelevant to the context as would be a number of stanzas of "the ancient mariner" if introduced into "paradise lost," that in form they are wholly different from the strophes of the poem of job, and that there is obviously a sudden break in the text of the latter just when heterodoxy merges into blasphemy, have forced critics to the conclusion--about which there is hardly any difference of opinion--that these tristichs are extracts from a very different work, which were inserted to fill up the void created by orthodox theologians of a later date.[44] besides the four hundred verses which must be excluded on the ground that they are wanting in the septuagint version, and were therefore added to the text at a comparatively recent period,[45] the long-winded discourse of elihu[46] must be struck out, most of which was composed before the book was first translated into greek. common sense, unaided by any critical apparatus, suffices to mark this tedious monologue as an interpolation. the poet knew nothing of him who is supposed to have uttered it. in the prologue in prose where all the actors in this psychological drama are enumerated and described, elihu is not once alluded to; and in the epilogue, where all the debaters are named and censured, he alone is absolutely ignored. nay, it is evident that when jahveh's discourse was written, the poet had no suspicion of the existence of this fourth friend; for at the conclusion of the "fourth friend's" pretentious speech, composed of scraps borrowed from those of the other actors in the drama, jahveh addressed all present in a form of words which implies that not elihu but job was the last speaker, and had only that instant terminated his reply. this fact alone should be conclusive. but it is confirmed by other weighty considerations which leave no place for doubt: thus, elihu's style is _toto coelo_ different from that of the other parts of the poem: artificial, vague, rambling, prosaic, and strongly coloured by aramaic idioms, while his doctrinal peculiarities, particularly his mention of interceding angels, while they coincide with those of the new testament, are absolutely unknown to job and his friends. moreover, if elihu had indeed formed one of the _dramatis personae_ of the original work, the _rôle_ he would and should have assumed is not dubious; he must be the wise man according to the author's own heart. this he is or nothing. and yet, if he were really this, we should have the curious spectacle of the poet developing at great length an idea which runs directly counter to the fundamental conception underlying the entire work. for elihu declares job's sufferings to be a just punishment for his sins; whereas the poet and jahveh himself proclaim him to be the type of the just man, and describe his misery as a short, unmerited and exceptional probation. evidently then elihu is the elaborate production of some second-rate writer and first-class theologian awkwardly wedged into the poem perhaps a century or more after it had been composed, and certainly before the work was first translated into greek. the confusion introduced into the text by this insertion is bewildering in the extreme; and yet the result is but a typical specimen of the inextricable tangle which was produced by the systematic endeavours of later and pious editors to reduce the poem to the proper level of orthodoxy. another instance is to be found in job's reply to the third discourse of bildad: in two passages of this discourse the hero completely and deliberately gives away the case which he had been theretofore so warmly defending, and accepts--to reject it later on as a matter of course--the doctrine of retribution.[47] now, on the one hand, if we remove these verses, job's speech becomes perfectly coherent and logical, and the description of wisdom falls naturally into its right place; but, on the other hand, we have no reason whatever to call their authenticity in question and to strike them out. the solution of this difficulty is that zophar who, in our versions, speaks but twice, really spoke three times, like each of his three colleagues, and that the verses in question were uttered by him, and not by job. his discourse was intentionally split up into two portions, and incorporated in a speech delivered by job, in order to represent the hero as an advocate of the dogma of retribution. another example of obviously intentional transposition occurs in chap. xl. where two verses are introduced as one of job's replies to god, so as to allow of the latter delivering a second speech and utilising therein a fine description of the hippopotamus and the crocodile. lastly, it needs little critical acumen to perceive that the scraps of dialogue attributed to jahveh in the hebrew text and authorised version are, in so far as they can claim to be regarded as authentic, but fragments of a single discourse. it would be preposterous to hold a poet or even an average poetaster responsible for the muddle made by the negligence of copyists and the zeal of interpolators who sought thus awkwardly to improve the author's theology at the cost of his poetry. but it is enough to consider the elements of this particular question for a moment to perceive that there can be but one solution. jahveh makes a long and crushing reply to job, gradually merges into fine descriptive but irrelevant poetry, and then suddenly calls for a rejoinder. the hero, humbled to the dust, exclaims[48] that he is vile and conscious of his impotence, and will lay his hand upon his mouth and open his lips no more. here the matter should end, for job has confessed himself vanquished. but no, jahveh, instead of being touched by this meek avowal and self-humiliation, must needs address the human worm as if he had turned against his creator, and asks such misplaced questions as "hast thou an arm like god?" as a matter of fact, jahveh, whose apparition is but a poetic symbol of the sudden flash of light which illumined the mind of the despairing hero, spoke but once. for job, one glimpse through the veil was enough, one rapid glance at the realm where all is dark, and deep lies "under deep unknown, and height above unknown height." footnotes: [44] chap. xxiv. 5-8, 10-24 and chap. xxx. 3-7 take the place of job's blasphemous complaint about the unjust government of the world. [45] for the benefit of readers who shrink from making any alteration in the bible, and who are mostly unaware that innumerable and wide-reaching changes were effected in it by the negligence or design of scribes, theologians, and others, it may be well to point out that none of the changes rendered necessary by the reconstruction of the books of job and ecclesiastes in any way affects whatever degree of inspiration they feel disposed to attribute to the bible as a whole, or to the interpolations in particular. the point of view of the critic, if by no means identical with that of the pious worshipper, need not to clash with it. an interpolation may be--and as we here see very often is--much more orthodox than an original text, and the more recent its origin the greater the chances that it will be so. [46] xxxii.-xxxvii. in the septuagint version elihu's discourse occupies but little more than half the number of verses to be found in the hebrew manuscript and in the authorised version. [47] xxvii. 8-10, 14-23. [48] xl. 4-5. * * * * * job's theological and philosophical conceptions although the main object of the poet is to present in a clear, comprehensive and palpable form the sphinx riddle of human existence, his work abounds nevertheless in a variety of interesting data, which throw considerable light upon the philosophical and theological theories in vogue among the thoughtful spirits of the jewish community. their "natural philosophy" offers little that is likely to interest and nothing of a nature to instruct the well-informed reader of to-day. but the mythological concreteness and palpitating vitality of all its elements profoundly impress us, less because of the curious standard they supply by which to gauge the intellectual level of that age than as the symbols chosen by the poet to express the identity and nothingness of all things living and inanimate. before god, all creatures think, reason, speak, like man, because all are equal to him and he is but a breath. the stars, which are relatives of the satan and of god's own children, wax enthusiastic and shout for joy; the lightning hearkens to the voice of its creator and, flashing athwart the heavens, announces its presence. the sun is in continual danger of being devoured by a rapacious monster upon whom a watch has to be set; and all things live and move in the same way and by exactly the same force that dwells and acts in man with whom they are one in essence; and he himself is but a flower that sprouts, fades and dies.[49] death is the end of man and beast and flower and grass alike; and after death comes dismal darkness. there is no difference among them. man is no more and no less than all the rest. _sheol_, or the realm of the dead, is a murky, silent and dreary abode, the shadowy inmates of which are as if they were not, unconscious as infants "which never saw the light." this state, which is not perhaps absolutely equivalent to complete annihilation, is yet identical with that of "an hidden untimely birth." translated into the language of philosophy this somewhat vague notion might be expressed as follows: all things, past, present and to come, which flit as unreal shadows on the wall of time and space, are manifestations of the one sole force which is everlasting and omnipresent. they are not parts of a whole which is one and divisible: all that we see and know of them in life is nothing; and after death they are what they were before--identical with the one. "one life through all the immense creation runs, one spirit is the moon's, the sea's, the sun's; all forms in the air that fly, on the earth that creep, and the unknown nameless creatures of the deep- each breathing thing obeys one mind's control, and in all substance is a single soul." for job's theory of the universe is dynamic and recognises but one force, which is so vague and indefinite that he hesitates to bestow upon it the name of the concrete god of the jews.[50] there is no multiplicity, no duality, no other substance, no other cause. the one is and does alone. all things are shadowy delusions; he alone is real. we are nothing except in him. evil as well as good is his work. the satan who tortures job is one of the sons of god to whom special power is exceptionally delegated; but, as a rule, god himself punishes the just and showers his blessings on the wicked. everything that happens is the outcome of his will. there is no nature, no causation, no necessary law in the physical world; every event is the embodiment of the one will which is absolutely free, and therefore, neither to be foreseen nor explained. like koheleth, job seems to hold that intelligence is something secondary not primordial. man, who is richly endowed with it on earth, knows really nothing, never can know anything, about the origin and reason of things. they are absolutely unknowable. he finds abyss yawning under abyss, height towering above height, and dark mysteries encompass him everlastingly. "but wisdom--whence shall it come? and where is the place of understanding? it is hid from the eyes of all living" (cxxxiv.). and if there be at most but will-o'-the-wisps on this side of the shadow of night, there is nought but absolute darkness beyond. these considerations would seem to offer a very satisfactory explanation of the monotheism of the poet which is far in advance of that of his contemporaries, to whatever age we may assign him. it is a purely philosophical conception which never was and never can be enshrined in a theological dogma, and to seek for its genesis in the evolution of the jewish religion is far less reasonable than to derive it from the philosophy of the greeks or the hindoos. job's theory of ethics differs widely from that of his friends and contemporaries, and indeed from that of the bulk of mankind of all times. the jews believed in fleeting pleasures and pains in this life as the sole recompense for virtue and sin; their modern heirs and successors hope for eternal bliss or fear everlasting suffering in the next. the motives deducible from both creeds are identical, and philosophy connotes them as egotism. whether the meed i long for or the pain i would shun be transitory or everlasting, the moment my individual well-being becomes the motive of my conduct it is not easy to perceive where morality comes in. and so universally is egotism to be found at the root of what appear to us to be the most generous actions, that the adversary was right enough in refusing, without conclusive proof, to enrol job's name in the short list of exceptions. but job's ethics were many degrees above proof. in no book of the ancient testament and in no religion or philosophy of the old world, if we except buddhism, do we find anything to compare with the sublime morality inculcated in the poem that bears his name. it utterly ignores the convenient and profitable virtue known as "duty to one's self" and bases all the other virtues on pity for our fellows, who are not merely our brethren but our very selves. the truly moral man should be able to say with job: "i delivered the poor that cried aloud, and the orphan and him that had none to help him; and i gladdened the heart of the widow (ccxlvii.). i became eyes to the blind, and i was feet unto the lame (ccxlviii.). if i saw one perish for lack of clothing, or any of the poor devoid of covering; then surely did his loins bless me, and he was warmed with the fleece of my sheep (cclxix.). i have never made gold my hope (cclxxi.). never did i rejoice at the ruin of my hater, nor exult when misery found him out (cclxxiii.). did not he that made me in the womb, make him? (cclxvii.) did i not weep for him that was in trouble?" (cclix.). and having accomplished all this without fear of pain, "gaze onward without claim to hope, nor, gazing backward, court regret." this is the only system of morality deserving that much-abused name; it was preached and to a great extent practised in india by the jainists and the buddhists, and for the first time in the old testament by the author of our poem. all the ills and sorrows of life, merited and unmerited alike, job is prepared for. they are the commonplaces of human existence and as inseparable from it as shadow from light. but what he cannot endure is the thought that his good name, the sole comfort left him in his misery, shall be sacrificed to a theological theory which runs counter to every fact of public history and private experience. this is an injustice which seems to strike at the root of all morality, and he passionately attacks all who uphold it, even though god himself be of the number. for he has unshaken faith in eternal justice as something independent even of the deity. its manifestations may be imperceptible and incomprehensible to us, but it governs the universe all the same, and faith in this fact was his lodestar when sun and moon had gone out and the aimless tornado raged around and ghastly horrors issued from the womb of night. the wicked may prosper and the just man die on a dunghill, scorned by all and seemingly forsaken by god himself, but it is none the less true that sin and suffering, virtue and reward are fruits of the same tree, one and indivisible. they are the manna the taste of which adapts itself to the eater. job expresses the conviction, which st. bernard so aptly formulated when he said: "nought can harm me but myself;" and it is this conviction that nerves and sustains him in his defiant challenge to the most high and prompts his appeal to eternal justice against even god himself: "will he plead against me with his almighty power? if not, then not even he would prevail against me. for a righteous one would dispute with him." (ccxvi.) but after the theophany, when the truth has dawned upon the mind of the heroic sufferer, he sees that eternal justice needs not even this certificate of its existence, that it can dispense with the most eloquent human advocate, and he waives what he had theretofore held to be his indefeasible right and puts the crown on his system of ethics by enduring his lot in silence. peace grounded on knowledge, therefore, is the end of job's doubts and misgivings. but it is not the knowledge of a reward to come, a presentiment of the joys of heaven, of an everlasting feeding-trough where our hunger and thirst for existence shall be satiated for ever and ever. it is that sobering knowledge which is increase of sorrow. injustice in the world there is none; if all beings living are liable to pain, and everything animate and inanimate is subject to decay and death, the reason is that suffering and dissolution are the conditions of existence, which is therefore an evil. to desire the one is to wish for or accept the other. this is the conviction which brings peace to the soul of the hero and enables him to exclaim: "i resign and console myself, though in dust and ashes." footnotes: [49] strophe cxxi. [50] lagarde seems to have hit the mark when he affirms that the poet's faith in god reduces itself to a vague belief in the divine. * * * * * analysis of the poem the popular legend of job, which was current among the hebrews and probably among their semitic neighbours for centuries before the poem was composed, is embodied in the prologue and epilogue,[51] which are written in prose. the data it contains are utilised by the author for the purpose of clearly stating, not of elucidating, the main problem, and it would be a grave mistake on the part of the reader to attempt to supplement the reasoning of job's friends by arguments drawn from the details narrated in the legend. thus, the conversation between jahveh and the satan is obviously intended to establish the all-important fact that job, although not a member of the chosen people, a believer in their priestly dogmas, nor an observer of their religious rites and ceremonies, was none the less a truly just man, the perfect type of the righteous of all times and countries. on the other hand, the circumstances that his sufferings were no more than a probation, and that they were followed by fabulous wealth and intensified happiness, are dismissed by the poet as wholly irrelevant to the question at issue. nor, considering their purely exceptional character, would they have tended in any degree to solve it. if job's misery was an ordeal, all unmerited suffering cannot be pressed into the same convenient category. his individual privations and pains may have been compensated for by subsequent plenty and prosperity; but there are other just men who rot on the dunghill and die in despair. the author, therefore, wisely refrained from drawing on the legend more extensively than was absolutely needful for the materials of his poem, and from thus reducing a universal problem to the dimensions of an individual case. the folk-story of the just man, job, is conceived in the true spirit of eastern legendary lore. the colours are laid on with an ungrudging hand. he was not merely well-to-do and contented, he was the happiest mortal who had ever walked the earth in his halcyon days, and the most hopelessly wretched during his probation. but although wont, as the preacher recommends, to fill up his cup with the wine of life, "pressing all that it yields of mere vintage," he was anything but an egotist. the broad stream of his sympathy flowed out towards all his fellows, nay, to all things animate and inanimate. the sheep, the lion, the eagle, and the oxen, were his comrades, the fire and the wind his kinsmen. even for his worst enemies he had no curse, nor did he ever rejoice in their merited misfortunes. so blameless and upright was his living and working, so completely had he eschewed even heart-sins, that he might have carried windows in his breast that all might see what was being done within. now, in accordance with the retribution-theory then in fashion--small temporary profits and quick returns--he had amply merited his good fortune, and might have reasonably expected to enjoy it to the close of a long life, which for him was the end of everything. in fact, he had no longer any serious grounds for apprehending the gathering of clouds of misfortune to darken the sunshine of his existence, seeing that he had already attained to a ripe age, was possessed of vast herds of cattle and thousands of camels, was blest with a numerous family, and passed for "the greatest of all the children of the east." but the most specious theological theories are as powerless to guarantee the just man from the blows of adversity as to hinder the worm from finding the blushing rose's "bed of crimson joy"; and whether pain and sorrow be labelled "probation" or "just punishment," they will never cease to figure among the commonplaces of human existence. at one of the social gatherings of the courtiers of heaven, jahveh takes occasion to laud the virtue of the just man, job, whereupon the satan, who not only understands, but sees through the righteousness of the bulk of mankind, expresses his conviction that it has its roots in mere selfishness. jahveh then empowers the adversary to put it to the test by depriving job of his possessions and his family. on this, the hero's wealth and happiness vanished as suddenly as the smile on the face of an infant, and in a twinkling, so to say, he was changed into a perfect type of human wretchedness. by one of those extraordinary miracles which are characteristic of oriental fiction, in the course of a single day job's four hundred yoke of oxen were seized and carried off by the sabeans, his seven thousand scattered sheep were sought out and consumed by lightning, his three thousand camels were driven away by chaldeans, and his sons and daughters killed by the falling of a house. being but human, job's soul is harrowed up by grief; but, recognising the emptiness of all things, he endures his lot manfully and without murmur or complaint. when the sons of god met again in the council chamber of heaven, jahveh triumphantly inquired of the adversary what he now thought of job's virtue and its taproot. but the satan still clung tenaciously to his low view of the mainspring of the hero's conduct. "skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life. but put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will renounce thee to thy face. and the lord said unto the adversary: "behold he is in thine hand; only spare his life." whereupon he was smitten with the most loathsome disease known in the east, which together with the moral suffering resulting from utter abandonment, besieged him, "even to the gates and inlets of his life." but firm and manful, with strength nurtured by the witness of his own conscience, and the conviction that true virtue is independent of reward, he maintains the citadel unconquered, refusing to open the portals even to jahveh himself. nothing can subdue job, not even the bitter fruits of the diabolical refinement of the adversary who, having permission to slay all the hero's kith and kin, spares his spouse, lest misery should harbour any possibilities unrealised. at last three of job's friends come from the uttermost ends of the earth to visit and console him. travelling over enormous distances, and setting out from opposite points of the compass, they all contrive to reach the sufferer at the same moment; and at the sight of the deformed and loathsome figure of their friend are all three struck dumb with grief. without any previous consultation among themselves, they sit silent and sad for seven days and seven nights, gazing with fascinated horror on the misshapen figure on the dunghill. this curious manifestation of friendship unmans the hero whose fortitude had been proof against the most cruel physical and moral suffering; utterly breaking down, he "fills with woes the passing wind," and bitterly curses his existence. awe at first keeps him from censuring god's ways; truthfulness from condemning himself. he cannot understand why he suffers, whether there be any truth or none in the traditional doctrine of unfailing retribution upon earth; for he has certainly done everything to merit happiness and nought to deserve punishment. society, however, is there in the person of his friends to dispel this delusion. they hold a brief for the cut-and-dried theology of the day which tells them that in job there was a reservoir of guilt and sin filling up from youth to age, which now, no longer able to hold its loathsome charge, burst and overwhelmed with misery their friend and his family. they play their parts very skilfully, at first softly stroking, as it were, the beloved friend, as if to soothe his pain, and then vigorously rubbing the salt in the gaping wounds of the groaning victim. the campaign is opened mildly by eliphaz, a firm believer in the spooks and spectres of borderland, who, in reply to job's complaint, assures his friend that no really innocent human being ever died in misery as he now seems to be dying, and gently reminds him that "affliction shooteth not from the dust, neither doth trouble sprout up from the ground;" they need the fertile soil of sin, which job must have provided, unknown to his easy-going friends who, taking him at his own estimation, heretofore considered him a just man. but even if he were what he would have them believe he is, he has no ground for just complaint: for "happy is the man whom god correcteth." to this the hero replies, accentuating his innocence, and pouring forth his plaint in "wild words," for god "useth me as an enemy." he seeks not for mercy, he explains, but for justice, nay, he is magnanimous enough to be content with even less. he only asks of god, "that it would please him to destroy me, that he would let go his hand and cut me off;"[52] and this request having been refused, suicide, the ever "open door" of the stoics, invited him temptingly in, but he withstood the temptation, and comforted himself with the knowledge that all things in time have an end. "my soul would have chosen strangling, and death by my own resolve. but i spurned it; for i shall not live for ever."[53] the arbitrary and incomprehensible will of the deity may, in ultimate analysis, be the changeful basis of right and wrong, but, if so, divine justice differs from human not merely in degree but likewise in character, and not apparently to its advantage. the tuneful psalmist had sung in ecstatic wonder at the mercy of god: "what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man that thou visitest him? for thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour."[54] job, having looked upwards in the same direction, not for mercy but for simple justice, and looked in vain, parodies with bitter irony those same verses of the psalm: "what is man that thou shouldst magnify him? and that thou shouldst set thine heart upon him? that thou shouldst visit him every morning, and try him every moment?"[55] bildad, the traditionalist _par excellence_, then addresses a sharp reproof to the just man who refused to recognise as mercy in god the conduct which, were a man responsible for it, he must needs condemn as wickedness. he bids him inquire of bygone generations what they thought of the goodness of the creator, and asks him to be guided by the wisdom of his fore-fathers, who lived and throve on the spiritual food of retribution which he now rejects with loathing. this attack provokes a new outburst on the part of job, who ironically paraphrases and develops the ideas of his comforters, deriding the notion that the deity can change right into wrong or that true morality needs the divine will as a basis. "how should man be in the right against god? if he long to contend with him, he cannot answer him one of a thousand."[56] "lo, he glideth by me and i see him not; and he passeth on, but i perceive him not."[57] his friends had recommended him to pray for pardon and repent, and had promised him the return of his happiness as a consequence. but job scouts the idea. his righteousness, if he indeed possess it, is his own; no prayers can add to, no punishment can take from, that. "i must make supplication unto his judgment, who doth not answer me, though i am righteous!"[58] and as for a god who being almighty is yet unjust, prayer would be superfluous, no supplications would avail aught with him; he would cause even incarnate holiness to appear wicked in its own eyes. "though i were just, my own mouth would condemn me; though i were faultless, he would make me crooked." for even the will of a created being is in the hands of its creator, and is not, cannot be, free. job feels and knows that he is right-minded and good, and he puts the testimony of his own conscience above the decrees of any beings, human or divine, which, whatever else they may achieve, cannot shake the foundations of true justice and morality, which are eternal. "faultless i am, i set life at naught; i spurn my being, therefore i speak out."[59] and the outcome of his outspokenness is a solemn charge of injustice against god,[60] a sigh of profound regret that he was ever born into this miserable world, and a wish that his sufferings might "come to an end before he should return to the land of darkness and of gloom" whence he came. after this, zophar, the third comforter, opens his lips for coarse vituperation rather than sharp rebuke, and regrets that god himself does not feel moved to give a practical lesson of wisdom to the conceited "prattler," who persists in believing in his own innocence in spite of the unmistakable judgment of his just creator and the unanimous testimony of his candid friends. job's reply to this vigorous advocate of god is even more powerful and indignant than any of the foregoing. he repeats and emphasises his indictment against the deity. no omnipotent being who was really just and good could approve, or even connive at, much less practise, the scandalous injustice which characterises the conduct of the universe and the so-called moral order, and of which his own particular grievances are a specimen. not that the curious spectacle that daily meets our eye, wherein wickedness and hypocrisy are prosperous and triumphant while truth and integrity are trampled under foot, is necessarily incompatible with absolute and eternal justice; it is irreconcileable only with the attributes of a personal deity, an almighty and just creator, who would necessarily be responsible for these evils as for all things else, if he existed. if the world be the work of an omnipotent maker, its essential moral characteristic partakes of the nature of his attributes; and the main moral feature of our world is evil, and not good. this is the ever-recurring refrain of job's discourses. nor does he hesitate when occasion offers to proclaim his conviction in the plainest of plain language, for he entertains no fear of what may further befall him. "lo, let him kill me, i cherish hope no more, only i will justify my way before his face."[61] the three friends return a second time to the charge, each one speaking in the same order as before, and each one eliciting a separate reply, in which job reaffirms his innocence, reiterates his indictment against the most high, and reproaches his comforters with their off-hand condemnation of an attitude resulting from sufferings which they are slow to realise and from knowledge which they are unable to grasp. in his rejoinder to zophar, he lays special stress upon the prosperity and success of the wicked who scoff at the laws of god and yet "while away their days in bliss." if god will not punish them, is he just? if he cannot, is he almighty? as he does not, why speak of the moral order of his world or of the moral attributes of himself? ehphaz opens the third series of speeches by accusing his friend of selfishness, dishonesty, hard-heartedness and avarice, on no better grounds than the assumption that god's justice warrants us in believing that where punishment is inflicted there also must sin have been committed. job, instead of condescending to refute the charge, ironically admits it, and then bitterly remarks that he would like to know how god would justify his conduct and convict him of sin if only they both could argue out the question together on terms of equality. but in all the universe he looks for god in vain: "behold, i go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but i cannot perceive him."[62] bildad then proceeds to emphasise the omnipotence of the creator with whom the human worm, the maggot, dares to enter into judgment, and job replies to all three, refuting them out of their own mouths. his conscience, he tells them, is proof sufficient of his right conduct, whereas his misery, by their own admission, proves nothing at all. "till i die, i will not yield up my integrity! my righteousness i hold fast, and will not let it go, my heart doth not censure any one of my days."[63] as for the argument from punishment to sin, all three friends had in the course of their speeches laid it down that the lines on which the universe is governed are known to no man. if this be so, who are they that have surprised the secret and found the clue to the enigma? who revealed to them that retribution is the basis of the moral order? man knows nothing, can never hope to know anything, of the inner working of the world, of the why and the wherefore of our miserable being and of the existence of all things. the godhead alone could fathom these mysteries,[64] if he existed. job takes no notice of the succeeding brief remarks of zophar in his final and longest discourse which, replete with sorrowful reminiscences of his past happy life, is less defiant than any of those that preceded. wandering in thought through the necropolis of buried hopes, fears and achievements, he seems to inhale an atmosphere of soothing melancholy that softens and subdues his wild passion. the vibration of past efforts and of deeds long since done, trembling along his tortured frame, causes even saddest thoughts to blend with sweet sensations. then turning from what once was to what now is, and missing the logical nexus between the two states, he solemnly calls upon god to produce it, if he can: "here is my signature; let the almighty answer me, and hear the indictment which my adversary hath written."[65] scarcely has job finished speaking when jahveh appears in a whirlwind and the heart of the clouds is cloven by a voice of thunder startling the silent air. the purpose of his coming is to prove men's ignorance, not to enlighten it, at least not beyond the degree involved by affixing the highest seal to the negative views expressed by the hero. he plies job with a number of questions on cosmology, astronomy, meteorology, &c., with a view to show that we are ignorant of the ultimate reason of even the most familiar objects and phenomena, and practically know nothing about anything. the natural conclusion is that they are unknowable, and that intellect, knowledge, consciousness, is something secondary, accidental, and as transitory as the life it accompanies. to make an exception in favour of jahveh himself, would be to lose sight of the important fact that his apparition was never meant by the poet to be taken literally.[66] it is neither more nor less than a symbol of the insight which job obtains into the nature of things, of the light which enables him to see that there is naught but darkness now and for ever. he perceives by the simplest, clearest, and most conclusive of all mental processes, a direct intuition, the truth of the ideas to some of which he had but coldly assented before--viz., that things are but shadows and existence an evil; that underlying every being, animate and inanimate, there is a force existing outside the realm of time and space, and that it is at bottom identical with the human will; that eternal justice lies at the root of everything, is the ultimate basis of all existence; that the sufferings of men, innocent or guilty, and the prevalence of evil are incompatible with a personal creator; that intellect is secondary, and barely sufficient for the practical needs of life, after which it ceases to be an attribute of whatever of man may outlive his body; and, finally, that as we can know nothing beyond the bare fact that there is an absolute law of compensation from which there is no exemption, it behoves us to cultivate ethics rather than science, and to resign ourselves uncomplainingly to the inevitable. however unpalatable these final conclusions may appear to pious readers accustomed to seek in the book of job for the most striking proofs of some of the principal teachings of the christian dispensation, it is difficult, not to say impossible, to study the work in its restored form and arrive at any other. with job, god and wisdom are synonymous. and of the latter he says: "but wisdom--whence shall it come? and where is the place of understanding? it is hid from the eyes of all living, our ears alone have heard thereof."[67] these words were uttered before he had obtained the insight which brought resignation in its train. he alludes to them in his last brief discourse. "i had heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye hath beheld thee; therefore i resign and console myself, though in dust and ashes."[68] professor bickell puts the matter very lucidly in his short but comprehensive introduction to the poem: "as long as job, solicitous for his understanding, demanded an explanation of his unutterable suffering, whereby the mysterious, piteous condition of mankind is shadowed forth, his seeking was vain, and he ran the risk of loosing himself in the problems of eternal justice, the worth of upright living, and even the existence of god; for an unjust, ruthless, almighty being is no god. but by means of the theophany--which is to be understood merely as a process in his own heart, and which clearly shows him the impotence of feeble man to unravel the world-enigmas--he attains to insight; not, indeed, of a positive kind such as a knowledge of the ways of god would confer, but negative insight by means of that resignation which flows from excess of pain. it is thus that his own heroic saying is fulfilled about the reaction of unmerited suffering upon the just man."[69] "but the righteous holds on his way, and the clean-handed waxeth ever stronger."[70] footnotes: [51] the prologue is contained in chaps. i.-ii.; the epilogue in chap. xlii. 7-17 of our english bibles. [52] strophe xxxv. [53] strophe lii. [54] psa. viii. 4, 5. [55] strophe liii. [56] strophe lxv. [57] strophe lxix. [58] strophe lxxi. [59] strophe lxxiii. [60] strophe lxxiv-lxxviii. [61] strophe cxv. _cf_. strophe clxix., where he dares his friend to prove him guilty of blasphemy when he is merely giving expression to the truth: "if indeed ye will glorify yourselves above me, and prove me guilty of blasphemy; know, then, that god hath wronged me!" [62] strophe ccxvii. [63] strophe ccxxx. [64] as professor bickell rightly remarks: "at bottom what job means is, that god alone knows the meaning of our sorrowful existence, if, indeed, he does know it" ("das buch job," p. 5). [65] strophe cclxxvi. [66] the mere circumstance that the deity is no longer called by his usual name when he appears in the whirlwind is of itself an indication that the poet was not alluding to god. [67] strophe ccxxxiv. [68] strophe cccix. [69] _cf._ bickell, _op. cit._ pp. 8-9. [70] strophe clvi. koheleth * * * * * [greek: archaen men mae phynai epichthonioisin ariston maed' eisidein augas oxeos aeëliou. phynta d'hopos okista pylas aidao peraesai, kai keisthai pollaen gaen epamaesamenon.] theognis. * * * * * condition of the text of all the books of the old testament, not excepting the song of songs, none offers such rich materials to the historian of philosophy or such knotty problems to the philological critic as koheleth[70] or ecclesiastes. this interesting treatise is, in its commonly received shape, little more than a tissue of loose disjointed aphorisms and contradictory theses concerning the highest problems of ethics and metaphysics. the form of the work is characterised by an utter lack of plan; the matter by almost impenetrable obscurity. so completely entangled are the various threads of thought, that few commentators or critics possessed the needful degree of hope and courage to set about unravelling them. one paragraph, for instance, is saturated with buddhistic pessimism; another breathes a spirit of religious resignation, of almost hearty hopefulness; this sentence lays down a universal principle which is absolutely denied by the next; the thesis is followed by proofs, in the very midst of which lurks the antithesis; a series of profound remarks upon one subject is suddenly interrupted by bald statements about another, the irrelevancy of which is suggestive of the ravings of a delirious fever patient. thus one verse begins[71] by recommending men to make the most of their youth by following the bent of their inclinations and the desire of their eyes, such enjoyment being a gift of god,[72] and finishes by threatening all who act upon the advice with condign punishment to be ultimately dealt out by god himself; and the very next verse proceeds to draw the logical conclusion, which oddly enough, runs thus: "_therefore_ drive sorrow from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh." in one place[73] the writer solemnly and sadly affirms that the destiny of the upright and the wicked, the wise and the foolish is wholly alike; in another[74] he seems to proclaim that the unrighteous shall suffer for their evil-doing, while the god-fearing shall be rewarded with long life, which again he stoutly denies shortly before and immediately afterwards. it is impossible to read chap. ii. 11 and 12 without coming to the conclusion that we either have to do with the incoherent ravings of a disordered mind, or else that the leaves of the original manuscript were dislocated and then put together haphazard.[75] the "for" that connects the seventh and eighth verses of chapter vi. is forcibly suggestive of the line of argument which made tenterden steeple the cause of goodwin sands, while the nexus between the sixth and seventh verses of chapter xi. is scarcely more obvious than that which is to be found between any two of the nonsense verses that amuse intelligent children in "alice in wonderland." and yet this production, in its present chaotic condition, has been, and is still, gravely attributed to the pen of king solomon in his character as the ideal sage of humanity![76] footnotes: [70] the most satisfactory translation of the word koheleth is, the speaker. "preacher" conveys a modern and incorrect notion. [71] xi. 9. [72] ii. 24. [73] ix. 2. [74] viii. 12, 13. [75] the verses in question are: "11. then i looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that i had laboured to do: and, behold, all _was_ vanity and vexation of spirit, and _there was_ no profit under the sun. 12. and i turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly: for what _can_ the man _do_ that cometh after the king _even_ that which hath been already done." [76] only, however, by the strictest of orthodox theologians, who admiringly attribute to the holy spirit a hopeless confusion of ideas which they would resent as insulting if predicated of themselves. as a matter of historic fact, solomon, so far from meriting his reputation as a philosopher, was a rough-and-ready kinglet, who ruled his subjects with a rod of iron and ground them down with intolerable burdens. * * * * * primitive form of the book the desperate efforts of professional theologians to smooth away, explain, and reconcile all these incoherences and contradictions, constitute one of the most marvellous exhibitions of mental acrobatics recorded even in the history of hermeneutics. many of these exegetes set out on the assumption that a revelation vouchsafed to solomon could not possibly embody any statement incompatible with the truths of christianity which emanate from the same eternal source; and they all firmly held that at the very least it must be in harmony with the fundamental dogmas common to judaism and the teachings of christ. in reality, what this generous hypothesis came to, whenever there was no question of text criticism involved, was a substitution of the human ideal for the divine execution. the best accredited contemporary theologians however, catholic and non-catholic, have insight enough to descry the stamp of true inspiration in a book which enshrines some of the highest truths laid down in the sermon on the mount combined with a good deal that obviously clashes with theological dogmas formulated at a much later date for the behoof of a very different social organism. in any case the original work, as it appears to have issued from the hand of "koheleth," was composed in a spirit as conducive to true morality as the sublime eloquence of isaiah or the absolute resignation of the author of the 73rd psalm. critics who succeeded in satisfactorily solving many of the philological, philosophical, and historical problems suggested by koheleth utterly failed to find therein any traces of an intelligible plan. it was reserved to professor bickell, of vienna, to point out what seem to be the true lines on which alone it is possible to arrive at a solution alike satisfactory to the reader and respectful to the author. his theory[77]--it is, and it can be no more than a theory--which has already received the adhesion of some of the most authoritative bible scholars on the continent, may be briefly summed up as follows: the present disordered condition of the book, koheleth, is the result of the shifting of the sheets of the hebrew manuscript from their original places and of the addition of a number of deliberate interpolations. the latter are of two kinds: those which seemed necessary for the purpose of supplying the cement required to join together the unconnected verses which, in consequence of the dislocation, were unexpectedly placed side by side, and the passages composed with the object of toning down, or serving as a counterpoise to the very unorthodox views of the writer. professor bickell's assumption involves no inherent improbability, runs counter to no ascertained facts, and is therefore perfectly tenable. what it supposes to have occurred to koheleth has, in fact, often happened to other works, religious and profane. it can be conclusively shown, for instance, that certain leaves of the book of ecclesiasticus dropped, in like manner, from the greek codex, whereby three chapters were transposed from their original places; for the latin and syriac versions, which were made before the accident, still exhibit the original and only intelligible arrangement. an old syriac manuscript of the poems of isaac of antioch, now in the vatican library, suffered considerably from a similar mishap, and various other cases in point have come under the notice of orientalists and archaeologists.[78] in the present instance, what is believed to have taken place is this. the hebrew codex, of which no translation had as yet been made, consisted of a series of fascicules, each one of which contained four sheets once folded, or four double leaves, the average number of characters on each single leaf amounting to about 525.[79] the codex, which most probably included other treatises preceding and following koheleth, possessed an unknown number of fascicules, koheleth beginning on the sixth leaf of one and ending on the third of the fourth following. according to the hypothesis we are considering, the middle fascicules becoming loose, fell out of the codex, and were found by some one who was utterly unqualified to replace them in position. this person took the inner half of the second,[80] folded it inside out, and then laid it in the new order[81] immediately after the first fascicule. next came the inner sheet of the third fascicule,[82] followed by the outside half of the second,[83] in the middle of which the two double leaves, 13, 18, and 14, 17, had already been inserted.[84] although the fourth fascicule had kept its place, it was not on this account preserved from the effects of the confusing changes caused by the loosening of the ligature, for between its two first leaves the remaining sheet of the third fascicule[85] found a place. finally, leaf 17 becoming separated from its new environment, found a definite resting-place between 19 and 21.[86] the result of this dislocation was the utter disappearance of all trace of plan in the work, the incoherences of which would be still more numerous and glaring, had it not been for the transitional words and phrases that were soon after interpolated for the purpose of welding together passages that were never intended to dovetail.[87] such is the ingenious theory. the degree of probability attaching to it depends partly on the weight of corroborative evidence to be found in the book itself, and partly on the completeness with which it explains the many difficulties which the traditionalist view could but formulate. thoroughly to sift and weigh this evidence, much of which is of a purely philological character, would require a book to itself; but it will not be amiss to give one or two instances of the nature of the arguments relied upon. chap. x. 1, in the present text, is wholly corrupt, owing to the circumstance that several interpolations were inserted in it at a later date. now a little reflection suffices to show that these additions consist of words taken from chap. vii. 1. but if the book had been composed as it now stands, such a transposition would be practically impossible, because chap. x. is separated from chap. vii. by too great an interval. in the original sequence, however, which prof. bickell's theory supposes and restores, there was no difficulty. there the leaf ix. 11-x. 1 was followed by two leaves containing vi. 8-vii. 22, so that the words "precious," and "wisdom is better than glory," might have been easily shifted to x. 1 from the margin of vii. 1. again, in the primitive sequence viii. 4 was immediately followed by x. 2. after the dislocation of the leaves it was erroneously placed before viii. 6, a few words having been previously interpolated between the two, solely in the interests of orthodoxy.[88] in order to bridge over the gap between them, a transitional half verse was strung together, in an absolutely mechanical manner, from words that precede or follow. and the words that precede and follow are those which we find in the primitive arrangement of the manuscript, not in the present sequence. thus, at the bottom of the leaf containing viii. 4, the first words, "leb chakham,"[89] of the following verse (x. 2) were inserted, and then by inadvertence repeated on the next leaf. seeing these words, the author of the transition made them the subject of his new verse. he selected the grammatical objects of the sentence from the verse which follows in the new sequence,[90] and took the verb from the preceding half verse, which is itself an older interpolation. lastly, koheleth's treatise, which in our bibles is utterly devoid of order or sequence, falls naturally, in its restored form, into two distinct halves: a speculative and a practical, distinguished from each other by characteristics proper to each, which there is no mistaking. the former, for instance, contains but few metrical passages, whereas the latter is composed of poetry and prose in almost equal proportions. the ethical part continually addresses the reader himself in the second person singular, while the discursive section never does. in a word, internal evidence leaves no doubt that, whether the dislocation of the chapters was the result of accident or design, this was the ground plan of the original treatise. footnotes: [77] professor cheyne discusses bickell's theory with the caution characteristic of english theology and the fairness of unprejudiced scholarship ("job and solomon," p. 273 fol.). [78] _cf_. for instance, cornill, "theologisches literaturblatt," sept. 19, 1884. [79] this mean estimate tallies with calculations made by the late professor lagarde for another book of the old testament. [80] the leaves 6, 7, 8, 9. [81] the pages following each other thus: 8, 9, 6, 7. [82] leaves 15 and 16. [83] 4, 5, 10, 11. [84] so that the order was then: 4, 5, 13, 14, 17, 18, 10, 11. [85] 12, 19. [86] the sequence of the leaves was then; 1, 2, 3, 8, 9, 6, 7, 15, 16, 4, 5, 13, 14, 18, 10, 11, 20, 12, 19, 17, 21, 22. [87] the most practical and simple way of realising professor bickell's theory is to make a little book of four fascicules of four double leaves each. on these leaves write the contents of the original manuscript leaves in chapter and verse numbers. on each of the three last leaves of the first fascicule (counting, as in hebrew, from right to left) write i. 1-ii. 11. on the first two leaves of the second fascicule write v. 9-vi. 7 (this must be written on each of the leaves, as it is not quite certain how they were divided). on third and fourth leaves of the second fascicule write iii. 9-iv. 8; on each of the fifth and sixth leaves, ii. 12-iii. 8. on the seventh and eighth leaves, viii. 6-ix. 3. then comes the third fascicule. on the first leaf, write ix. 11-x. 1; on the second and third leaves, vi. 8-vii. 22 on the fourth and fifth leaves, iv. 9-v. 8; on the sixth leaf, x. 16-xi. 6; on the seventh leaf, vii. 23-viii. 5; on the eighth leaf, x. 2-15. lastly comes the fourth fascicule. on the first leaf, ix. 3-10, on the second and third leaves, xi. 7-xii. 8. [88] the first half of viii. 5: "whoso keepeth the commandment shall feel no evil thing." this interpolation is older than the accident to the ms. [89] the heart of the wise. [90] viii. 6. * * * * * kohelet's theory of life read in its primitive shape, the book is a systematic disquisition on the questions, what positive boon has life in store for us? to which the emphatic answer is "none;" and how had we best occupy the vain days of our wretched existence? which the author solves by recommending moderate sensuous enjoyment combined with healthy activity. he begins his gloomy meditations with a general survey of the wearisome working of the machinery of the world, wherein is neither rest nor profit. everything is vanity, and the pursuit of wind.[91] existence in all its myriad forms is an aimless, endless, hopeless endeavour. the very clod of earth manifests its striving, in gravitation, for the attainment of a central point without dimensions, which, if realised, would entail its own annihilation; the solids tend to become liquids, the liquids to resolve themselves in vapour. the plant grows from germ through stem and leaf to blossom and fruit, which last is but the beginning of a new germ that again develops through flower to fruit, and so on for ever and ever. in animals, life is the same restless, aimless, unsatisfied striving, in the first place after reproduction, followed by the death of the individual and the appearance of a new one which in turn runs through all the stadia of the old. the very matter of all organisms is ever changing. as for man, his whole life is but one long series of yearnings after objects, each one of which presents itself to his will as the one great goal until attained, whereupon it is cast aside to make way for another. we know what we long for to-day, we shall know what we shall seek to-morrow; but what the human race supremely desires, its ultimate aim and end, no man can say. existence is a futile beating of the air, a clutching of the wind. the living make way for the unborn, the dead nourish the living; no one possesses ought that was not torn from some other being; strife and hate, evil and pain are the commonplaces of existence; life and death follow each other everlastingly. all striving is want and therefore suffering, until it is satisfied, when it assumes the form of disappointment; for no satisfaction is lasting. in a word, the universe is a wheel that revolves on its axis for ever--and there is no ultimate aim or end in it all.[92] knowledge, wisdom, and enjoyment, each of which koheleth characterises by a distich, are likewise vain, or worse. what, then, is the secret of "happiness"? surely not wealth, which the preacher himself having possessed and applied to "useful" and "good" purposes, proved emptiness in the end.[93] wealth, indeed, is nothing if not a means to happiness, yet experience tells us that the pains endured in striving for it, and the anxiety suffered in preserving it, effectually destroy our capacity for enjoying the bliss which it is supposed to insure, long before misfortune or death snatches it from our grasp.[94] vain as pleasure is, in a world of positive evils it is at least a negative good, in that it helps to make us forget the vanity of the days of our life.[95] for this reason, no doubt, it is well-nigh unattainable, the many being deprived of the means, the few of the capacity, of enjoyment.[96] passing on to the consideration of wisdom, the hebrew philosopher finds it equally empty and vain, because subject to the same limitations and characterised by the same drawbacks. it is caviare to the million, and a fresh source of sorrow to the few. man is tortured with a thirst for knowledge, and yet all the springs at which it might have been allayed are sealed up. unreal shadows are the objects of human intuition, we are denied a glimpse of the underlying reality. for it is unknowable. even the little we can know is not inspiriting. take our fellow-men, their ways and works, for instance, and what do we behold? their own evil-doing, injustice, and violence, drag them down to the level of the brute; and that this is their natural level is obvious, if we bear in mind that the end of men is that of the beasts of the fields,[97] and that the ruling power within them, the mechanism, so to say, of these living and feeling automata is love of life. consider men at their best--when cultivating such relative "virtues" as industry, zeal, diligence in their crafts and callings, and we find these "good" actions tainted at the very source: love of self and jealousy of others being the determining motives.[98] in any case we see that work is no help to happiness, for it is too evident that toil and moil--even that of the writer himself, who knows full well that he is labouring for a stranger--is but the price we pay, not for real pleasure, but for carking care and poignant grief.[99] such being the bitter fruits of knowledge, the tree on which they flourish is scarcely worth cultivating. wisdom in its ethical aspect, as a rule of right conduct, is unavailing as a weapon to combat the fate that fights against man. nay, it is not even a guarantee that we shall be remembered by those who come after us, and whose lot we have striven to render less unbearable than our own. the memory of the dead is buried in their graves,[100] and the wheels of the vast machine revolve as if they had never lived. for a man's moral worth goes for nothing in the scale against fate, whose laws operate with crushing regularity, unmodified by his virtues or his crimes.[101] indeed, if there be any perceptible difference between the lot of the upright and that of the wicked, it is often to the advantage of the latter, who are furthered by their fierce recklessness and borne onwards by ambition.[102] the knowledge of this curious state of things serves but to encourage evil-doers.[103] the obvious conclusion is that instead of fighting against fate which is unalterable--"i discovered that whatever god doeth is forever"[104]--we should resign ourselves to our lot and draw the practical inference from the fact that life is an evil. wisdom in its practical aspect is equally unpromising. in no walk of life is success the meed of merit or victory the unfailing guerdon of heroism.[105] such wisdom as is within man's reach is often a positive disadvantage in life, owing to the modesty it inspires as pitted against the self-confidence of noisy fools. besides, should it contrive to build up a stately structure, a small dose of folly, with which all human wisdom is largely alloyed, is capable, in an instant, of undoing the work of years.[106] in a word, the wise man is often worse off than the fool; and in any case, no degree of wisdom can influence the laws of the universe; what happens is foredoomed; a man's life-journey is mapped out beforehand, and it is hopeless to struggle with the will which is mightier than his own. as we know not what is pre-arranged, we can never find out what will dovetail with our true interests or is really good for man.[107] footnotes: [91] i. 2-11 [92] _cf._ schopenhauer, vol. i. 401-402, and _passim_. [93] ii. 3-11. [94] v. 9-16. [95] pain, then, for koheleth, as for a greater than koheleth, is something positive; pleasure, on the contrary, negative. "we feel pain, but not painlessness; we feel care, but not exemption from it; fear, but not safety.... only pain and privation are perceived as positive and announce themselves; well-being, on the contrary, is merely negative. hence it is that we are never conscious of the three greatest boons of life--health, youth, and freedom as such, so long as we possess them, but only when we have lost them: for they too are negations.... the hours fly the quicker the pleasanter they are; they drag themselves on the slowlier the more painfully they are passed, because pain, not enjoyment, is the something positive whose presence makes itself felt."--schopenhauer, ed. grisebach, ii. 676, 677. [96] v. 17-vi. 7; iii. 9, 12-13. [97] iii. 19-iv. 3. [98] iv. 4-6. [99] iv. 7, 8; ii. 18-23. [100] ii. 13-16. [101] iii. 1-8, viii. 6-8. [102] viii. 9-14. [103] viii. 14, ix. 3. [104] iii. 14. [105] ix. 11-12. [106] ix. 13-18, x. 1. [107] vi. 8, 10-12. * * * * * practical wisdom having thus cleared the ground in the first part of the treatise, koheleth proceeds to erect his own modest system in the second. as life offers us no positive good, those who, in spite of this obvious fact, desire it, must make the best of such negative advantages as are within their grasp. although so far from being a boon, it is an evil, yet it may, he points out, be rendered less irksome by following certain practical rules; and warming to his subject, he winds up with an exhortation to snatch such pleasures as are within reach, for when all accounts have been finally cast up and everything has been said and done, all things will prove vanity, and a grasping of wind. the ethics open with six metrical strophes composed, so to say, in the minor key, which harmonises with the disheartening conclusions of the foregoing. the theme is the horatian _levius fit patientia quicquid corrigere est nefas._ death is better than life, grief more becoming than mirth, contemplation preferable to desire, deliberation more serviceable than haste.[108] the fleeting joys and the abiding evils of existence, are to be taken as we find them, seeing that it is beyond our power to alter the proportions in which they are mixed, even by the practice of virtue and the application of knowledge. hence even in the cultivation of righteousness the rule, _ne quid nimis_, is to be implicitly followed: "be not righteous overmuch, neither make thyself overwise."[109] on the other hand, wisdom is not to be despised, for it hardens us against the strokes of fate, and renders us insensible to the insults of our fellows.[110] it also teaches us the drawbacks of isolation, the benefits of co-operation, and the advantage of being open to counsel.[111] the basis of all practical wisdom being resignation to the inevitable, obedience to god is better than sacrifices destined to influence his action. what he does, is done for ever, and our efforts are powerless to alter it, or to induce him to change it.[112] god is far off, unknowable, inaccessible, and man is here upon earth, and such prayers as we feel disposed to offer, had best be short and few; vows too, although to be carried out if once made, serve no good purpose, and are to be avoided. in a word, wild speculations and many words in matters of religion and theology are vain and pernicious.[113] that work and enterprise are beneficial in public and private life is obvious from a study of the results engendered by their opposites.[114] simple individuals, no less than rulers, may benefit by enterprise and initiative, provided that prudence, by multiplying the possibilities of profit, leaves as little as possible to the vagaries of chance.[115] but prudence is especially needed in order to avoid the seductive wiles of woman, against whom one must be ever on one's guard.[116] it also enjoins upon us submission to the political ruler of the day, who possesses the power to enforce his will, and is therefore a living embodiment of the inevitable.[117] in a word, this practical wisdom assumes the form of a careful adjustment of means to the end in all the ups and downs of existence.[118] after this follows the recommendation of the negative good: the sensuous joys within our reach. seeing that no man knows what evil is before him, nor what things will happen after him, he cannot go far astray, supposing him to be actuated by a desire to make the best of life, if he tastes in moderation of the pleasures that lie on his path, including those of labour.[119] the young generation should, in an especial manner, take this to heart and pluck the rosebuds while it may, for old age and death are hurriedly approaching to prove by their presence that all is vanity and a grasping of wind.[120] footnotes: [108] vii. 1-6, vi. 9, vii. 7-9. [109] vii. 10, 13-14, 15-18. [110] vii. 21-22. [111] iv. 9-16. [112] iii. 14. [113] v. 1-7. [114] v. 7-8, x. 16-20. [115] x. 1-3, 6, 4, 5. [116] vii. 26-29. [117] viii. 1-4, x. 2-7. [118] x. 8-14a, 15. [119] x. 14b, ix. 3-10, xi. 7-10. [120] xi. 9, xii. 8. * * * * * koheleth's philosophy of life koheleth, who agrees with job in so many other essential points, is likewise at one with him in his views on human knowledge, or, as he terms it, wisdom, which is the source of the highest good within the reach of man. the only light which we have to guide us through the murky mazes of existence, is at best but a miserable taper which serves only to render the eternal darkness painfully visible. "i set my heart to learn wisdom and understanding. and my heart discerned much wisdom and knowledge.... i realised that this also is but a grasping of wind."[121] the scenes it reveals in the moral as well as the material order are of a nature to make us hate existence. "then i loathed life."[122] indeed, the so-called moral order which, were it, in theory, what it is asserted to be in truth, might reconcile us to our lot and kindle a spark of hope in the human breast, is but the embodiment of rank immorality. "all things come alike to all indiscriminately; the one fate overtaketh the upright man and the miscreant, the clean and the unclean, him who sacrifices and him who sacrifices not, the just and the sinner."[123] what then is life? to this question the answer is, in effect, "the shadow of a thing which is not." the sights and sounds of the universe are the only materials upon which the human intellect can work; and they are all alike empty, shadowy, unreal. they are the creation of the mind itself, the web it weaves from its own gossamer substance; and beyond this are nothing. space and time, or, as koheleth expresses it, the universe and eternity, were placed in our consciousness from the very first, and are as deceptive as the mirage of the desert.[124] kant would define them to be functions of the brain. a projection of the organ of human thought, the world is woven of three threads--space, time, and causality--which, being identical with the mind, appear and vanish with it. the one underlying reality, whether we term it god, nature, or will, is absolutely unknowable,[125] and everything else is maya or illusion. strange as this doctrine may sound in orthodox ears, it contains, so far, nothing incompatible with christianity, which teaches that time and space will disappear along with this transitory existence, and that the one eternal and incomprehensible will is outside the sphere of both and exempt from the operation of the law of cause and effect. the only difference between the two is that christianity admits the existence of many beings outside the realm of space and time, whereas without space and time multiplicity is inconceivable, impossible. we cannot hope to know the one reality which is and acts underneath the appearances of which our world is made up, because knowledge is for ever formed, coloured and bounded by time, space, and causation, and all three are unreal. they alone constitute succession and multiplicity, which are therefore only apparent, not existent. we can conceive nothing but what is, was, or will be (and therefore in time), nothing outside ourselves but what is in space, and absolutely nought that is not a cause or an effect. "far off is that which is, and deep, deep, who can fathom it?"[126] but we possess insight and understanding enough to enable us to perceive that life is a positive evil, as, indeed, all evil, pain, and suffering are positive; that pleasures are few, and being negative by their nature, merely serve to make us less sensible of the evils of existence; that happiness is a chimaera, birth a curse, death a boon,[127] and absolute nothingness (nirvana) the only real good. the hope of improvement, progress, evolution, is a cruel mockery; for the present is but a rehearsal of the past; the future will be a repetition of both;[128] everything that is and will be, was; "what came into being had been long before, and what will be was long ago."[129] in a word, what we term progress is but the movement of a vast wheel revolving on its axis everlastingly. but may we not hope for some better and higher state in the future life beyond the tomb where vice will be punished and virtue rewarded? to this query koheleth's reply, like that given by job, is an emphatic negative; and yet the doctrines of the immortality of the soul and of the resurrection were rapidly making headway among the writer's contemporaries. but he descries nothing in the material or moral order of the world to warrant any such belief. what is there in material man that he should be immortal? "men are an accident, and the beasts are an accident, and the same accident befalleth them all; as these die even so die those, and the selfsame breath have they all, nor is there any preeminence of man above beast; for all is nothingness."[130] nor can any such flattering hope be grounded upon the moral order, because there are no signs of morality in the conduct of the world. "to righteous men that happeneth which should befall wrong-doers, and that betideth criminals which should fall to the lot of the upright."[131] nay, "there are just men who perish _through_ their righteousness, and there are wicked men who prolong their lives _by means_ of their iniquity."[132] of divine promises and revelations koheleth--who can hardly claim to be considered a theist, and whose god is fate, nature, eternal will--knows nothing. the most favourable judgment he can pass upon such theological speculations is far from encouraging: "in the multitude of fancies and prattle there likewise lurketh much vanity."[133] in eternal justice, however, he professes a strong belief, and, like job, he formulates his faith in the words: "fear thou god."[134] to accuse koheleth of epicureanism is to take a one-sided view of his philosophy. his conception of life, its pleasures and pains, is as clearly and emphatically expressed as that of the buddha or of schopenhauer. he is an uncompromising pessimist, who sees the world as it is. everything that seems pleasant or profitable is vanity and a grasping of wind; there is nothing positive but pain, nothing real but the eternal will, which is certainly unknowable and probably unconscious. these truths, however, are not grasped by every one; they are the bitter fruits of that rare knowledge, increase of which is increase of sorrow. the few who taste thereof cling too tenaciously to life, though life be wedded to sorrow and misery, to renounce such deceitful pleasures as are within their reach; and the bulk of mankind revel in the empty joys of living. to all such, koheleth offers some practical rules of conduct to enable them to make the best of what is to be had; but the gist of his discourse is identical with those of jesus, of the buddha, of schopenhauer--renunciation. human pleasures, whatever their origin, are limited in degree by man's capacity for enjoyment; and this is an inborn gift, varying in different individuals but unchanging in each. some dispositions, cheerful and sanguine by nature, tinge even the blackest clouds of misfortune with the rainbow hues of hope; others impart a sombre colour to the most auspicious event, and descry cause for dread in the most complete success, just as the bee sucks honey from the flower which yields only poison to the adder. all joys, although produced by the chemistry of our consciousness, are drawn either from within its inner sphere or from without. the former, known as intellectual pleasures, are relatively lasting because they emanate from what man is; the latter are fleeting because their source is either what he has or what he seems. these are never free from alloy; preceded by the pain of desire, they are accompanied by that of disenchantment and followed by tedium, the worst pain of all; those are exempt from all three, because instead of gratifying passing whims they free the intellect from drudging for the will and afford it momentary glimpses of truth. wisdom therefore, for koheleth as for job, is the greatest boon that can fall to man's lot.[135] and yet the law of compensation, operating here as in all other spheres, sensibility to pain is always proportionate to capacity for intellectual enjoyment. with regard to the pleasures of possession, seeing that they are often difficult of attainment and always precarious, we must be moderate in their pursuit and make the most of such as fall to our lot. contentment here is everything, and contentment is the result of an even balance between desire and fulfilment, the former being always in our power and the latter generally beyond our control. to such happiness as possession can bestow, it is immaterial whether our demands are lowered or our prosperity increased, just as in arithmetic it matters not whether we divide the denominator of a fraction or multiply its numerator by the same number. therefore, "better look with the eyes than wander with desire."[136] the golden rule is to keep our wishes within the bounds of moderation, and to adjust them to unfavourable circumstances. the rich man who wants nothing and covets a mere trifle which is beyond his grasp, is supremely wretched, while the poor man who needs much but longs for nothing, is cheerful and contented. but even if wealth were as easily obtained as it is difficult, the law of compensation should deter us from seeking it. "sweet is the sleep of the toiler, but his wealth suffereth not the rich man to slumber."[137] the only enjoyments common to all men are those which consist in the satisfaction of natural wants; the pleasures which wealth can purchase over and above these are trifling, and more than outweighed by the pain of carking care which it brings in its train. he who labours for this is, therefore, cutting a stick for his own back: "all his days are sorrows and his work grief."[138] "there is no good for man," then--for the common run of mankind who, debarred from intellectual enjoyment, yet cling tenaciously to life--"save that he should eat and drink, and make glad his soul in his labour."[139] health being the condition of all enjoyment, and one of the greatest of earthly boons, care should be taken to preserve it by eating, drinking, labour, and rest, and by moderation in all things. for painlessness, which is positive, is always to be preferred to pleasure, which is negative. it matters little to the strong man that he is otherwise hale and thriving, if he suffer from an excruciating toothache or lumbago. he forgets everything else and thinks only of his misery. the world, then, being a terrestrial hell, they who love it as a dwelling-place cannot do better than try to construct a fireproof abode therein. to hunt for pleasures while exposing oneself to the risk of pain is folly; to escape suffering even at the sacrifice of enjoyments is worldly wisdom. as aristotle put it, [greek: _ho phronimos to alupon diokei, ou to haedu_.] but when all has been said and done, the highest worldly wisdom is but a less harmful species of folly. existence is an evil, and the sole effective remedy renunciation. footnotes: [121] i. 17, 16b. [122] ii. 17. [123] ix. 2. [124] iii. 11. [125] vii. 24, _cf_. also v. 1. [126] vii. 24, _cf_. also viii. 16, 17. [127] "i appraised the dead who died long since, as happier than the quick who are yet alive; but luckier than both him who is still unborn, who hath not yet witnessed the evil doings under the sun," iv. 2, 3. [128] in truth, time existing only in the intellect as one of the forms of intuition, there can be neither past nor future, but an everlasting now. [129] iii. 15. [130] iii. 19. [131] viii. 14. [132] vii. 15. [133] v. 7. [134] _ibid._ [135] vii. 11, 12. [136] vi. 9. [137] v. 12. [138] ii. 23. [139] ii. 24. * * * * * the sources of koheleth's philosophy to what extent are these pessimistic doctrines the fruits of koheleth's own meditations, and how far may they be supposed to reflect the views of the nation which admitted his treatise into its sacred canon? the latter half of this question is answered by the desperate efforts made from the very beginning to correct or dilute his pessimism, and by the grave suspicion with which jewish doctors continued to regard it, long after the "poison" had been provided with a suitable antidote. thus the book known as the wisdom of solomon, which is accepted as canonical by the roman catholic church, contains a flat contradiction and emphatic condemnation of certain of the propositions laid down by koheleth, as, for instance, in ch. ii. 1-9, which is obviously a studied refutation of koheleth's principal thesis, couched mainly in the identical words used by the preacher himself: "for they have said, reasoning with themselves, but not right: the time of our life is short and tedious, and in the end of a man there is no remedy, and no man hath been known to have returned from hell. "for we are born of nothing, and after this we shall be as if we had not been: for the breath in our nostrils is smoke; and speech a spark to move our hearts. "which being put out, our body shall be ashes, and our spirit shall be poured abroad as soft air, and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, which is driven away by the beams of the sun, and overpowered with the heat thereof. "and our name in time shall be forgotten, and no man shall have any remembrance of our works. "for our time is as the passing of a shadow, and there is no going back of our end: for it is fast sealed, and no man returneth. "come, therefore, and let us enjoy the good things that are present, and let us speedily use the creatures as in youth. "let us fill ourselves with costly wine, and ointments; and let not the flower of the time pass by us. "let us crown ourselves with roses before they be withered; let no meadow escape our riot. "let none of us go without his part in luxury: let us everywhere leave tokens of joy: for this is our portion, and this our lot." although the book was accepted as canonical by generations of hebrew teachers and was quoted as such by men like gamaliel, there was always a strong orthodox party among the jews opposed to its teachings and apprehensive of its influence;[140] nor was it until the year 118 a.d. that the protracted dispute on the subject was at last definitely settled at the synod which admitted koheleth into the canon. it was natural enough that hebrew theologians should have hesitated to stamp with the seal of orthodoxy a book which the poet heine calls the canticles of scepticism and in which every unbiassed reader will recognise a powerful solvent of the bases of theism; and the only surprising thing about their attitude is that they should have ever allowed themselves to be persuaded to abandon it. for koheleth's pessimistic theory, which has its roots in secularism, is utterly incompatible with the spirit of judaism, whichever of its historical phases we may select for comparison. it is grounded upon the rejection of the messianic expectations and absolute disbelief in the solemn promises of jahveh himself. koheleth cherishes no hope for the individual, his nation, or the human race. the thing that hath been is the same that shall be, and what befell is the same that shall come to pass, and there is no new thing under the sun....[141] "i surveyed all the works that are wrought under the sun, and behold all was vanity and the grasping of wind."[142] persians had succeeded chaldeans; cyrus, the anointed of jahveh, had come and gone; greeks had wrested the hegemony of the east from persians, but no change had brought surcease of sorrow to the jews. they were even worse off now than ever before. jahveh, like baal of old, was become deaf to his worshippers, many of whom turned away from him in despair, exclaiming, "it is vain to serve god, and what profit is it that we have kept his ordinance?"[143] koheleth, like job, never once mentions jahveh's name, but always alludes to the eternal will, which alone is real and unknowable, under the colourless name of elohim. to say that he believed in a personal god in any sense in which a personal god is essential to a revealed religion, is to misunderstand ideas or to play with words.[144] and koheleth was a type of a class. literary men of his day having mockingly asked for the name of the creator,[145] koheleth answers that he is inaccessible to men, and that prayer to him is fruitless.[146] the jewish aristocracy of his day, desirous of embodying these views in a practical form, sought to abolish once for all the national religion, as a body of belief and practices that had been weighed in the balances and found wanting; while the party that still remained faithful to the law was composed mainly of narrow-minded fanatics, whose wild speculations, long-winded prayers and frequent vows, koheleth considers deserving objects of derision. he himself held aloof from either camp. he took his stand outside the circle of both, surveying life from the angle of vision of the philosophical citizen of the world. but it would be idle to deny that he had far more in common with the "impious" than with the orthodox. thus he scornfully rejects the old doctrine of retribution, and he is never tired of affirming premisses from which the obvious and indeed only conclusion is that the popular conception of a deity who spontaneously created the universe and vigilantly watches over the hebrew nation, is erroneous, incredible, inconceivable. the jahveh of olden times, with his grand human passions and petty jewish prejudices, he simply ignores. he naturally rejects the immortality of the soul--a tenet or theory which was then for the first time beginning to gain ground and to be relied upon as the only means of ultimately righting the wrongs of existence. the fact is that he had no belief in a soul as we understand it. modern theology regards the indestructible part of man as essentially intelligent, while admitting the fact that intellect is indissolubly associated with the brain, partaking of its vicissitudes during life and vanishing with it apparently for ever at death. job, koheleth, and many other writers of the old testament hold that if anything of the man persists after the death of the individual, it is unconscious. "the living know at least that they shall die, whereas the dead know not anything at all."[147] in a word, no other philosopher, poet, or proverb-writer of the old testament is less orthodox in his beliefs or less jewish in his sentiments--and agur alone is more aggressive in his scepticism--than koheleth. much has been written about the sources from which this writer may and even must have drawn his peculiar mixture of pessimism and "epicureanism," and considerable stress has been laid upon the profound influence which greek culture is supposed to have exerted upon jewish thinkers towards the second century b.c., when the moral atmosphere was choked with "the baleful dust of systems and of creeds." the "epicureanism" of the man who said: "better is sorrow than laughter," "the heart of the wise is in the mourning house,"[148] hardly needs the hypothesis of a greek origin to explain it. my own view of the matter, which i put forward with all due diffidence, differs considerably from those which have been heretofore expressed on the subject. i cannot divest myself of the notion that koheleth was acquainted, and to some extent imbued, with the doctrines of gautama buddha, which must have been pretty widely diffused in the civilised world towards the year 205 b.c., when the present treatise was most probably composed.[149] buddhism, the only one of the world-religions which, springing from an abstruse system of metaphysics, brought forth such practical fruits as truthfulness, honesty, loving-kindness and universal pity, spread with extraordinary rapidity not only throughout the indian continent but over the entire civilised world. its apostles[150] visited foreign countries, touching and converting by their example the hearts and minds of those who were incapable of weighing their arguments, or unwilling to listen to their exhortations. they introduced a mild, tolerant, humane spirit whithersoever they went, preaching entire equality, practising perfect toleration, founding houses for meditation, erecting hospitals and dispensaries for sick men and beasts, cultivating useful plants and trees, gently suppressing cruelty to animals under any pretext,[151] and generally sowing seeds of sympathy and brotherly love of which history has noticed and described but the final fruits. from the earliest recorded period indian culture manifested a natural tendency to expand, which was intensified at various times by the comparatively low ebb of civilisation in the adjoining countries. one can readily conceive, therefore, the effects of the strenuous and persevering efforts of one of the most powerful indian monarchs, açoka piyadassi,[152] king of magadha, to propagate that aspect of his country's civilisation which is indissolubly bound up with the doctrines of the buddha. açoka, grandson of the great king tshandragupta, was the first monarch who openly accepted the tenets and conscientiously practised the precepts of the profoundest religious teacher ever born of woman; and no more eloquent testimony could well be offered to the sincerity of the royal convert than the well-nigh miraculous self-restraint with which he forebore to cajole or coerce those of his subjects whom his arguments failed to convince. satisfied with the progress of the new religion in his native place, he despatched his son, mahindo, to introduce it into ceylon; and so successful were the young prince's missionary efforts that that island became and remains the chief seat of buddhism to this day. açoka next turned his attention to foreign countries, in which traders, travellers, emigrants and others had already sparsely sown the seeds of the new faith, and making political power and prestige subservient to zeal for truth and pity for suffering humanity, he induced his allies and their vassals to purchase his friendship by seconding his endeavours to inculcate the philosophic doctrines and engraft the humane practices of buddhism on their respective subjects. the results he obtained are recorded in his famous inscriptions composed in various indian dialects and engraven upon rocks all over the continent, from cabul in the west to orissa in the east; and among the monarchs whom he there enumerates as having co-operated with him in his apostolic labours, are antiochus,[153] turamaya,[154] alexander, magas[155] and antigenes;[156] into whose hospitable dominions he despatched zealous buddhist missionaries, empowered to found monasteries, to open dispensaries and hospitals, at his expense, and to preach the saving word to all who cared to hear. the following literal translation of one of açoka's inscriptions[157] will help to convey an idea of the nature of his activity as the royal apostle of buddhism, the constantine of india: "all over the realms of the god-favoured king, priyadarsin, and (the realms of those) who (are) his neighbours, such as the codas, pandyas, the prince of the sâtiyas,[158] the prince of the keralas, tamraparnî, the king of the javanas, antiochus, and (among the) others who (are) vassals of the said king antiochus, everywhere the god-beloved, king, priyadarsin, caused two kinds of hospitals to be erected: hospitals for men and likewise hospitals for animals.[159] wherever there were no herbs beneficial to men or animals, he everywhere gave orders that they should be procured or planted. in like manner, where there were no health-giving roots and fruits, he everywhere commanded that they should be procured or planted. and on the highways he had trees put down and wells dug for the behoof of men and beasts."[160] history confirms açoka's testimony and declares him to have been no less successful in sowing the seeds of medicinal plants than those of the "saving doctrine." buddhism enrolled numerous converts and zealous apostles all over the civilised world, and in ceylon, egypt, bactria, and persia, the yellow flag floated aloft from the roofs of the monasteries of _bhikshus_.[161] but its influence, in other ways equally powerful while considerably more subtle, has oftentimes escaped the vigilance of the historian. none of the great religions of ancient or modern times succeeded in escaping its contact, or failed to be improved by its spirit. in the second century b.c. there were flourishing buddhist communities in inhospitable bactria, where they maintained a firm footing for nearly a thousand years. a greek,[162] who wrote about the year 80 b.c., and a chinese pilgrim,[163] who passed through the land in the beginning of the seventh century a.d., allude to them as important elements of the population of the country in their respective ages, and the buddhist monastery founded in balkh, the capital of bactria, in the second century b.c., was become a famous pilgrimage in the days of hiuen thsang. the zoroastrian priests of erân hated and feared the followers of the strange creed while silently adopting and unconsciously propagating many of its institutions. several of the eranian kings incurred the censure involved in the nickname of "idolaters" in consequence of the favour they extended to the preachers of nirvana.[164] no religion of antiquity was less favourable to a life of passive contemplation than zoroastrianism, which defined life as a continuous struggle, and considered virtue as a successful battle with the powers of darkness; and yet little by little zoroastrian monasteries sprang up by the side of the fire temples, and offered a quiet refuge from the turmoil of the world to the pious worshippers of ahura mazda.[165] so saturated were the eranian populations with the spirit of buddha--antagonistic though it was to their own--that the two great eranian sects,[166] one of which bade fair to become a universal religion,[167] were little else than adaptations of the creed of the buddha to the needs of a different time and people. mânî, for instance, prohibited marriage, which was one of the principal duties and holiest acts of a true servant of ahura mazda; forbade the killing of animals which, in the case of ants, serpents, gnats, &c., was enjoined by the priests of zoroaster, and discouraged agriculture lest plants should be destroyed in the process. and the two classes of perfect and imperfect disciples in mânî's community were copied from those of buddhism, which divides all believers into two categories: those who sincerely and fervently seek to attain to nirvana and are termed bhikshus, and the upasakas or laymen who, while holding on to life, practise such virtues as are compatible with this unholy desire. the jewish religion, in certain of its phases, reveals in like manner unmistakable traces of the influence of the religion of the buddha. to take but one instance, the essenians in judaea, near the dead sea and the therapeutes in egypt, practised continence, eschewed all bloody sacrifices, encouraged celibacy, and extreme abstemiousness in eating and drinking. they formed themselves into communities, and lived, after the manner of buddhist bhikshus, in monasteries. during the life of jesus, the essenians, who lived mostly in cloistered retirement on the shores of the dead sea, played no historic role; but after the destruction of jerusalem, they embraced christianity in a body, and originated the ascetic movement of the ebionites, which did not finally subside until it had deposited the germs of monasticism in the church of christ. koheleth, who lived either in jerusalem or in alexandria--more probably in the latter city--about the year 205 b.c., had exceptional opportunities for becoming acquainted with the tenets and precepts of the religion of buddha. he was evidently a man of an inquiring mind, with a pronounced taste for philosophical speculation; and the social and political conditions of his day were such that a person even of a very incurious disposition would be likely to be brought face to face with the sensational doctrine which was responsible for such amazing innovations as hospitals for men and for animals. alexandria, the museum and library of which had already been founded, was one of the principal strongholds of non-indian buddhists. it is mentioned in the milindapanho, a pali work which deals with events that took place in the second century b.c.;[168] it is expressly included by açoka in the list of cities into which he introduced a knowledge of the "path of duty," and so devoted were its inhabitants to the creed of sakhya mouni,[169] that thirty years after augustine had died at hippo, thirty thousand bhikshus set out from alasadda[170] to annex new countries to the realm of truth. footnotes: [140] _cf._ the epilogue (xii. 9-14), for example, which is one of the most timid and shuffling apologies ever penned. [141] i. 9. [142] i. 14. [143] malachi iii. 14. [144] professor cheyne remarks: "to me, koheleth is not a theist in any vital sense in his philosophic meditations."--"job and solomon," p. 250. [145] _cf._ proverbs xxx. 4. [146] iii. 14, v. 2. [147] eccles. ix. 5. [148] vii. 3, 4. [149] the view of several of the most authoritative scholars--in which i entirely concur--is that koheleth was written in alexandria during the reign of ptolemy v. (epiphanes), who came to the throne as a boy under the guardianship of tutors and was alluded to in the verse: "woe, land, to thee whose king is a child." [150] some of them were foreigners resident in india who, after their conversion, preached the new doctrine to their fellow-countrymen. thus, one of the earliest and most successful missionaries was a greek, whose indian name was dharmarakshita. [151] plants, too, were included in their care and profited by their protection. [152] açoka is a sanskrit word, which means "free from care;" and piyadassi a dialectic form of the sanskrit word priyadarsin, which means lovable, amiable. it was applied as an epithet to king açoka, who reigned from 259-222 b.c. [153] antiochus ii., called theos, who was poisoned by his divorced wife laodike in 247 b.c. i am aware that some scholars identify the antiochus here mentioned with antiochus the great. although both views make equally for my contention, i fail to see how açoka, who died in all probability in the year 222 b.c., could have carried on important negotiations with antiochus the great, who came to the throne of syria two years later. [154] ptolemy of egypt, probably ptolemy philadelphos, who founded the museum and library of alexandria, and his successor ptolemy euergetes (247-221 b.c.). [155] magas, king of cyrene. [156] the identity of this monarch is uncertain. [157] the second edict of girnar, khalsi version. [158] a south indian people. [159] usually a dispensary was opened for the distribution of simples, and a hospital hard by for those who could not move about. the buddhists were almost as anxious to relieve the physical pain and illness of animals as of human beings. [160] _cf._ bühler, "zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen gesellschaft," band xxxvii. folg. p. 98. [161] the monks or real disciples of buddha who endeavour to attain nibbana or nirvana. the bulk of the population contents itself with almsgiving and the practice of elementary morality, the reward for which will be a less unhappy existence after death; but not nirvana, to which only the perfect can hope to attain. [162] alexander polyhistor, quoted by cyrillus (_contra julianum_); _cf._ also clemens alexandrinus, _stromata i._, p. 339. [163] hiuen thsang. [164] their names and deeds are preserved in the persian epic known as the book of kings (firdoosi, shah-nameh, _cf_. 1033, v. 4, 1160, v. 2, &c.). [165] ormuzd. an instructive instance of the way in which foreign institutions become nationalised in bactria is afforded by the buddhist monastery in balkh, which was at first known by its indian name, _nava vihâra_, a term that was gradually changed to _naubehar,_ which in persian means "new spring." [166] mânî and mazdak. [167] the religion of mânî. [168] ed. trenckner, p. 327. [169] buddha. [170] alexandria. agur, the agnostic * * * * * agur, son of yakeh embedded in the collection of the book of proverbs[171] is an interesting fragment of the philosophy of a certain "agur, son of yakeh, the poet," which for scathing criticism of the theology of his day and sweeping scepticism as to every form of revealed religion, is unmatched by the bitterest irony of job and the most dogmatic agnosticism of koheleth. unfortunately it is no more than a mere fragment, the verses of which are thoughtfully separated from each other by strictures, protests, and refutations of the baldest and most orthodox kind. indeed, it is in all probability precisely to the presence of the infallible antidote that we owe the preservation of the deadly poison; and if we may found a conjecture as to the character of the whole work on a comparison of the fragments with what we know generally of the sceptical schools of philosophy prevalent among the jews of post-exilian days, we shall feel disposed to hold the seven strophes preserved in our bibles as that portion of the poem which the compiler considered to be the most innocent because the least startling and revolutionary. to the thinking of the critics of former times the proverbs displayed unmistakable traces of the unique and highly finished workmanship of the great and wise king solomon. at the present day no serious student of the bible, be he christian or rationalist, would raise his voice on behalf of this jewish tradition which, running counter to well-established facts, is devoid even of the doubtful recommendation of moderate antiquity. a more accurate knowledge of history and a more thorough study of philology have long since made it manifest to all who can lay claim to either, that however weighty may have been solomon's titles to immortality, they included neither depth of philosophic thought nor finish of literary achievement. and an average supply of plain common-sense enables us to see that even had that extraordinary monarch been a profound thinker or a classic writer, he would hardly have treated future events as accomplished facts without being endowed with further gifts and marked by graver defects which would involve a curious combination of prophecy and folly. the proverbs themselves, when properly interrogated, tell a good deal of their own story; sacred and profane history supply the rest. in their present form they were collected and edited by the author of the first six verses of the first chapter, who drew his materials from different sources. the first and most important of these was the so-called "praise of wisdom" which, until a comparatively recent period, was erroneously held to be a rounded, homogeneous poem. professor bickell conclusively showed that it consists of ten different songs composed in the same metre as the poem of job, each chapter being coextensive with one song, except the first chapter, which contains two.[172] the fifth collection, containing the proverbs copied "by the men of hezekiah," is characterised by the strong national spirit of the writers. most of the others make frequent mention of god, give a prominent place to religion, and adapt themselves for use as texts for sermons; these, on the contrary, never once mention his name, reflect religion as it was--viz., as only one of the many sides of national existence, and deal mainly with the concrete problems of the everyday life of the struggling people. the other sayings may be aptly described as the pious maxims of a sect; these as the thoughts of a nation. the seventh part of the book of proverbs contains the remarkable sayings of agur,[173] which were quite as frequently misunderstood by the jews of old as by christians of more recent times, the former heightening the impiety of the author and the latter generously identifying him with the pious and fanatical writer to whose well-meant refutations and protests we owe the preservation of this interesting fragment of ancient hebrew agnosticism. footnotes: [171] the book of proverbs begins with ten songs on wisdom, which constitute the first part of the work. the second part is made up of distichs, each one of which, complete in itself, embodies a proverbial saying (x. i-xxii. 16). the third section is composed of the "sayings of the wise men," which are enshrined in tetrastichs or strophes of four lines, among which we find an occasional interpolation by the editor, recognisable by the paternal tone, the words "my son," and the substitution of distichs for tetrastichs. then comes the appendix containing other proverbial dicta (chap. xxiv. 23-34. chap. vi. 9-19, chap. xxv. 2-10), followed by the proverbs "of solomon, which the men of hezekiah copied out" (xxv. 11-xxvii. 22), and wound up with a little poem in praise of rural economy. chaps. xxviii. and xxix. constitute another collection of proverbs of a more strictly religious character, and then come the sayings of agur, written in strophes of six lines, the rules for a king and the praise of a good housewife. [172] prov. i. 7-19 and i. 20-33. [173] chap. xxx. * * * * * form and contents of the sayings of agur it is needless to discuss the condition and the contents of the entire book of proverbs, seeing that each one of its component parts has an independent, if somewhat obscure, history of its own. the final compiler and editor, to whom we are indebted for the collection in its present form, undoubtedly found the sweeping scepticism of the poet agur and the pious protestations of his anonymous adversary, the thesis and the antithesis, inextricably interwoven in the section now known as the thirtieth chapter. he himself apparently identified the two antagonists--the scoffing doubter and the believing jew; most modern theologians have cheerfully followed his example. the fact would seem to be that the orthodox member of the jewish community, who thus emphatically objected to aggressive agnosticism, was a man who strictly observed the "mosaic" law, and sympathised with the people in their hatred of their heathen masters and their hopes of speedy deliverance by the messiah; in a word, an individual of the party which later on played an important role in palestine under the name of the pharisees. possessing a copy of agur's popular philosophical treatise, this zealous champion undertook to refute the theory before he had ascertained the drift of the sayings in which it was enshrined, or grasped their primary meaning. thus, in one passage[174] he fancies that the taunts which agur levelled against omniscient theologians who are well up in the history of everything that is done or left undone in heaven, while amazingly ignorant of the ascertainable facts of earthly science, are really aimed at god; and he seeks to parry the attack accordingly. his numerous and amusing errors are such as characterise the fanaticism that would refute a theory before hearing it unfolded, not those which accompany and betray pious imbecility. hence it would be unfair to tax him with the utter incoherency of the prayer which our bibles make him offer up, when warding off the supposed attack upon god: (8) "feed me with food convenient for me, (9) lest i be full and deny thee, and say, who is the lord? or lest i be poor and steal, and take the name of my god _in vain_." the mistake is the result of the erroneous punctuation of the hebrew words,[175] which may be literally rendered into english as follows: "feed me with food suitable for me, lest i be sated and deny thee, and say, who is the lord? or lest i be poor and yield to seduction, and sin against the name of my god.' in the ensuing verse the controversialist, full of his own pharisaic[176] views of politics, and fancying he detects in certain of agur's words,[177] an apology for the heathen rulers and contempt for the orthodox people of god, inveighs against the traitor who would denounce his fellow-subjects to their common master,[178] and holds him up to universal odium. one or two other false constructions put upon agur's sayings by the champion of the "law of jahveh," are likewise worthy of attention. in the second sentence, which can be traced back to the proverbial philosophy of the hindoos, agur, enumerating the four things that are never satisfied, lays special stress upon two which are, so to say, the beginning and end of all things, the alpha and omega of human philosophy--viz., the grave and the womb;[179] the latter the bait as well as the portal of life, the former the bugbear and the goal of all things living. the idea, no less than the form, is manifestly indian. birth and death constitute the axis of existence; the womb is the symbol of the allurement that tempts men to forget their sorrows, to keep the juggernaut wheel revolving and to supply it with fresh victims to be mangled and crushed into the grave. the lure and the deterrent--love of sensuous pleasure and fear of dissolution--are as deceitful as all the other causes of pain and pleasure in this world of appearance. schopenhauer puts it tersely thus: "as we are decoyed into life by the utterly illusory impulse to voluptuousness, even so are we held fast therein by the fear of death, which is certainly illusory in an equal degree. both have their immediate source in the will, which in itself is unconscious."[180] the only reward which life offers to those who crave it, is suffering and death. the desire of life--the indian _tanha_ or thirst of existence--agur represents in the form of the beautiful but terrible ghoul of the desert who has two daughters: birth and death. by means of her fascinating charms she entices the wanderer to her arms, but instead of satiating his soul with the promised joys, she ruthlessly flings him to her two daughters who tear him to pieces and devour him on the spot. desire is the source of life which in turn is the taproot of all evil and pain; insight into this truth--the knowledge or wisdom lauded by job and prized by koheleth--affords the only means of breaking the unholy spell, and escaping from the magic circle. this ingenious and profound philosophical image was wholly misunderstood by agur's orthodox adversary, who founds upon the deprecatory allusion to the womb a general accusation of lack of reverence for maternity and a specific charge of disrespect for agur's own mother.[181] agur's third saying has been likewise sadly misconstrued by the ancient pharisaic controversialist and by his faithful modern successors. he enumerates therein four things which to him seem wholly incomprehensible, the fourth and last being the darkest mystery of all: the flying of an eagle in the air, the movement of a serpent--which is devoid of special organs of locomotion--along a rock, the sailing of a ship on the ocean, and "the way of a man with a maid."[182] it is very hard to believe what is nevertheless an undeniable fact, that the bulk of serious commentators classify these as the trackless things, whereby, strangely enough, they understand the last of the four in a moral instead of a metaphysical sense. the error is an old one: it was on the strength of this arbitrary and vulgar interpretation that agur was accused by his jewish antagonist of a criminal lack of filial piety towards his own father,[183] and threatened with condign punishment, to be inflicted by the eagles that fly so wonderfully in the air;[184] while another scribe, unaware that the mystery of generation could be chosen as the text for a treatise on metaphysics, and firmly convinced that the philosopher was condemning unhallowed relations between the sexes, penned a gloss to make things sufficiently clear which was afterwards removed from the margin to the text where it now figures as the twentieth verse. in truth, agur gives utterance to a natural sentiment of awe and wonder at the greatest and darkest of all mysteries whose roots lie buried in the depths of the two worlds we conceive of. what could be more awe-inspiring than the instantaneous metamorphosis of pure immaterial will into concrete flesh and blood, throbbing with life hastening to decay, the incarnation in the sphere of appearances of an act of the one being which is not an appearance only, but the denizen of the world of reality? will is primary, real, enduring; intellect secondary, accidental, fleeting; the one, abiding for ever, is identical in all things; the latter varies in different beings, nay in the same individuals at various times, and perishes with the brain, of which it is a function. will is devoid of intellect, as intellect is deprived of velleity. we know will through our inner consciousness which has to do exclusively with it and its manifold manifestations; all other things--the world of appearances--we know through what may be termed our outer consciousness. now in our self-consciousness we apprehend the fierce, blind, headstrong sexual impulse as the most powerful motion of concentrated will. the act is marked by the spontaneity, impetuosity, and lack of reflection which characterises the agent, will being by nature unenlightened and unconditioned. and yet that which in our inner consciousness is a blind, vehement impulse, appears in our outer consciousness in the form of the most complex living organism we know. generation, then, is manifestly the point at which the real and the seeming intersect each other. birth and death--the inevitable lot of each and every one--would seem to affect the individual only, the race living on without change or decay. this, however, is but the appearance. in reality the individual and the race are one. the blind striving to live, the will that craves existence at all costs, is absolutely the same in both, as complete in the former as in the latter, and the perpetuity of the race is, so to say, but the symbol of the indestructibility of the individual--_i.e._, of will. now this all-important fact is exemplified quite as clearly by the phenomenon of generation as by the process of decay and death. in both we behold the opposition between the appearance and the essence of the being, between the world as it exists in our intellect as representation, and the world as it really is, as will. the act of generation is known to us through two different media: that of the inner consciousness which is taken up with our will and all its movements, and that of our outer consciousness which has to do with impressions received through the senses. seen through the former medium, the act is the most complete and immediate satisfaction of the will--sensual lust; viewed in the light supplied by the outer consciousness, it appears as the woof of the most intricate texture, the basis of the most complex of living organisms. from this angle of vision, the result is a work of amazing skill, designed with the greatest ingenuity and forethought, and carried out with patient industry and scrupulous care; from that point of view it is the direct outcome of an act which is the negation of plan, forethought, skill, and ingenuity, a blind unreasoning impulse. this contrast or rather opposition between the seeming and the real, this new view of birth and death, this sudden flash of light athwart the impenetrable darkness, is what provokes the wonder of this scoffing sceptic.[185] in the fourth saying, agur mentions, among the persons whom the earth cannot endure, a low-bred fellow who is set to rule over others, and a fool when he acquires a competency and becomes independent. the anonymous pharisee, who keeps a vigilant watch for doctrinal slips and political backslidings and frequently finds them where they are not, descries in the first of the four unbearable things a proof that agur was a sadducee and an aristocrat who would rather obey a monarch who is "every inch a king"--even though he be a heathen--than a native clodhopper who should climb up to the throne on the backs of a poor deluded people and grind them down in the sacred name of liberty and independence. agur is therefore duly reprimanded and classed with the shameless oppressors of the multitude and the devourers of the substance of the poor,[186] as the sadducees generally were by their pharisaic opponents. the sentence that follows, enumerating the things "which are little upon the earth,[187] is not from the pen of our philosopher, but a harmless passage inserted subsequently as a _pendant_ to the four things which "are comely in going." the main considerations that point to this conclusion and warrant us in ascribing the verses to a different author are these: all the other "numerical sayings" which are admittedly the work of agur, contain first of all the number three and in the parallel verse four,[188] whereas this sentence speaks of four only. again, all agur's proverbs are in the form of strophes of six lines each; but this passage consists of five distichs. lastly, it is a manifest digression, leads nowhither, and, what is still more important, has no point, as all agur's sayings have.[189] the final sentence of this interesting fragment needs no elaborate explanation: it contains the pith of agur's practical philosophy in the form of an exhortation to renounce honour, glory, the esteem of men, &c., if we possess legitimate claims to such, and still more if we have none; the acquisition of peace and quiet is cheap at the price of obscurity; freedom from care and worry and from the evils they bring in their train, being of infinitely greater value than the chance and even the certainty of so-called "positive" enjoyments. footnotes: [174] prov. xxx. 4. [175] the hebrew text consists of vowelless words. the correct vowels must be ascertained before the meaning of a word or sentence can be definitely established. the vowel points of our hebrew bibles are not older than the seventh century a.d., and are frequently erroneous. in the present case the word stealing does not occur in the text, but only the being stolen--viz., seduction, temptation. [176] i employ the word in its natural, not in its conventional, sense. [177] prov. xxx. 21, 22. [178] _ibid_ xxx. 10. [179] the word "barren" added in our bibles (hebrew _'oçzer_, "barrenness") is not only excluded by the metre, but is also wanting in the septuagint version--conclusive proofs that it is a later interpolation. [180] _cf_. schopenhauer, "die welt als wille und vorstellung," herausg. v. e. grisebach, ii. p. 585. grisebach's is the only correct edition of schopenhauer's works. [181] prov. xxx. 11. [182] _ib_. xxx. 18, 19. [183] _ib_. xxx. 11. [184] _ib_. xxx. 17. [185] _cf_. schopenhauer, "die welt als wille und vorstellung," vol. ii. p. 583 fol.; also vol. i. pp. 424-426; and bickell, "wiener zeitschrift für kunde des morgenlandes," 1891. [186] prov. xxx. 19. [187] _ib_. xxx. 24-28. [188] for example, prov. xxx. 15: "there are three things that are never satisfied, yea, four things say not, 'it is enough!'" [189] _cf_. bickell, "wiener zeitschrift für kunde des morgenlandes," 1891. * * * * * date of composition the sayings of agur cannot possibly be assigned to a date later than the close of third century b.c. the ground for this statement is contained in the circumstance that jesus sirach found the book of proverbs in existence, with all its component parts and in its present shape, about the year 200 b.c. he mentions a collection of proverbial sayings when alluding to solomon and his proverbs. jesus sirach's canon--if we can apply this technical term to the series of scriptures in vogue in his day--comprised the books contained in our bibles from genesis to kings, further isaiah, jeremiah, ezechiel, the twelve minor prophets, psalms, proverbs, and job. moreover, it is no longer open to doubt that the arrangement of the various parts of the book of proverbs which he read was identical with that of ours. for the last part of this book contains an alphabetical poem in praise of a good housewife,[190] and jesus sirach concluded his own work with a similar poem upon wisdom, in which he imitated this alphabetical order. it is obvious, therefore, that proverbs in their present form could not have been compiled later than the date of jesus sirach's work (about 200 b.c.). this conclusion is borne out by the circumstance that the final editor of proverbs in his introduction,[191] mentions the words of the wise, which occur in chapters xxii. 17-xxiv., and "their dark sayings," or riddles, by which he obviously means the sentences of agur. for proverbs and for agur's fragment, therefore, the latest date is the beginning of the second century b.c. chapter xxx., in which, on the one hand, agur develops very advanced philosophical views, some of them of indian origin, and, on the other, his anonymous antagonist breathes the narrow, fanatic spirit so thoroughly characteristic of the later "mosaic" law, is among the very latest portions of proverbs. for it is in the highest degree probable that the sayings of agur are of a much later date even than the promulgation of the priests' code;[192] and the circumstance that the anonymous stickler for strict orthodoxy already begins to accentuate the political and religious opposition between the two great parties known as pharisees and sadducees, as well as other grounds of a different order, disposes me to assign the fragment of agur to the third century b.c. this conclusion would be borne out by the influence upon agur's scepticism of comparatively recent foreign speculation. some of his sayings have an unmistakable indian ring about them. a few are even directly traceable to the philosophical sentences of the hindoos. the enumeration of the four insatiable things, for instance, is but a slight modification of the indian proverb in the hitopadeça which runs: "fire is not satiated with fuel; nor the sea with streams; nor death with all beings; nor a fair-eyed woman with men."[193] still more striking and suggestive is the correspondence between the desire of life, personified in agur's fragment by the beautiful ghoul, and the thirst of existence denoted by the buddha and his countrymen as _tanha_--the root of all evil and suffering. "through thirst for existence (_tanha_)," the buddha is reported to have said to his disciples, "arises a craving for life; through this, being; through being, birth; through birth are produced age and death, care and misery, suffering, wretchedness and despair. such is the origin of the world.... by means of the total annihilation of this thirst for existence (_tanha_) the destruction of the craving for life is compassed; through the destruction of the craving for life, the uprooting of being is effected; through the uprooting of being, the annihilation of birth is brought about; by means of the annihilation of birth the abolition of age and death, of care and misery, of suffering, wretchedness and despair is accomplished. in this wise takes place the annihilation of this sum of suffering."[194] the same doctrine is laid down by the last accredited of the buddha's disciples, sariputto: "what, brethren, is the source of suffering?" he is reported to have said. "it is that desire (_tanha_) which leads from new birth to new birth, which is accompanied by joy and passion, which delights now here, now there; it is the sexual instinct, the impulse towards existence, the craving for development. that, brethren, is what is termed the source of suffering."[195] footnotes: [190] prov. xxxi. 10-31. [191] prov. i. 6. [192] 444 b.c. [193] _cf_. hitopadeça, book ii. fable vi.; ed. max müller, vol. ii. p. 38. [194] samyuttaka-nikayo, vol. ii. chap. xliv. p. 12; _cf_. neumann "buddhistiche anthologie," leiden, 1892, pp. 161-162. [195] majjhima-nikayo; _cf_. neumann, _op. sit.,_ p.25. * * * * * agur's philosophy of the three hebrew thinkers of the old testament who ventured to sift and weigh the evidence on which the religious beliefs of their contemporaries were based, agur was probably the most daring and dangerous. he appealed directly to the people, and set up a simple standard of criticism which could be effectively employed by all. hence, no doubt, the paucity of the fragments of his writings which have come down to us and the consequent difficulty of constructing therewith a complete and coherent system of philosophy. to what extent he assented to the theories and approved the practices which constitute the positive elements of the buddha's religion, is open to discussion; but that he was a confirmed sceptic as regards the fundamental doctrines of jewish theology, and that his speculations received their impulse and direction from indian philosophy, are facts which can no longer be called in question. to the theologians of his day he shows no mercy; for their dogmas of retribution, messianism, &c., he evinces no respect; nay, he denies all divine revelation and strips the deity itself of every vestige of an attribute. proud of their precise and exhaustive knowledge of the mysteries of god's nature, the doctors of the jewish community had drawn up comprehensive formulas for all his methods of dealing with mankind, and anathematised those who ventured to cast doubts upon their accuracy. "whatever sceptic could inquire for, for every why they had a wherefore," the unanswerable tone of which lay necessarily and exclusively in the implicit and tenacious faith of the hearer. now, faith may be governed by conditions widely different from those that regulate scientific knowledge, but if its object be something that lies beyond the ken of the human intellect it must be based either upon a supernatural intuition accorded to the individual or upon a divine revelation vouchsafed to all. in the former case it cannot be embodied in a religious dogma; in the latter it cannot--or should not--be accepted without thorough discussion and due verification of the alleged historical fact of the divine message. this is the gist of agur's reasoning against the allwise theologians of the jewish church. these sapient specialists, whose intellects were nurtured upon the highest and most abstruse speculations and who could readily account for all the movements of the deity with a wealth of detail surpassing that of a french police _dossier_, were utterly and notoriously ignorant of the rudimentary laws of science which every inquisitive mind might learn and every educated man could verify. now, as truth is one, agur reasoned, how comes it that the persons who thus lay claim to a thorough knowledge of the more difficult, are absolutely ignorant of the more simple? whence, in a word, did they obtain their perfect acquaintance with the mysteries of the divine nature and the mechanism of the universe, the elementary laws of which are yet unknown to them? surely not from any source accessible to all; for agur, possessing equally favourable opportunities for observation and quite as keen an interest in the subject, not only failed to make any similar discoveries, but even to find any confirmation of theirs. for this he sarcastically accounts by admitting that he must be considerably more stupid than the common run of mankind, in fact, that he is wholly devoid of human understanding--a confession which he evidently expects every reasonable man to repeat after him to those who assert that crass ignorance of fundamental facts is an aid to the highest kind of knowledge. "i have worried myself about god, and succeeded not, for i am more stupid than other men, and in me there is no human understanding: neither have i learned wisdom, so that i might comprehend the science of sacred things." still he is a very docile disciple, and, having failed to make any discoveries of his own, would gladly accept those of a qualified master--of one who endeavours to know before setting out to teach and who prefaces his account of the wonders of the unseen world by pointing out the bridge over which he passed thither, from this. but does such a genuine teacher exist? "who has ascended into heaven and come down again? who can gather the wind in his fists? who can bind the waters in a garment? who can grasp all the ends of the earth? such an one would i question about god: 'what is his name? and what the name of his sons, if thou knowest it?'" and if even specialists do not fulfil these conditions, are we not forced to conclude that their so-called knowledge is a fraud and its subject-matter unknowable? agur's views of right conduct--if we may judge by the general tenour of his fragmentary sayings and by the principle embodied in his sixth and last sentence, in which he rejects as a motive for action "a high hope for a low heaven"--are marked by the essential characteristics of true morality. an action performed for the sake of any recompense, human or divine, transitory or eternal, is egotistic by its nature, and therefore not moral; and the difference between the man who, in his unregenerate days, cut his neighbours' throats in order to enjoy their property, and after his conversion gave all his goods to feed the poor, in order to enjoy eternal happiness in heaven, is more interesting to the legislator than to the moralist. but, were it otherwise, agur holds that, even from a purely practical point of view, all the honours and rewards which mankind can bestow upon their greatest benefactor would be too dearly purchased by a ruffled temper; in other words, mere freedom from positive pain is a greater boon than the highest pleasure purchased at the price of a little suffering. agur's politics gave as much offence to the priests as his theology. like most original thinkers, he is a believer in the aristocracy of talent, and he makes no secret of his preference of a hereditary nobility to those upstarts from the ranks of the people who possess no intellectual gifts to recommend them. for the former have at least training and heredity to guide them, whereas the latter are devoid even of these recommendations. these views furnished the grounds for the charge of sadduceeism preferred against him by his adversary. to what extent indian thought, and in particular the metaphysics and ethics of buddhism, influenced agur's religious speculations, it is impossible to do more than conjecture. personally i am disposed to think that he was well acquainted and indeed thoroughly imbued with the teachings of the indian reformer. in the third century b.c., as already pointed out, the spread of the new religion through bactria, persia, egypt, and asia minor was rapid. moreover, the turn taken by the speculations of cultured hebrews of that epoch was precisely such as we should expect to find, if it stood to buddhistic preaching in the relation of effect to cause. the scepticism of the philosophers of the old testament, not excepting that of agur who may aptly be termed the hebrew voltaire, was not wholly destructive. its sweeping negations in the spheres of metaphysics and theology were amply compensated for--if one can speak of compensation in such a connection--by the positive, humane, and wise maxims it lays down in the domain of ethics. and the cornerstone of the morality of all three--job, koheleth, and agur--would seem to be virtually identical with that formulated in the indian aphorism: "alone the doer doth the deed; alone he tastes the fruit it brings; alone he wanders through life's maze; alone redeems himself from being." buddhistic influence in the case of agur, therefore, is all the more probable that it admirably dovetails with all the circumstances of time and place known to us, even on the supposition, which i am myself inclined to favour, that agur lived and wrote in palestine. this probability is greatly enhanced by the striking affinity between the buddhist conception of revealed religions, of professional priests and of practical wisdom, and that enshrined in the few verses of agur which we possess. it is raised to a degree akin to certainty by the actual occurrence of indian images, similes, and even concrete aphorisms in the short fragment of seven strophes preserved to us in the book of proverbs. * * * * * the poem of job translation of the restored text * * * * * prologue chap. i. a.v.] 1 _there was a man in the land of uz, whose name was job; and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared god, and eschewed evil._ 2 _and there were born unto him seven sons and three daughters._ 3 _his substance also was seven thousand sheep, and three thousand camels, and five hundred yoke of oxen, and five hundred she asses, and a very great household; so that this man was the greatest of all the men of the east._ 4 _and his sons went and feasted_ in their _houses, every one his day; and sent and called for their three sisters to eat and to drink with them._ 5 _and it was so, when the days of_ their _feasting were gone about, that job sent and sanctified them, and rose up early in the morning, and offered burnt offerings_ according _to the number of them all: for job said, it may be that my sons have sinned, and cursed god in their hearts. thus did job continually._ 6¶ _now there was a day when the sons of god came to present themselves before the lord, and satan came also among them._ 7 _and the lord said unto satan, whence comest thou? then satan answered the lord, and said, from going to and fro in the earth and from walking up and down in it._ 8 _and the lord said unto satan, hast thou considered my servant job, that_ there is _none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth god, and escheweth evil?_ 9 _then satan answered the lord, and said, doth job fear god for nought?_ 10 _hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side? thou hast blessed the work of his hands, and his substance is increased in the land._ 11 _but put forth thine hand now, and touch all that he hath, and he will curse thee to thy face._ 12 _and the lord said unto satan, behold, all that he hath_ is _in thy power; only upon himself put not forth thine hand. so satan went forth from the presence of the lord._ 13¶ _and there was a day when his sons and his daughters were eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house:_ 14 _and there came a messenger unto job, and said, the oxen were plowing, and the asses were feeding beside them:_ 15 _and the sabeans fell_ upon them_, and took them away; yea, they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee._ 16 _while he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, the fire of god is fallen from heaven, and hath burned up the sheep, and the servants, and consumed them; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee._ 17 _while he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, the chaldeans made out three bands, and fell upon the camels, and have carried them away, yea, and slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee._ 18 _while he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, thy sons and thy daughters_ were _eating and drinking wine in their eldest brother's house: 19 _and, behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the young men, and they are dead; and i only am escaped alone to tell thee._ 20 _then job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground and worshipped,_ 21 _and said, naked came i out of my mother's womb, and naked shall i return thither: the lord gave, and the lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the lord._ 22 _in all this job sinned not, nor charged god foolishly._ chap. ii. a.v.] 1 _again there was a day when the sons of god came to present themselves before the lord, and satan came also among them to present himself before the lord._ 2 _and the lord said unto satan, from whence comest thou? and satan answered the lord, and said, from going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it._ 3 _and the lord said unto satan, hast thou considered my servant job, that_ there is _none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that feareth god, and escheweth evil? and still he holdeth fast his integrity, although thou movedst me against him, to destroy him without cause._ 4 _and satan answered the lord, and said, skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath will he give for his life._ 5 _but put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face._ 6 _and the lord said unto satan, behold he is in thine hand; but save his life._ 7¶ _so went satan forth from the presence of the lord, and smote job with sore boils from the sole of his foot unto his crown._ 8 _and he took him a potsherd to scrape himself withal; and he sat down among the ashes._ 9¶ _then said his wife unto him, dost thou still retain thine integrity? curse god, and die._ 10 _but he said unto her, thou speakest as one of the foolish women speaketh. what! shall we receive good at the hand of god, and shall we not receive evil? in all this did not job sin with his lips._ 11¶ _now when job's three friends heard of all this evil that was come upon him, they came every one from his own place; eliphaz the temanite, and bildad the shuhite, and zophar the naamathite: for they had made an appointment together to come to mourn with him and to comfort him._ 12 _and when they lifted up their eyes afar off, and knew him not, they lifted up their voice, and wept; and they rent every one his mantle, and sprinkled dust upon their heads toward heaven._ 13 _so they sat down with him upon the ground seven days and seven nights, and none spake a word unto him: for they saw that_ his _grief was very great_. chap. iii. a.v. 1 _after this opened job his mouth, and cursed his day_. 2 _and job spake, and said_: i job: would the day had perished wherein i was born, and the night which said: behold, a man child! would that god on high had not called for it, and that light had not shone upon it! ii would that darkness and gloom had claimed it for their own; would that clouds had hovered over it; would it never had been joined to the days of the year, nor entered into the number of the months! iii would that that night had been barren, and that rejoicing had not come therein; that they had cursed it who curse the days,[196] that the stars of its twilight had waxed dim! iv would it had yearned for light but found none, nor beheld the eye-lids of the morning dawn! for it closed not the door of my mother's womb, nor hid sorrow from mine eyes. v why died i not straight from the womb? why, having come out of the belly, did i not expire? why did the knees meet me? and why the breasts, that i might suck? vi for then should i have lain still and been quiet, i should have slept and now had been at rest, with the kings and counsellors of the earth, who built desolate places for themselves. vii or with princes, once rich in gold, who filled their houses with silver, i should be as being not, as an hidden untimely birth, like infants which never saw the light! viii there the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest; there the prisoners repose together, nor hear the taskmaster's voice. ix why gives he light to the afflicted, and life unto the bitter in soul, who yearn for death, but it cometh not, and dig for it more than for buried treasures? x hail to the man who hath found a grave! then only hath god "hedged him in."[197] for sighing is become my bread, and my crying is unto me as water. xi for the thing i dreaded cometh upon me, and that i trembled at befalleth me. i am not in safety, neither have i rest; nor quiet, but trouble cometh alway. xii eliphaz: lo, thou hast instructed many, thy words have upholden him that was stumbling. now hath thine own turn come, and thou thyself art worried and troubled. xiii was not the fear of god thy confidence? and the uprightness of thy ways thy hope? bethink, i pray thee, who ever perished guiltless? or where were the righteous cut off? xiv i saw them punished that plough iniquity, and them that sow sorrow reap the same; by the blast of god they perish, and by the breath of his nostrils are they consumed.[198] xv now a word was wafted unto me by stealth,[199] and mine ear received the whisper thereof; in thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon man. xvi fear came upon me and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. then a spectre sped before my face; the hair of my flesh bristled up. xvii it stood, but i could not discern its form. i heard a gentle voice:- "shall a mortal be more just than god? shall a man be more pure than his maker? xviii behold, in his servants he puts no trust,- nay, his angels[200] he chargeth with folly;- how much less in the dwellers in houses of clay, whose foundations are down in the dust. xix between dawn and evening they are destroyed: they perish and no man recketh. is not their tent-pole torn up?[201] and bereft of wisdom, they die." xx call now, if so be any will answer thee; and to which of the angels wilt thou turn? for his own wrath killeth the foolish man, and envy slayeth the silly one. xxi his children are far from safety; they are crushed, and there is none to save them. the hungry eateth up their harvest, and the thirsty swilleth their milk. xxii for affliction springeth not out of the dust, nor doth sorrow sprout up from the ground;- for man is born unto trouble, even as the sparks fly upward. xxiii but i would seek unto god, and unto god would i commit my cause, who doth great things and unfathomable, marvellous things without number. xxiv he giveth rain unto the earth, and sendeth waters upon the fields; to set up on high those that be low, that they who mourn may be helped to victory. xxv he catcheth the wise in their own craftiness, and the counsel of the cunning is thwarted; wherefore they encounter darkness in the daytime, and at noonday grope as in the night. xxvi the poor he delivereth from the sword of their mouth, and the needy out of the hand of the mighty; thus the miserable man obtaineth hope, and iniquity stoppeth her mouth. xxvii happy is the man whom god correcteth; therefore spurn not thou the chastening of the almighty: for he maketh sore and bindeth up; he smiteth, and his hands make whole. xxviii he shall deliver thee in six troubles, yea in seven there shall no evil touch thee:- in famine he shall redeem thee from death, and in war from the power of the sword. xxix thou shall be hid from the scourge of the tongue,[202] neither shalt thou fear misfortune when it cometh; at destruction and famine thou shalt laugh, nor shalt dread the beasts of the earth. xxx for thy tent shall abide in peace, and thou shalt visit thy dwelling and miss nought therein; thou shalt likewise know that thy seed will be great, and thine offspring as the grass of the earth. xxxi thou shalt go down to thy grave in the fulness of thy days, ripe as a shock of corn brought home in its season. lo, this have we found out, so it is! this we have heard, and take it thou to heart. xxxii job: oh that my "wrath" were thoroughly weighed, and my woe laid against it in the balances! for it would prove heavier than the sands of the sea; therefore are my words wild. xxxiii for the arrows of the almighty are within me; my spirit drinketh in the venom thereof. the terrors of god move against me, he useth me like to an enemy. xxxiv doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? or loweth the ox over his fodder? would one eat things insipid without salt? is there taste in the white of raw eggs? xxxv oh that i might have my request, and that god would grant me the thing i long for! even that it would please him to destroy me, that he would let go his hand and cut me off! xxxvi then should i yet have comfort, yea, i would exult in my relentless pain. for that, at least, would be my due from god, since i have never withstood the words of the holy one. xxxvii what is my strength that i should hope? and what mine end that i should be patient? is my strength the strength of stones? or is my flesh of brass? xxxviii am i not utterly bereft of help? and is not rescue driven wholly away from me? is not pity the duty of the friend, who, else, turneth away from the fear of god? xxxix my brethren have disappointed me as a torrent, they pass away as a stream of brooks, which were blackish by reason of the ice, wherein the snow hideth itself. xl the caravans of tema sought for them, the companies of sheba hoped for them. but when the sun warmed them they vanished; when it waxed hot they were consumed from their place. xli did i say: bestow aught upon me? or give a bribe for me of your substance? or deliver me from the enemy's hand? or redeem me from the hand of the mighty? xlii teach me and i will hold my tongue; and cause me to discern wherein i have erred. how cutting are your "righteous" words! but what doth your arguing reprove? xliii do ye imagine to rebuke words? but the words of the desperate are spoken to the wind. will ye even assail me, the blameless one? and harrow up your friend? xliv but now vouchsafe to turn unto me, for surely i will not lie to your face. i pray you, return; let no wrong be done. return, for justice abideth still within me. xlv is there iniquity in my tongue? cannot my palate discern misfortunes? hath not man warfare upon earth? and are not his days like to those of an hireling? xlvi as a slave panting for the shade, and finding it not, as an hireling awaiting the wage for his work, so to me months of sorrow are allotted, and wearisome nights are appointed to me. xlvii lying down i exclaim: when shall i arise? and i toss from side to side till the dawning of the day;[203] my flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust, my skin grows rigid and breaks up again. xlviii my days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and have come to an end without hope;[204] remember, i pray, that my life is wind, that mine eye shall see good no more. xlix as the cloud is dispelled and vanisheth away, so he that goes down to the grave shall not come up again; he shall never return to his house, neither shall his place know him any more. l i too will not restrain my mouth, i will speak out in the bitterness of my soul. am i a sea or a sea-monster,[205] that thou settest a watch over me? li when i say: "my bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint;" then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me with visions. lii then my soul would have chosen strangling, and death by my own resolve: but i spurned it, for i shall not live for ever; let me be, for my days are a breath. liii what is man that thou shouldst magnify him? and that thou shouldst set thine heart upon him? that thou shouldst visit him every morning, and try him every moment?[206] liv why wilt thou not look away from me? nor leave me in peace while there is breath in my throat? why hast thou set me up as a butt, so that i am become a target for thee? lv why dost thou not rather pardon my misdeed, and take away mine iniquity? for now i must lay myself down in the dust, and thou shalt seek me, but i shall not be. lvi bildad: how long wilt thou utter these things, and shall the words of thy mouth be like a storm wind? doth god pervert judgment? or doth the almighty corrupt justice? lvii if thou wouldst seek unto god, and make thy supplication to the almighty, he would hear thy prayer, and restore the house of thy blamelessness. lviii for inquire, i pray thee, of the bygone age, and give heed to the search of the forefathers; shall they not teach thee, and utter words out of their heart? lix can the papyrus grow without marsh? can the nile-reed shoot up without water? whilst still in its greenness uncut, it withereth before any herb. lx such is the end of all that forget god, and even thus shall the hope of the impious perish, whose hope is as gossamer threads, and whose trust is as a spider's web. lxi for he leans upon his house, and has a firm footing to which he cleaves; he is green in the glow of the sun, and his branch shooteth forth in his garden. lxii but his roots are entangled in a heap of stones, and rocky soil keeps hold upon him; it destroyeth him from his place, then that denying him saith: "i have not seen thee." lxiii behold, this is the "joy" of his lot, and out of the dust shall others grow. lo! god will not cast out a perfect man, neither will he take evil-doers by the hand. lxiv he will yet fill thy mouth with laughing and thy lips with rejoicing. they that hate thee shall be clothed with shame, and the tent of the wicked shall disappear. lxv job: i know it is so of a truth; for how should man be in the right against god? if he long to contend with him, he cannot answer him one of a thousand. lxvi wise is he in heart and mighty in strength: who could venture against him and remain safe?- against him who moveth mountains and knoweth not that he hath overturned them in his anger. lxvii he shaketh the earth out of her place, and the inhabitants thereof quake with fear; he commandeth the sun and it riseth not, and he sealeth up the stars.[207] lxviii he alone spreadeth out the heavens, and treadeth upon the heights of the sea; he doth great things past finding out, yea, and wonders without number.[208] lxix lo, he glideth by me and i see him not; and he passeth on, but i perceive him not. behold, he taketh away, and who can hinder him? who will say unto him: "what dost thou?" lxx god will not withdraw his anger; the very helpers of the sea-dragon[209] crouch under him. how much less shall i answer him, and choose out my words to argue with him? lxxi i must make supplication unto his judgment, who doth not answer me, though i am righteous, who would sweep me away with a tempest, and multiply my wounds without cause! lxxii he will not suffer me to take my breath, but filleth me with bitterness. if strength be aught, lo, he is strong, and if judgment, who shall arraign him? lxxiii though i were just, my own mouth would condemn me: though i were faultless, he would make me crooked. faultless i am, i set life at naught; i spurn my being, therefore i speak out. lxxiv he destroyeth the upright and the wicked, when his scourge slayeth at unawares. he scoffeth at the trial of the innocent: the earth is given into the hand of the wicked. lxxv my days are swifter than a runner: they flee away, they have seen no good; they glide along like papyrus-boats, like the eagle swooping upon its prey. lxxvi if i say: "i will forget my complaint, i will gladden my face and be cheerful;" then i shudder at all my sorrows: i know thou wilt not hold me guiltless. lxxvii if i washed myself with snow, and cleansed my hands with lye, thou wouldst plunge me in the ditch, so that mine own garments would loathe me. lxxviii would he were like unto myself, that i might answer him, that we might come together in judgment! would there were an umpire between us, who might lay his hand upon us both! lxxix let him but withdraw from me his rod, and let not dread of him terrify me; then would i speak and not fear him, for before myself i am not so.[210] lxxx my soul is aweary of life, i will let loose my complaint against god; i will say unto god: hold me not guilty; show me wherefore thou contendest with me. lxxxi is it meet that thou shouldst oppress, shouldst thrust aside the work of thine hands? seest thou as man seeth? are thy days as the days of mortals? lxxxii for thou inquirest after mine iniquity, and searchest after my sin, though thou knowest that i am not wicked, and that there is none who can deliver out of thine hand. lxxxiii thine hand hath made and fashioned me, and now hast thou turned to destroy me; remember, i pray thee, that thou hast formed me as clay; and now wilt thou grind me to dust again? lxxxiv didst thou not pour me out as milk, and curdle me like cheese? hast thou not clothed me with skin and flesh? and knitted me with bones and sinews? lxxxv thou enduedst me with life and grace; and thy care hath cherished my spirit. and yet these things hadst thou hid in thy heart! i know that this was in thee! lxxxvi had i sinned, thou wouldst have watched me, nor wouldst have acquitted me of my wrongdoing. had i been wicked, woe unto me! and though righteous, i dare not to lift up my head. lxxxvii as a lion thou huntest me, who am soaked in misery, and ever showest thyself marvellous[211] against me! while i live, thou smitest me ever anew, and lettest thy wrath wax great against me. lxxxviii wherefore, then, didst thou bring me out of the womb? would i had then given up the ghost, and no eye had seen me! i should now be as though i had never been; i had been borne from the womb to the grave. lxxxix are not the days of my life but few, so that he might let me be, while i take heart a little before i depart whence i shall not return, to the land of darkness and of gloom? xc zophar: shall the multitude of words be left unanswered? and shall the prattler[212] be deemed in the right? should men hold their peace at thy babbling? and when thou jeerest, shall none make thee ashamed? xci but oh that god would speak, and open his lips against thee, and that he would show thee the secrets of wisdom that they are as marvels to the understanding! xcii it[213] is high as heaven; what canst thou do? deeper than hell; what canst thou know? the measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than the ocean. xciii for he knoweth men of deceit; he seeth wickedness and needeth not to gauge it. thus[214] the empty man gets understanding, and the wild-ass' colt is born anew as man. xciv if thou make ready thine heart, and stretch out thine hands towards him, then shalt thou lift up thy face, and in time of affliction be fearless. xcv for then shalt thou forget thy misery, and remember it as waters that have passed away; the darkness shall be as morning, and thine age shall be brighter than the noonday. xcvi thou shalt be secure because there is hope, thou shalt look around and take thy rest in safety; thou shalt lie down and none shall startle thee, yea, many shall make suit unto thee. xcvii but the eyes of the wicked shall fail, and refuge shall vanish from before them; their hope shall be the giving up of the ghost; for with him is wisdom and might. xcviii job: no doubt but ye are clever people, and wisdom shall die with you; i too have understanding as well as ye; just, upright is my way. xcix he that is at ease, scorneth the judgments of shaddai.[215] his foot stands firm in the time of trial. the tents of robbers prosper, and they that provoke god are secure. c but ask, i beseech you, the beasts, and the fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee; or speak to the earth and it shall teach thee, and the fishes of the sea shall declare unto thee. ci is not the soul of every living thing in his hand, and the breath of all mankind? doth not the ear try words as the mouth tasteth its meat? cii for there is no wisdom with the aged,[216] nor understanding in length of days; with him is wisdom and strength; he hath counsel and understanding. ciii behold he breaketh down and it cannot be builded anew: he shutteth up a man, and who can open to him? lo, he withholdeth the waters and they dry up, he letteth them loose and they overwhelm the earth. civ with him is strength and wisdom, the erring one and his error are his, who leadeth away counsellors barefoot, and rendereth the judges fools. cv he bringeth back kings into their mausoleums, and overthroweth the nobles; he withdraweth the speech of the trusty, and taketh away the understanding of the aged. cvi he poureth scorn upon princes, and looseth the girdle of the strong; he discovereth deep things out of darkness, and bringeth gloom unto light. cvii he stealeth the heart of the chiefs of the earth, and maketh them wander in a pathless wilderness so that they grope in the dark without light, and stagger to and fro like a drunken man. cviii lo, mine eye hath seen all this, mine ear hath heard and understood it. what ye know, the same do i know also; i am nowise inferior to you. cix but now i would speak to the almighty, and i long to argue with god; for ye are weavers of lies, ye all are patchers of inanities. cx oh that ye would all of you hold your peace, and that should stand you in wisdom's stead! hear, i beseech you, the reasoning of my mouth, and hearken to the pleadings of my lips! cxi will ye discourse wickedly for god? and utter lies on his behalf?[217] will ye accept his person by dint of trickery? will ye contend for god with deception? cxii were it well for you should he search you out? can ye dupe him as ye dupe men? will he not surely rebuke you, if ye secretly[218] accept his person? cxiii shall not his majesty, then, make you afraid? and his dread seize hold of you? will not your adages become as ashes, your arguments even as bulwarks of clay? cxiv hold your peace that i may speak, and let come upon me what will! i shall take my life in my teeth, and put my soul in mine hand. cxv lo, let him kill me, i cherish hope no more, only i will justify my way before his face. this too will aid my triumph, that no wicked one dares appear in his sight. cxvi behold now, i have ordered my cause; i know that i shall be justified. who is he that will plead with me? only do not two things unto me! cxvii withdraw thine hand from me, and let not dread of thee make me afraid. then call thou and i will answer, or let me speak and answer thou unto me. cxviii how many are mine iniquities? make me to know my misdeeds. wherefore hidest thou thy face, and holdest me for thine enemy? cxix wilt thou scare a leaf driven to and fro? and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble? that thou writest down bitter things against me, and imputest to me the errors of my youth. cxx thou observest all my paths, and puttest my feet into the stocks, thy chain weigheth heavy upon me, and cutteth into my feet.[219] cxxi man that is born of a woman, poor in days and rich in trouble; he cometh forth like a flower and fadeth, he fleeth as a shadow and abideth not. cxxii and upon such an one dost thou open thine eyes! and him thou bringest into judgment with thee! though he is gnawed as a rotten thing, as a garment that is moth-eaten. cxxiii if his days are determined upon earth, if the number of his months are with thee; look then away from him that he may rest, till he shall accomplish his day, as an hireling. cxxiv for there is a future for the tree, and hope remaineth to the palm: cut down, it will sprout again, and its tender branch will not cease. cxxv though its roots wax old in the earth and its stock lie buried in mould, yet through vapour of water will it bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant. cxxvi but man dieth, and lieth outstretched; he giveth up the ghost, where is he then? he lieth down and riseth not up; till heaven be no more he shall not awake. cxxvii oh that thou wouldst hide me in the grave! that thou wouldst secrete me till thy wrath be passed! that thou wouldst appoint me a set time and remember me! if so be man could die and yet live on! cxxviii all the days of my warfare i then would wait, till my relief should come; thou wouldst call and i would answer thee, thou wouldst yearn after the work of thine hands. cxxix but now thou renumberest my steps, thou dost not forgive my failing; thou sealest my transgressions in a bag, and thou still keepest adding to my guilt. cxxx eliphaz: should a wise man utter empty knowledge, and fill his belly with the east wind? should he reason with bootless prattle? or with speeches that profit him nothing? cxxxi yea, thou makest void the fear of god, and weakenest respect before him; for thine own iniquity instructeth thy mouth, and thou choosest the tongue of the crafty. cxxxii art thou the first man born? or wast thou made before the hills? wast thou heard in the council of god? and hast thou drawn wisdom unto thyself? cxxxiii what knowest thou that we know not? what understandest thou which is not in us? doth the solace of god not suffice unto thee, and a word to thee whispered softly? cxxxiv why doth thine heart carry thee away, and what do thine eyes wink at, that thou turnest thy spirit against god, and lettest go such words from thy mouth? cxxxv behold he putteth no trust in his saints; yea, the heavens are not clean in his sight; how much less the foul and corrupt one,- man, who lappeth up wickedness like water. cxxxvi what the wise announce unto us, their fathers did not withhold it from them; unto them alone the land was given, and no stranger passed among them.[220] cxxxvii the wicked man travaileth all his days with pain, and few are the years appointed to the oppressor: a sound of dread is in his ears: in prosperity the destroyer shall overtake him. cxxxviii he has no hope of return out of darkness, and he is waited for by the sword. the day of gloom shall terrify him, distress and anguish shall fasten upon him. cxxxix for he stretched out his arm against god, and girded himself against the almighty: rushing upon him with a stiff neck, guarded by the thick bosses of his buckler. cxl the glow shall dry up his branches, and his blossom shall be snapped by the storm-wind. let him not trust in vanity--he is deluded, for his barter[221] shall prove worthless. cxli his offshoot shall wither before his time, and his branch shall not be green; he shall shake off his unripe grape, like the vine, and shall shed his flower like the olive. cxlii for the tribe of the wicked shall be barren, and fire shall consume the tents of bribery: they conceive mischief, and bring forth disaster, and their belly breeds abortion. cxliii job: many such things have i heard before. stinging comforters are ye all! shall idle words have an end? what pricks thee that thou answerest? cxliv i, too, could discourse as ye do, if your souls were in my soul's stead. i would inspirit you with my mouth, nor would i grudge the moving of my lips. cxlv but he hath so jaded me that i am benumbed; his whole host[222] hath seized me. his wrath hackles me and pursues me, he gnashes upon me with his teeth. cxlvi the arrows of his myriads have stricken me, he whets his sword, fixing his eyes upon me. they smite me on the cheek outrageously, they mass themselves together against me. cxlvii god hath turned me over to the ungodly, and delivered me into the hands of the wicked. i was at ease, but he clove me asunder, he throttled me and shook me to pieces. cxlviii he sets me up for his target; his archers compass me round about; he rives my reins asunder, and spareth not, he poureth out my gall upon the ground. cxlix with breach upon breach he breaketh me, he rusheth upon me like a warrior; sackcloth and ashes cover me, and my horn has been laid in the dust. cl my face is aglow with weeping and darkness abides on my eyelids; though on my hands there is no evil, and my prayer is pure! cli oh earth! cover not thou my blood! and let my cry find no resting-place! even now behold my witness is in heaven, and my voucher is on high. clii my friends laugh me wantonly to scorn; mine eye poureth tears unto god. let him adjudge between man and god, and between man and his fellow. cliii soon will the wailing-women come, and i go the way i shall not return. my spirit is spent, the grave is ready for me truly i am scoffed at. cliv hold still my pledge in thy keeping, who then will be my voucher?[223] he yielded his friends as a prey, and the eyes of his children must shrivel up. clv he hath made me a by-word of the peoples, and they spit into my face. my eye is dim by dint of sorrow, and all my members are as a shadow. clvi at this the upright are appalled, and the just bridles up against the impious. but the righteous holds on his way, and the clean-handed waxeth ever stronger. clvii but as for you all--do ye return, for i discern not one wise man among you. my days, my thoughts have passed away; my heart's desires are cut asunder. clviii if i still hope, it is for my house--the tomb. i have made my bed in the darkness. i have said unto the grave, "my mother," and to the maggot, "sister mine." clix and my hope--where is it now? my bliss--who shall behold it?[224] they go down to the bars of the pit, when our rest together is in the dust. clx bildad: when wilt thou make an end of words? reflect, and then let us speak! wherefore are we counted as beasts? deemed silenced in thy sight? clxi shall the earth be deserted for thy sake? and shall the rock be removed from its place? still the light of the wicked shall be douted, and the spark of his fire shall not twinkle. clxii the light in his tent shall be dark; and his taper above him shall be put out. the steps of his strength shall be straitened, and his own design shall ruin him. clxiii for he is tangled in the net by his own feet, and he walketh upon a snare. the slings shall catch him; many terrors rage menacingly round him. clxiv hunger shall dog his footsteps; misery and ruin stand ready by his side: the limbs of his body[225] shall be gnawed, devoured by the firstborn of death.[226] clxv he shall be dragged out from his stronghold, and he shall be brought to the king of terrors;[227] the memory of him shall vanish from the earth, he shall be driven from light into darkness. clxvi he shall have nor son nor offspring among his people, and he shall have no name above the ground; none shall survive in his dwellings; strangers shall dwell in his tent. clxvii they of the west are astonied at him, and those of the east stand aghast: such are the dwellings of the wicked, and this his place who knoweth not god. clxviii job: how long will ye harrow my soul, and crush me with words? already ten times have ye insulted me, ever incensing me anew. clxix if indeed ye will glorify yourselves above me, and prove me guilty of blasphemy; know, then, that god hath wronged me, and hath compassed me round with his net! clxx lo, i cry out against violence, but i am not heard; i cry aloud, but there is no judgment. he hath fenced up my way that i cannot pass; and he hath set darkness in my paths. clxxi he hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head. on all sides hath he ruined me, and i am undone; and mine hope hath he felled like a tree. clxxii he hath kindled against me his wrath, and looketh on me as one of his foes. his troops throng together on my way, and encamp round about my tent. clxxiii he hath put my brethren far from me, and mine acquaintance are estranged from me; my kinsfolk stay away from me, and my bosom friends have forgotten me. clxxiv they that dwell in my house, and my maids, as an alien am i in their eyes. i call my servant, and he giveth me no answer, i must supplicate unto him with my mouth. clxxv my breath is irksome to my wife, and my entreaty to the children of my body.[228] yea, mere lads despise me: when i arise, they talk about me. clxxvi all my cherished friends abhor me, and they whom i loved are turned against me; my skin cleaveth to my bones, and my teeth are falling out. clxxvii have pity, have pity on me, o my friends! for the hand of god hath smitten me. why do ye persecute me like god, and are not satiated with my flesh? clxxviii oh would but that my words, oh would that they were written down! consigned to writing for ever, or engraven upon a rock! clxxix but i know that my avenger liveth, though it be at the[229] end upon my dust; my witness will avenge these things, and a curse alight upon mine enemies. clxxx my reins within me are consumed, because you say: "how we shall persecute him!" fear, for yourselves, the sword, for "wrath overtaketh iniquities." clxxxi zophar: it is not thus that my thoughts inspire me, nor is this the eternal law that i have known.[230] no; the triumph of the wicked is shortlived, and the joy of the ungodly is but for a twinkling. clxxxii though his height tower aloft to the heavens, and his head reach up to the clouds, yet shall he perish for ever like dung, they who have seen him shall ask: "where is he?" clxxxiii he flitteth like a dream and shall not be found, yea, he shall be chased away as a vision of the night; his hands having crushed the needy, must restore the substance, and he cannot help it. clxxxiv he hath swallowed down riches and shall disgorge them anew; they shall be driven out of his belly. he hath sucked in the poison of asps, the viper's tongue shall slay him. clxxxv he shall not gaze upon the rivers, the brooks of honey and milk; he must restore the gain and shall not swallow it, his lucre shall be as sand which he cannot chew. clxxxvi for the poor he had crushed and forsaken; had robbed an house but shall not build it up. nought had escaped from his greed, therefore shall his wealth not endure. clxxxvii in the fulness of his abundance he shall be in straits, every hand of the wretched shall come upon him: he[231] shall cast the fury of his wrath upon him, and shall rain down upon him terrors. clxxxviii when he fleeth from the iron weapon, then the arrow of steel shall transfix him; he draweth, and it cometh out of his back, and the glittering steel out of his gall. clxxxix terrors will trample upon him, all darkness is hid in store for him; a fire not kindled[232] shall consume him, what remaineth in his tent shall be devoured thereby. cxc the heavens reveal his iniquity, and the earth riseth up against him: this is the wicked man's portion from god, and the heritage appointed him by elohim. cxci job: hearken diligently to my speech, and let that stand me in your comfort's stead! suffer me that i may speak; and after that i have spoken, mock on! cxcii as for me, is my complaint to men? and how should not my spirit be impatient? look upon me, and tremble, and lay your hand upon your mouth![233] cxciii even when i remember, i am dismayed, and trembling taketh hold on my flesh. wherefore do the wicked live? become old, yea, wax mighty in strength? cxciv their houses are safe from fear, neither is the rod of god upon them; their bull genders and faileth not, their cow casteth not her calf. cxcv their seed is established in their sight, and their offspring before their eyes; they send forth their little ones like a flock, and their children skip about. cxcvi they take down the timbrel and the harp, and delight in the sound of the bagpipe; they while away their days in bliss, and in a twinkling go down to the grave.[234] cxcvii and yet they say unto god: "depart from us, we desire not the knowledge of thy ways." yet hold they not happiness in their own hands? is he not heedless of the counsel of the wicked? cxcviii how oft is "the lamp of evil-doers put out"? and how often doth "ruin" overwhelm them? how oft are they as stubble before the wind, and as chaff that the storm carries away? cxcix ye say, "god hoards punishment for the[235] children." let him rather requite the wicked himself that he may feel it! his own eyes should behold his downfall and he himself should drain the almighty's wrath! cc if his sons are honoured,[236] he will not know it, and if dishonoured, he will not perceive it. only in his own flesh doth he feel pain, and for his own soul will he lament. cci is the wicked taught understanding by god? and does he judge the man of blood? nay, he[237] filleth his milk vessels with milk, and supplieth his bones with marrow. ccii but the guiltless dies with embittered soul, and hath never enjoyed a pleasure; then they alike lie down in the dust, and the worms shall cover them both. cciii behold i know your thoughts, and the plots which ye wrongfully weave against me. and how will ye comfort me in vain, since of your answers nought but falsehood remains? cciv eliphaz: can a man be profitable unto god? only unto himself is the wise man serviceable. is it a boon to the almighty that thou art righteous? or is it gain to him that thou makest thy way perfect? ccv will he reprove thee for thy fear of him? will he enter with thee into judgment for that? is not rather thy wickedness great? are not thine iniquities numberless? ccvi for thou hast taken a pledge from thy brother for nought, and stripped the naked of their clothing; thou hast not given water to the weary to drink, and hast withholden bread from the hungry. ccvii but as for the mighty man, he held the land, and the honoured man dwelt in it. thou hast sent widows away empty, and the arms of the fatherless have been broken. ccviii therefore snares are round about thee, and sudden fear troubleth thee; thy light hath become darkness, thou canst not see, and a flood of waters covereth thee. ccix doth not god look down from the height of heaven, and crush the mighty for that they are grown haughty, which say unto god: "depart from us," and "what can the almighty do against us?" ccx and he forsooth "shall fill their houses with goods," and "be heedless of the counsel of the wicked": no; the righteous shall look on and be glad, and the innocent shall laugh them to scorn. ccxi befriend now thyself with him, and thou shalt be safe, thereby shall good come unto thee. receive, i pray thee, instruction from his mouth, and treasure up his words in thine heart. ccxii if thou turnest to god and humblest thyself, if thou remove iniquity from thy tent, then shalt thou have delight in the almighty, and shalt lift up thy face unto god. ccxiii thou shalt pray unto him and he shall hear thee, and thou shalt pay thy vows; if thou purpose a thing, it shall prosper unto thee, and a light shall shine upon thy ways. ccxiv job: oh, i know it already: i myself am to blame for my misery,[238] and his hand is heavy upon me by reason of my groaning! oh that i knew where i might find him, that i might come even unto his seat! ccxv i would plead my cause before him, and fill my mouth with arguments; i would fain know the words which he could answer me, and learn what he would say unto me. ccxvi will he plead against me with his almighty power? if not, then not even he would prevail against me. for a righteous one would dispute with him; so should i be delivered for ever from my judge. ccxvii behold i go forward, but he is not there, and backward, but i cannot perceive him. for he knoweth the way that i have chosen: if he would try me, i should come forth as gold. ccxviii my foot has held his steps, his way have i kept and swerved not; i have not gone back from the precept of his lips, i have hid the words of his mouth in my bosom. ccxix but he is bent upon one thing and who can turn him away? and what his soul desireth even that he doeth. therefore am i troubled before his face; when i consider, i am afraid of him. ccxx god hath crushed my heart, and the almighty hath terrified me. for i am annihilated because of the darkness, and gloom enwrappeth my face. ccxxi why do the times of judgment depend upon the almighty, and yet they who know him do not see his days?[239] the wicked remove the landmarks; they rob flocks and lead them to pasture. ccxxii they drive away the ass of the fatherless, the widow's ox they seize for a pledge; they turn the needy out of the way, all the poor of the earth have to hide themselves.[240] ccxxiii lo, these things mine ear hath heard, mine eye hath seen them, and so it is.[241] and if it be not so now, who will make me a liar, and render my speech meaningless? ccxxiv bildad: dominion and fear are with him, who maketh peace in his high places. is there any number to his armies? and upon whom doth his light not arise? ccxxv by his power the sea groweth calm, and by his understanding he smiteth the sea-dragon. by his breath the heavens become splendour; his hand hath pierced the bolt-serpent. ccxxvi but the thunder of his power, who understands its working? and how can man be deemed just before god, and how can he be clean who is born of a woman? ccxxvii behold, even the moon shineth not, yea, the stars are not pure in his sight; how much less man, the worm; and the son of man, the maggot! ccxxviii job: how hast thou helped him that is without power? how upholdest thou the arm that hath no strength? to whom hast thou uttered words? and whose spirit went out from thee? ccxxix as god liveth who hath taken away my right, and the almighty who hath made my soul bitter, never shall my lips confess untruth, nor my tongue give utterance to falsehood! ccxxx far be it from me to agree with you! till i die i will not yield up my integrity! my righteousness i hold fast and will not let it go, my heart doth not censure any one of my days. ccxxxi i will teach you about the hand of god, the counsel of the almighty will i not conceal. behold, all ye yourselves have seen it.[242] why then do ye utter such empty things? ccxxxii for there is a mine for silver, and a place for gold where they fine it; iron is taken out of the dust, and copper is smolten out of the stone. ccxxxiii he that hovers far from man hath made an end to gloom,[243] he turneth the mountains upside down. he cutteth out stulms among the rocks, and the thing that is hid he bringeth forth to light. ccxxxiv but wisdom--whence shall it come? and where is the place of understanding? it is hid from the eyes of all living, our ears alone have heard thereof.[244] ccxxxv god understandeth its way, and he knoweth its dwelling-place; for he looketh to the ends of the earth, and seeth under the entire heaven. ccxxxvi when he made the weight for the winds, and weighed the waters by measure, then did he see and declare it, he prepared it, yea, and searched it out. ccxxxvii then he said unto man, "desist! worry not about things too high for thee. behold, fear of me, that is wisdom, and to depart from evil, that is understanding." ccxxxviii zophar: may the lot of the wicked befall mine enemy, and that of the ungodly him who riseth up against me! for what can be the hope of the iniquitous, when god cutteth his soul away? ccxxxix will god hear his cry, when trouble overtaketh him? will he delight himself in the almighty? will he always call upon god? ccxl if his children be multiplied, it is for the sword, and his offspring shall not be sated with bread; they that survive him shall be buried in death, and their widows shall not weep. ccxli though he heap up silver as the dust and store up raiment as the clay, he may indeed prepare it, but the just shall put it on, and the guiltless shall divide the silver. ccxlii he buildeth his house as a spider; rich shall he lie down, but rich he shall not remain. terrors take hold on him like waters; a tempest sweepeth him away in the night. ccxliii job: oh that i were as in months gone by, as in the days when god preserved me; when his lamp shined upon my head, and when i walked by his light through darkness! ccxliv for then i moved in sunshine, while god was familiar with my tent; while i washed my steps in cream, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil. ccxlv when i went to the gate at the city,[245] when i prepared my seat on the public place, then the young men, seeing me, hid themselves, and the aged arose and remained standing. ccxlvi princes desisted from talking, and laid their hands upon their mouths; for the ear heard me and blessed, the eye saw me and bore me witness. ccxlvii for i delivered the poor that cried aloud, and the orphan and him that had none to help him; the blessing of him that was perishing came upon me, and i gladdened the heart of the widow. ccxlviii i put on righteousness and it clothed me; my judgment was as a robe and a diadem. i became eyes to the blind, and i was feet unto the lame. ccxlix i was a father to the poor, and the cause which i knew not i searched out; and i brake the grinders of the wicked. and plucked the spoil out of his teeth. ccl unto me men gave ear and waited, and kept silence at my counsel. after my words they spake not again, and my speech fell upon them as a shower. ccli but now they laugh me to scorn, shepherd boys approach me with insolence, whose fathers i would not have deigned to set with the dogs of my flock. cclii yea, what booted me the strength of their hands? pity upon them was thrown away. they were children of fools, yea, men of no name, they were driven forth from the land. ccliii and now i am become the song of these! yea, i am become their byword! they loathe me, they flee far from me, and withhold not spittle from my face. ccliv for he hath dissolved my dignity and humbled me, and he hath taken away my renown. he hath opened a way to my miseries; they enter and no one helpeth me. cclv with rumbling and booming they bounded along; terrors are turned upon me; thou scatterest my dignity, as with a wind, and my welfare passeth as a cloud. cclvi the night gnaws away my bones, and my devourers need no repose; by swellings is my garment misshapen, and i am grown like unto dust and ashes. cclvii i cry and thou hearest me not, thou art become ruthless towards me; with the strength of thy hand thou assailest me, and thou meltest my salvation away. cclviii for i know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living. but shall not a drowning man stretch out his hand? shall he not cry out in his destruction? cclix did i not weep for him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the needy? i looked for good and waited for light; behold days of sorrowing are come upon me. cclx i go mourning without sun; i stand up in the assembly and cry aloud; i am become a brother unto jackals, and a comrade unto ostriches. cclxi my skin hath grown black upon me and my bones are scorched with heat; my harp is turned to mourning, and my bagpipe into the wail of the weeping.[246] cclxii if i have walked with men of wickedness, or if my feet have hastened to deceit, let him weigh me in balances of justice, that god may know mine integrity! cclxiii if my steps have swerved from the way, and mine heart followed in the wake of mine eyes, let me now sow and another eat, yea, let my garden be rooted out! cclxiv if mine heart have been deceived by a woman, or if i have lain in wait at my neighbour's door, then let my wife turn the mill unto another and let others bow down upon her! cclxv for adultery is a grievous crime, yea, a crime to be punished by the judges: it is a fire that consumeth to utter destruction, and would root out all mine increase. cclxvi had i despised the right of my man-servant or of my maidservant, when they contended with me, what could i do, when god rose up? and when he visiteth, what could i answer him? cclxvii for perdition from god was a terror to me, and for his highness' sake i could not do such things. did not he that made me in the womb, make him?[247] and did he not fashion us in one belly? cclxviii never have i withheld the poor from their desire, nor caused the widow's eyes to fail; nor have i eaten my morsel alone, unless the fatherless had partaken thereof. cclxix if i saw one perish for lack of clothing, or any of the poor devoid of covering; then surely did his loins bless me, and he was warmed with the fleece of my sheep. cclxx if i lifted up my hand against the fatherless, when i saw my backers in the gate,[248] then let my shoulder fall from its setting, and mine arm from its channel bone! cclxxi i have never made gold my hope, nor said to the fine gold: "thou art my trust;" never did i rejoice that my wealth was great, and because mine hand had found much. cclxxii never did i gaze upon the sun, because it shone brightly, nor upon the moon floating in glory, so that my heart was secretly enticed, and i wafted kisses to them, putting my hand to my mouth.[249] cclxxiii never did i rejoice at the ruin of my hater, nor exult when misery found him out; neither have i suffered my throat to sin, by wreaking a curse upon his soul. cclxxiv never had the guests of my tent to say: "oh, that we had our fill of his meat!" i suffered not the stranger to lodge out of doors, but i opened my gates to the traveller. cclxxv i covered not my failings after the manner of men, by locking mine iniquity in my bosom, as if i feared the vast multitude, or because the scorn of families[250] appalled me. cclxxvi and i, forsooth, should keep silence, should not come forward! oh, that one would hear me! here is my signature; let the almighty answer me, and hear the indictment which my adversary hath written![251] cclxxvii surely i would hoist it upon my shoulder, and weave it as a crown unto myself; i would account to him for the number of my steps; as a prince would i draw near unto him. cclxxviii jahveh: who is this that darkeneth my counsel, with words devoid of knowledge? now gird up thy loins like a man, for i shall ask of thee, and do thou teach me! cclxxix when i laid the earth's foundation where wast thou? declare, if thou hast understanding! who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest, or who hath stretched the line upon it? cclxxx where are its sockets sunk down, or who laid the corner-stone thereof? when the morning stars exulted together, and all the sons of god shouted for joy. cclxxxi who shut in the sea with doors, when it brake forth as issuing from the womb? when i made the clouds its garment, and thick darkness for its swaddling-band. cclxxxii then i brake up for it its appointed place, and set it bars and portals, and said: "hitherto shalt thou come, and here shall thy haughty waves be stayed!" cclxxxiii was it at thy prompting that i commanded the morning, and caused the dawn to know its place? that it might seize hold of the ends of the earth, that the wicked might be shaken out?[252] cclxxxiv then the earth changes as clay under the seal, and all things appear therein as an embroidery;[253] but from the wicked is withholden their hiding-place, and the raised arm shall be shattered. cclxxxv hast thou entered into the springs of the sea? or hast thou walked in search of the abysses? have the gates of death been opened unto thee, or hast thou seen the doors of darkness? cclxxxvi hast thou surveyed the breadth of the earth? declare, if thou knowest, its measure! thou must needs know it, for then wast thou already born, and great is the number of thy days! cclxxxvii which way leadeth to the dwelling of light? and of darkness, where is the abode? that thou shouldst take it to its bounds, and that thou shouldst know the paths to its house? cclxxxviii hast thou entered into the granaries of the snow, or hast thou seen the arsenals of the hail, which i have laid up for the time of trouble, against the day of battle and of war? cclxxxix by what way is the mist parted? and the east wind scattered upon the earth? who hath divided its course for the rain-storm? and its path for the lightning of thunder? ccxc out of whose womb issued the ice? and who gendered the hoar-frost of heaven? the waters are as stone, and the face of the deep condensed like clots together. ccxci canst thou bind the knots of the pleiads, or loose the fetters of orion? canst thou send lightnings that they may speed, and say unto thee: here we are? ccxcii who in his wisdom can number the clouds, or who can pour out the bottles of heaven, that the dust may thicken into mire, and the clods cleave close together? ccxcii canst thou hunt its prey for the lion, or sate the appetite of the young lions, when they couch in their dens, and abide in the covert to lie in wait? ccxciv who provideth his food for the raven, when his young ones cry unto god? it hovereth around nor groweth weary, seeking food for its nestlings. ccxcv canst thou mark when the hinds do calve? canst thou number the months when they bring forth? they cast out their burdens, their little ones grow up out of doors. ccxcvi who hath sent out the wild ass free, whose dwelling i have made the wilderness, who scorneth the noise of the city, nor heedeth the driver's cry? ccxcvii will the wild ox be willing to serve thee, or abide by thy grip? wilt thou trust him because his strength is great, or wilt thou leave thy labour to him? ccxcviii dost thou bestow might upon the horse? dost thou clothe his neck with a waving mane? dost thou make him to bound like a locust, in the pride of his terrible snort? ccxcix he paws in the vale and rejoices; goes with strength to encounter the weapons; he mocks at fear, and is not dismayed, and recoileth not from the sword. ccc the quiver clangs upon him, the flashing lance and the javelin; furiously bounding, he swallows the ground, and cannot be reined in at the trumpet-blast. ccci when the clarion soundeth he crieth, "aha!" and sniffs the dust raised by the hosts from afar; he dasheth into the thick of the fray, into the captains' shouting and the roar of battle. cccii doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and spread her pinions towards the south? she builds her nest on high, dwelling on the rock, and abideth there, seeking prey. ccciii will the caviller still contend with the almighty? he that reproves god, let him answer! wilt thou even disannul my judgment? wilt thou condemn me that thou mayst be in the right? ccciv if thou hast an arm like god, if thou canst thunder with a voice like his, deck thyself now with majesty and grandeur and array thyself in glory and splendour! cccv scatter abroad the rage of thy wrath, and hurl down all that is exalted! the haughty bring low by a glance, and trample down the wicked in their place! cccvi hide them together in the dust, and bind their faces in secret! then will i, too, confess unto thee that thine own right hand can save thee! cccvii job: behold i am vile, what shall i answer thee? i will lay mine hand upon my mouth. once have i spoken, but i will do so no more, yea, twice, but i will proceed no further. cccviii i know that thou canst do everything, and that nothing is beyond thy reach; hence i say: i have uttered that i understand not, things too wonderful for me, which i know not. cccix i have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye hath beheld thee; therefore i resign and console myself, though in dust and ashes. epilogue chap. xlii. a.v.] 7¶ _and if was so, that after the lord had spoken these words unto job, the lord said to eliphaz the temanite, my wrath is kindled against thee, and against thy two friends: for ye have not spoken of me_ the thing that is_ right, as my servant job_ hath. 8 _therefore take unto you now seven bullocks and seven rams, and go to my servant job, and offer up for yourselves a burnt offering; and my servant job shall pray for you: for him will i accept: lest i deal with you_ after your _folly, in that ye have not spoken of me_ the thing which is _right, like my servant job._ 9 _so eliphaz the temanite and bildad the shuhite and zophar the naamathite went, and did according as the lord commanded them: the lord also accepted job._ 10 _and the lord turned the captivity of job, when he prayed for his friends: also the lord gave job twice as much as he had before._ 11 _then came there unto him all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all they that had been of his acquaintance before, and did eat bread with him in his house: and they bemoaned him, and comforted him over all the evil that the lord had brought upon him: every man also gave him a piece of money, and every one an earring of gold._ 12 _so the lord blessed the latter end of job more than his beginning: for he had fourteen thousand sheep, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she asses_. 13 _he had also seven sons and three daughters_. 14 _and he called the name of the first, jemima; and the name of the second, kezia; and the name of the third, kerenhappuch_. 15 _and in all the land were no women found so fair as the daughters of job: and their father gave them inheritance among their brethren_. 16 _after this lived job an hundred and forty years, and saw his sons, and his sons' sons, even four generations_. 17 _so job died, being old and full of days_. footnotes: [196] _i.e._, the magicians by means of incantations. [197] allusion to the satan's remark in the prologue, chap. i. to: "hast not thou made an hedge about him, and about his house, and about all that he hath on every side?" [198] the strophe which follows in prof. bickell's text i consider a later insertion, and have therefore struck it out. it runs thus: "the roaring of the lion, and the voice of the fierce lion, and the teeth of the young lions are broken; the old lion perisheth for lack of prey, and the stout lion's whelps are scattered abroad." [199] the prophetic vision which eliphaz now describes is relied upon by him as the sanction for his whole discourse. to his seeming, it is a direct revelation from god. [200] the sons of god, sons of the elohim. _cf._ genesis vi. 4. there is no analogy between these sons of god and the angels or saints of christianity. _cf._ also prof. cheyne, "job and solomon," p. 81: baudissin, studien, ii. [201] the human body is likened to a tent of which the tent-pole is the breath of life; this gone, all that remains is the natural prey of the elements. [202] calumny. [203] allusion to his sufferings at night from elephantiasis. this terrible malady, which was first described by rhazes, in the ninth century, under the name _dâ-l-fîl_ ("disease of the elephant"), was for a long time erroneously believed to be confined to arabia. as a matter of fact, it is found in an endemic state in all warm countries, and sporadically even in europe. in tropical and sub-tropical lands it progresses with alarming rapidity. every new crisis is preceded by a shivering sensation and violent fever, frequently accompanied with headache, delirium, and nervous and gastric suffering. a violent attack of this kind may last seven or eight days. the seat of the disease is generally the foot or the reproductive organs. in the former case the foot swells to a monstrous size, instep, toes and heel and ankle all merging in one dense mass that reminds one of the foot of an elephant. [204] job feels that death is nigh. [205] allusion to an ocean myth. a watch had to be set upon the movements of the monsters of the sea and the firmament. [206] the irony of these words addressed by job to jehovah would be deemed blasphemous in a poet like byron or shelley. as a matter of fact, they constitute a parody of psalm viii. 5. as prof. cheyne has already pointed out ("job and solomon"). [207] the firmament, being a solid mass, has paths cut out along which the stars move in their courses, just as there are channels made for the clouds and rain. [208] this entire speech is ironical. [209] allusion to a myth. [210] in the light of my own conscience i am not an evil-doer. [211] ironical. [212] _lit_., the man of lips. [213] wisdom. [214] _i.e_., god's wisdom enables him to discern the deceit of those who appear just, and the punishment which he deals out to them makes the result of his knowledge visible to the dullest comprehension. [215] a name for god. [216] the current versions of the bible make job say the contrary: "with the ancient _is_ wisdom; and in length of days understanding" (job xii. 12, authorised version). _cf. ante_, "interpolations." [217] _i.e_., will ye persist in maintaining that god rewards the good and punishes the wicked (as zophar has just done, strophe xcvii.) in spite of the fact that ye know it is untrue? [218] _i.e_., not on grounds obvious to all, but because your own particular lot is satisfactory. [219] compare this with the extraordinary verse in our authorised version: "thou settest a print upon the heels of my feet"! (job ii. 27). [220] this is one of the very few passages in the poem which throw light upon the date of its composition. [221] _i.e_., the object for which he bartered righteousness. [222] host of evils which has attacked me from all sides. [223] ironical. [224] an allusion to the promises made by the friends on the part of god that job would, if he repented and asked for pardon, recover his former prosperity. [225] _lit_., the pieces of his skin. [226] probably an allusion to elephantiasis. [227] the personification of death. [228] either "the sons of the womb which has borne me," as in iii. 10, or else "my own children," the poet forgetting that in the prologue they are described as having been killed. [229] _i.e_., when it is too late. [230] zophar discerns perfect moral order in the world. [231] god. [232] _i.e_., by man. [233] _i.e_., be silent. [234] job's ideal of a happy death was identical with that of julius caesar--the most sudden and least foreseen. [235] literally, "his." [236] _i.e_., after his death. [237] _i.e._, god. [238] ironical. [239] if there be a god who rules the world, punishes evil, and rewards good, how comes it that we descry no signs of such just retribution? [240] about seven strophes in the same quasi-impious strain, characterising the real reign of jehovah upon earth as distinguished from the optimistic delineations of job's friends, are lost. the verses that have taken their place in our manuscripts are portions of a different work, which has no relation whatever to our poem. they are not even in the same metre as job, but contain strophes of three lines only. [241] conjecture of professor bickell; these two lines are not found in the mss. [242] i will judge ye out of your own mouths. ye maintained, all of you, that the principles on which the world is governed are absolutely unintelligible. how then can ye reason as if the moral order were based upon retribution, and from my sufferings infer my sins? [243] the miner who descends into the abyss of the earth, and carries a lamp. [244] wisdom is here identified with god, of whom we know nothing and have only vaguely heard from those who knew less, i.e., former generations, for whom job has scant respect. [245] to mete out justice. [246] two strophes are wanting here, in which job presumably says that this great change of fortune is not the result of his conduct. the lxx offers nothing here in lieu of the lost verses; but the massoretic text has the strophes which occur in the authorised version (xxxi. 1-4), and which would seem to have been substituted for the original verses. the present hebrew text is useless here. if the four massoretic verses which it offers had stood in the original, so important are they that they would never have been omitted by the greek translators, who evidently did not possess them in their texts. they remind one to some extent of certain passages of the sermon on the mount, and are manifestly of late origin. [247] _i.e._, my servant. [248] the concourse of people and partisans at the gate where justice was administered. [249] _i.e._, i never adored them as gods. [250] of the nobles. [251] this is the passage become famous in the imaginary form: "that mine adversary had written a book!" (xxxi. 35). [252] daylight is hostile to criminals, and the manner in which it operates is here compared to a tossing of them off the outspread carpet of the earth. [253] on a carpet, to which the earth is still compared. * * * * * the speaker translation of the restored text * * * * * the speaker part i i. thesis: _vanity of the so-called absolute joys of living._ i 1.[254] the words of the speaker, the son of david, king in jerusalem. 2. vanity of vanities, saith the speaker, vanity of vanities: all is vanity. 3. what profit hath man of all his toil wherewith he wearies himself under the sun? 4. one generation passeth away and another cometh; the earth alone abideth for ever. 5. the sun riseth and the sun goeth down and panting hasteneth back to his place where he rose. 6. the wind sweepeth towards the south and veereth round to the north, whirling about everlastingly; and back to his circuits returneth the wind. 7. all rivers flow into the sea; yet the sea is not full; whence the rivers take their source, thither they return again. 8. the all is in a never-ceasing whirl, no man can utter it in words; rest is not vouchsafed to the eye from seeing, nor unto the ear from hearing.[255] 9. the thing that hath been is the same that shall be, and what befell is the same that shall come to pass, and there is no new thing under the sun. 10. if aught there be whereof one would say, "lo, this is new!"--it was erstwhile in the eternities that were before us.[256] 11. there is no memory of those that were; neither shall there be any remembrance of them that are to come, among their posterity. 12. i, the speaker, was king over israel in jerusalem, 13. and i set my heart to seek out and probe with wisdom all things that are done under heaven. 14. i surveyed all the works that are wrought under the sun, and behold all was vanity and the grasping of wind. 15. that which is crooked cannot be straight, nor can loss be reckoned as gain. 16_a_. i communed with my heart, saying: lo, i have gathered great and ever-increasing wisdom, more than all that were before me in jerusalem. 17. then i set my heart to learn wisdom and understanding. 16_b_. and my heart discerned much wisdom and knowledge, 17. madness and folly. i realised that this also is but a grasping of wind. 18. for in much wisdom is much grief; who increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow. ii.1. i said in my heart: go to, now, i will try mirth and taste pleasure! but behold, this too was vanity. 2. unto laughter i said: it is mad. unto mirth: what cometh of it? proofs of the vanity of possession and enjoyment _(a) because enjoyment is marred by possession_ ii. 3. i cast about me, how i might confer pleasure upon my body--my reason continuing to guide with wisdom the while--and how i might take to folly till i should discern what is good for the sons of men that they should do under heaven during the brief days of their existence. 4. i undertook huge works, i builded me houses, cultivated vineyards, 5. laid out gardens and orchards wherein i planted trees with all kinds of fruits; 6. i dug out reservoirs of water wherewith to water the tree-bearing wood. 7. i got me men slaves and female slaves and had servants born in my house; i likewise owned horned and small cattle, above all that were in jerusalem before me. 8. i also piled up silver and gold, the treasures of kings and provinces, i got me men singers and women singers, and the delight of the sons of men, wife and wives. 9. and i waxed great and increased more than all that had been before me in jerusalem; also my wisdom abode with me. 10. and what thing so ever mine eyes coveted, i kept not from them. i withheld not my heart from any joy; but my heart took pleasure in all my labour, for this only was my portion of all my toil. ii. then i turned to all my works that my hands had wrought and to the worry wherewith i had wearied myself, and behold, all was vanity and a grasping of wind; and there is no profit under the sun. v.10. whoso loveth silver shall not have joy of silver;[257] and he who sets his heart on riches reaps nought therefrom. this too is vanity. 11. when goods increase, they also are multiplied that devour them, and what profit hath the owner thereof save the gazing thereon with his eyes? 12. sweet is the sleep of the toiler; but his wealth suffered not the rich man to slumber.[258] _(b) because possession is at best but fleeting_ v. 13. there is a sore evil which i have witnessed under the sun; riches hoarded up by the owner thereof to his own undoing.[259] [for such an one treasures them, spending thereby all his days in worry, vexation, grief, and carking care without gladdening his soul;] 14. then the riches perish by evil mishap, and if that man have begotten a son, there is nothing in his hand. 16_a_. but this likewise is a sore evil: exactly as he came, even so shall he go; 15. naked, as he issued from his mother's womb, must he depart again, nor for all his labour shall he carry away aught that might go with him in his hand. 16_b_. what profit hath he then for having toiled for the wind, 17. and likewise passed all his days in darkness, mourning and much grief, suffering and wrath? _(c) because the capacity for pleasure is hedged round with conditions_ v. 18. behold what i have found to be good and beautiful: that a man eat, drink and make merry amid all his labour whereat he striveth under the sun during the brief days of his life which god hath allotted to him; for such is his portion. 19. but that god should enable every man on whom he has bestowed riches and treasures, to enjoy these, and taking his share, to have pleasure in his labour, this is itself a gift of god.[260] 20. for then he shall not ponder overmuch on the days of his life, since god approveth the joy of his heart. vi. 1. but there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, and it weighs heavy upon men: 2. that god bestows upon one riches, wealth and honour, grudging him nought for which his soul yearns, yet permitteth him not to taste thereof, but a stranger enjoyeth it. this is vanity and a sore evil. 3. if such an one should beget even a hundred sons and live many years, but his soul could not revel in bliss then i say, an untimely birth is better off than he. 4. for it came into nothingness, and departed in gloom and its name is shrouded in darkness; 3. not even a sepulchre fell to its lot; 5. moreover, it had not gazed upon, nor known the sun; this latter hath more rest than the former. 6. yea, though one lived a thousand years twice told, yet had not tasted happiness, must not all wander into one place?[261] 7. all man's toil is for his mouth; and yet the soul[262] gets not its fill. iii. 9. what profit hath the toiler from that whereat he labours? 12. i perceived that for him there is no good other than to eat, drink, and make merry in his life; 13. but even this same that any one may eat, drink, and enjoy himself during all his toil, is for him a gift of god.[263] proofs of the vanity of knowledge (a) _because of its limitation_ iii. 10. i considered the working of the world which god gave unto man as a subject of meditation. 11. unto their perception he made over the universe and likewise all eternity; yet so that they are unable to discern the work that he worketh from the beginning unto the end.[264] (6) _from its depressing effects as applied to the order of the world_ iii. 14. i discovered that whatever god doeth is for ever; nothing can be superadded to it, neither can aught be taken away; and god hath so contrived it that man must fear him. 15. what came into being had been already long before, and what will be was long ago; and god quickeneth the past. (c) _because of its depressing effects as applied to human life and conduct_ iii. 16. moreover, i saw, under the sun, in the place of equity iniquity, and in lieu of justice crime. 18. i said in mine heart: it is for men's sake that god should try them and show that they are beasts, they unto themselves. 19. for men are an accident, and the beasts are an accident, and the same accident befalleth them all: as these die even so die those, and the selfsame breath have they all, nor is there any pre-eminence of man above beast;[265] for all is nothingness. 20. all drift into one place; all sprang from the dust, and all turn to dust again. 21. who knoweth whether the breath of man riseth upwards or whether the breath of the beast sinketh downwards to the earth? 22. and i perceived that other good there is none, save only that man should enjoy himself in his work; for that is his portion. for who can show him what shall become of him after his death? iv. i. and again i saw all the oppressive deeds that are wrought under the sun; and behold the downtrodden weep, and none comforteth them; and they endure violence from their tyrants, and none consoleth them. 2. then i appraised the dead who died long since, as happier than the quick who are yet alive; 3. but luckier than both, him who is still unborn, who hath not yet witnessed the evil doings under the sun. 4. and i saw that all striving and all painstaking in the working of men is but the jealousy of one with another; this too is vanity and the grasping of wind. 5. true, the fool foldeth his hands, and eateth up his own flesh. 6. and yet better is a handful of quietness than both fists filled with drudgery and the grasping of wind. 7. and again i beheld a vain thing under the sun: 8. one who toileth restlessly without enjoying his riches. for whom do i wear myself out and bereave my soul of pleasure? this too is vanity and irksome drudgery. ii. 12. for what manner of man will he be who shall come after me? 18. then i loathed all my toil, wherewith i had wearied myself under the sun, in order that i should leave it to one who shall come after me. 19. and who knoweth whether he be a wise man or a fool? yet shall he have sway over all the fruits of my labour which i have gained by toil and wisdom under the sun; this likewise is vanity. 20. and i turned away to let my heart abandon itself to despair because of the pains wherewith i laboured under the sun. 21. for here is a man who hath performed his work with wisdom, knowledge and painstaking, and to one who hath not laboured thereat he must leave it, as his portion. this also is vanity and a sore evil. 22. for what hath man of all his striving and of the worry of his heart wherewith he labours under the sun? 23. for all his days are sorrows and his work grief; yea, even at night his heart taketh no rest; this too is vanity. 24. there is no good for man, save that he should eat and drink and make glad his soul in his labour. yet i saw that even this lieth in the hand of god.[266] 25. for who can eat and who can enjoy except through him? 26. for on the man who findeth favour in his sight he bestoweth wisdom, knowledge, and joy; but to him who is not pleasing in his sight[267] he giveth drudgery, to gather and to heap up in order to make it over to him in whom he is well pleased. this also is vanity and a grasping of wind. proofs of the vanity of wisdom in its religious and moral aspects[268] _(a) because in the chances of life and death the just are nowise favoured_ ii. 12_a_. then i turned to behold wisdom, madness and folly, 13. and i saw that wisdom excelleth folly as much as light surpasseth darkness: 14. the wise man hath eyes in his head; but the fool walketh in obscurity. but i perceived that the same fate overtaketh them all. 15. then i said in mine heart: as it happeneth to the fool, so shall it happen also unto me; and why then have i been so very wise? whereupon i said in my heart that this too is vanity. 16. for there is no more remembrance of the wise man than of the fool for ever; because in the days to come all shall have been long since forgotten, and how the wise man perisheth like the fool! 17. then i loathed life; because the turmoil under the sun weighed upon me as a calamity, for all is vanity and a grasping of wind. iii. 1. to everything there is a season and each thing under heaven hath its hour.[269] 2. there is a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 3. a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to break down and a time to build up; 4. a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance; 5. a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; 6. a time to seek and a time to throw away; a time to keep and a time to destroy; 7. a time to rend and a time to repair; a time to be silent and a time to speak; 8. a time to love and a time to hate; a time of war and a time of peace. viii. 6. for every thing hath its season and its destiny,[270] for the bane of man presses heavily upon him. 7. because he knoweth not what shall be; for who can tell him how it will come to pass? 8. no man swayeth the storm-wind, none controlleth the day of his death; there is no discharge in war, nor can riches rescue their possessor. _(b) because the just are very often treated worse than the wicked_ viii. 9. all this have i seen, and i have applied my heart unto every event that happens under the sun, at the time when one man ruleth over another to his undoing. 10. and so i beheld the evil-doer honoured, even in the holy place, while they who had done uprightly must go away and were forgotten in the city. this also is vanity. 11. because sentence against misdeeds is not executed forthwith, therefore the heart of the sons of man is fully set to work evil. 12. for i know that many a miscreant hath committed bad deeds for a protracted time past, and yet lives long, 13. while the god-fearing prolongeth not his shadow-like days. 14. there is a vanity which is done upon earth: to righteous men that happeneth which should befall wrong-doers; and that betideth criminals which should fall to the lot of the upright. i said: this too is vain. 16a. when i applied my heart to know wisdom and to consider the goings on upon earth, 17a. then i perceived that no man can find out the whole work of god that is carried on beneath the sun.[271] how much soever he may labour in seeking, he will not discover it; 16_b_. even though by day and by night he should keep his eyes from seeing sleep; 17_b_. yea, though a wise man set himself to fathom it, yet shall he not find it out.[272] ix. 1. for all this i laid to heart, and my heart beheld it all; that the righteous and the wise and their doings are in the hand of god; neither love nor hatred doth a man know in advance;[273] everything lies before him. 2. all things come alike to all indiscriminately;[274] the one fate overtaketh the upright man and the miscreant, the clean and the unclean, him who sacrifices and him who sacrifices not, the just and the sinner, him who swears as him who dreads an oath. 3. this is an evil amongst all things that are done under the sun, that one chance betideth all; therefore the sons of men pluck up courage for evil, and madness abideth in their heart. viii. 15. then i commended mirth, because for man there is no good under the sun save only to eat, drink, and make merry, and that abideth with him in his toil during the days of his life which god hath given him under the sun. proofs of the vanity of wisdom in its aspect as prudence and practical aptitude _(a) because success is contingent upon circumstances beyond the control of man_ ix. 11. again i saw under the sun that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor bread to the wise, nor riches to men of understanding, nor favour to men of skill; but time and chance overtake them all. 12. for man knoweth not even his own time; like the fishes that are taken in the evil net, and like the birds that are caught in the snare, so are the sons of men entrapped in the season of misfortune, when it breaks in upon them unawares.[275] _(b) because of the difficulty of obtaining recognition for it, and of the ease with which it may be thwarted by folly_ ix. 13. this also have i seen under the sun, as wisdom, and it appeared great unto me. 14. there was a little city and few soldiers therein, and there came a mighty king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it. 15. now he found in it a poor wise man who, by his wisdom, delivered the city; but no one remembered this poor man afterwards. 16. thereupon i said: wisdom is better than strength; yet the poor man's wisdom is despised. 17. the words of the wise are gently uttered; but the clamour of fools is deafening.[276] 18. wisdom is better than war weapons; yet a single oversight bringeth ruin. x. 1. a dead fly causes balsam to putrefy; so a little folly destroys much happiness. vi. 8. for what hath the wise more than the fool? what, the poor who knoweth how to walk before the living? 10. that which is happening was long ago named, and it is known beforehand what a man shall be; neither can he join issue with him who is mightier than he. 11. for there is much prattle that only augmenteth vanity. of what avail is it to man? 12. for who knoweth what is helpful to man in life during the brief vain days of his existence which he spendeth as a shadow? for who can tell a man what shall come to pass after him under the sun? part ii recommendation of the relative good; and in the first place of wisdom, as renunciation _(a) of claims to happiness_ vii.1_a_. better is a good name than choice unguents, x.1. but better wisdom than glory; [better not being than existence,][277] vii.1_b_. and the death-day than the birthday. 2. better to enter the house of mourning than to go into the tavern; because there is the end of every man, and he who survives will lay it to heart. 3. better is sorrow than laughter; for a cheerless face makes a blithesome heart. 4. the heart of the wise is in the mourning-house; the heart of fools in the house of mirth. 5. better to hearken to the rebuke of the wise, than to listen to the song of the foolish. 6. as the crackling of thorns under a pot,[278] is the inane laughter of the fool. vi.9. better look with the eyes than wander with desire; this too is vanity and a grasping of wind. vii.7. for extortion maketh the wise man foolish, and bribery robs understanding. 8. better the end of a thing than the beginning thereof; better is patience than haughtiness. 9. let not thy spirit be hurried into anger, for anger lurketh in the bosom of fools. 10. say not: why were old times better than these? for it is not from wisdom that thou askest thus. 13. contemplate the work of god! who can straighten what he hath made crooked? 14. in the day of prosperity be of good cheer, and in the evil day bethink thee: the latter god hath made even as the former, to the end that man at his death shall have left nothing unaccomplished. _(b) as renunciation of reputation for perfect justice and wisdom_ vii. 15. all things have i witnessed in my vain days; there are just men who perish through their righteousness, and there are wicked men who prolong their lives by means of their iniquity.[279] 16. be not righteous overmuch, neither make thyself overwise; why wouldst thou ruin thyself? 17. do not allow thyself too much liberty, and be not a fool: why wouldst thou die before thy time? 18. it is well that thou shouldst hold fast to the one and also not withdraw thy hand from the other, for he who feareth god compasseth all this. 19. wisdom is a stronger guard for the wise man than ten mighty men who are in the city. 11. wisdom is good with an inheritance, yea, better yet, to them that see the sun;[280] 12. for wisdom and wealth afford shade, and wisdom, besides, keeps its possessors alive. _(c) as renunciation of one's claims to the respect and consideration of others_ vii. 21. likewise, take not all the gossip of people to heart, lest thou hear that thy friend hath reviled thee! 22. for thy heart is conscious that thou thyself hast often-times made little of others. 20. for: there is no just man upon the earth who worketh good and never faileth. _(d) of one's claims to act independently of their counsel and aid_ iv. 9. two are better off than one; 10. for should one of them fall, the other lifts him up again. woe to him that is alone, if he fall, and there be not another to raise him up. 11. likewise, if two lie down together, they become warm; but how can one grow warm alone? 12. moreover, if a man would overpower the single one, two can keep him at bay, and a threefold cord will not easily give way. 13. better is the youth, needy and wise, than the king old and foolish, who can no longer take a warning to heart. 14. for the former went forth from prison to govern, though born poor in the realm of the king. 15. i saw all the living who walk under the sun, in attendance on the youth who was to take his place. 16. there was no end to the multitude....[281] who were before them; nor did those who lived afterwards glory in him. for this likewise is vanity and a grasping of wind. recommendation of wisdom as rational piety[282] _a warning: (a) against outward and sacrificial worship_ v. 1. keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of god! and to draw near him, in order to obey, is better than the offering of sacrifices by fools: for they know not....[283] to work evil. _(b) against mechanical prayer_ v. 2. be not rash with thy mouth, nor let thy heart be hasty to utter words before god! for god is in heaven, and thou art upon earth; therefore let thy words be few! 3. for dreams proceed from much brooding, and the prattle of fools from a multitude of words. _(c) against rash vows_ v. 4. if thou makest a vow unto god, fail not to fulfil it, for fools are displeasing. carry out that which thou hast promised. 5. it is better thou shouldst not vow at all than vow and not perform. 6. suffer not thy mouth to render thy body punishable, neither utter thou the plea before the messenger:[284] "it was rashness." why cause god to be wroth at thy voice and destroy the work of thy hands? _(d) against arbitrary religious speculations_ v. 7....[285] for in the multitude of fancies and prattle there likewise lurketh much vanity. rather fear thou god! recommendation of wisdom as activity _(a) in public life_ v. 8. when thou witnessest oppression of the poor and the swerving from right and equity in the land, marvel not thereat. for a higher one watcheth over the high, and still higher ones over both.[286] 9. but a gain to the country is only a king--for tilled land. x.16. wo, land, to thee whose king is a child, and whose princes feast in the early morning! 17. hail to thee, land, whose king is noble, and whose princes eat in due season! 18. through sloth the rafters give way; through idleness the roof lets in the rain. 19. they misuse food and drink for feasting: and gold putteth all things in their grasp. 20. even in thy privacy curse not the king, nor in thy bed-chamber the wealthy; the birds of heaven might divulge it, and the feathered ones might report the word. _(b) in private life_ xi. 1. send forth thy bread over the surface of the waters, for after many days thou shall find it again. 2. divide thy possessions into seven, yea, into eight portions! for thou knowest not what evil may befall the land. 3. if the clouds fill themselves with rain, they discharge it upon the earth; and whether the tree falleth towards the south or towards the north, in the place where it falleth, there shall it abide. 6. in the morning sow thy seed, and until evening let not thy hand repose.[287] for thou knowest not which one shall thrive, this or that, or whether they shall both prosper alike. 4. he that observeth the wind shall not sow; he that watcheth the clouds shall not reap. 5. as thou knowest not the way of the wind, nor the growth of the bones in the womb of the mother, even so, thou canst not fathom the work of god who compasseth everything. recommendation of wisdom as circumspection _(a) in our dealings with women_ vii. 23. all this have i tried with understanding; i was minded to acquire wisdom, but it remained far from me. 24. far off is that which is,[288] and deep, deep; who can fathom it? 25. i turned away, and my heart was bent upon understanding, sifting, and seeking the outgrowth of wisdom and knowledge, madness, and folly. 26. whereupon i found that more bitter than death is woman--that snare whose heart is a net, whose arms are fetters: the god-favoured shall escape her, but the sinner shall be entangled by her. 27. lo, this have i found, saith the speaker, piecing one thing with another in order to discover a result: 28. what my soul hath ever sought for, yet never fallen upon, is this: i have discovered one man, among thousands; and of all these there was not one single woman. 29. behold, this only have i found: that god made men upright, but they go in search of many wiles. _(b) in our relations to the monarch_ viii.1. a man's wisdom brightens up his countenance. and transforms the coarse rancour of his face. 2. the wise man hearkens to the king's command, by reason of the oath to god. 3. steer clear of evil causes![289] for he[290] doeth even what he listeth. 4. mighty is the word of the monarch; who dares ask him: "what dost thou?"[291] x.2. the wise man's heart straineth to the right, the heart of the fool to the left. 3. even out of doors he lacketh sense, saying unto every one: "i am a fool."[292] 4. though the wrath of the ruler should swell against thee, yet forsake not thy post. for composure avoids grave mistakes. 5. there is an evil which i beheld under the sun, like unto a blunder, proceeding from the ruler! 6. folly is set in high places, the great ones must sit low down; 7. slaves have i beheld on horseback, and princes trudging on foot. _(c) in the conditions of everyday life_ x. 8. he that diggeth a pit may fall into it; him who breaketh down walls a serpent may sting. 9. whoso removeth stones may be hurt therewith; he who cleaveth wood may be endangered thereby. 10. if the axe be blunt it demands more strength:[293] only through intelligence doth exertion avail. 11. if the serpent bites before the spell, then bootless is the charmer's art. 12. speech from the wise man's mouth is grace, the lips of a fool swallow him up; 13. the first words of his mouth are folly. and the end of his talk rank madness. ii.15. for in self-conceit babbles the fool,[294] x.14_a_. the silly man multiplieth his words; 15. the fussiness of the fool jadeth him. who knows not yet the way citywards.[295] _exhortation to enjoy life_ x. 14_b_. man knoweth not what shall come to pass, and who can tell him ix. 3. during his life, what shall befall after his death? afterwards they go down to the[296] [dead, and there none can tell him aught nor can he apprehend anything. even could he take it in, it would avail him nothing, for in _sheol_ there is no participation in life]. 4. for whosoever may enrol himself in the company of all the living, can rest content, seeing that a living dog is better than a dead lion. 5. for the living know at least that they shall die, whereas the dead know not anything at all, neither have they any more a reward, for the memory of them is forgotten. 6. as well their love as their hatred and jealousy has long since passed away, neither have they any more a portion for ever in anything that is done under the sun. 7. go, eat thy bread with joy, and quaff thy wine with merry heart. for god hath countenanced beforehand this thy doing. 8. let thy garments be always white and let thy head lack not ointment. 9. see life with a woman whom thou lovest throughout all the days of thy empty existence which he hath given thee under the sun, during all thy vain days! for that is thy portion in life[297] and in thy labour which thou takest under the sun. 10. whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do that with thy might. for there is no work, nor cogitation, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the _sheol_[298] whither thou goest. xi. 7. but sweet is the light and pleasant it is for the eyes to gaze upon the sun. 8. for how many years soever a man may live, he should enjoy himself during them all, and bear in mind the days of darkness that they shall be many. everything that is to come, is vain. 9. rejoice, young man, in thy youth![299] and let thy heart make thee glad! and walk in the ways of thine heart, and according to the seeing of thine eyes! _10a._ drive sorrow from thy heart; and put away care from thy flesh! xii._1a._ and bethink thee of thy fountain,[300] in the days of thy youth! xi. _10b._ for youth and dawn are fleeting. xii._1b._ dreary days are drawing near, and years approach devoid of joy. 2. then darkened shall be sun and moon, and clouds come after rain alway. 3. the keepers of the house[301] shall quake, the sturdy ones[302] shall bend themselves; darksome shall the windows[303] be, 4. and closed shall be the portals.[304] the roar of the mill[305] shall be as the sparrows twitter, the daughters of song[306] shall bow low; 5. likewise of heights shall they be afraid, for dread shall lie in wait. 3. the grinding maids[307] shall leave off work, 5. the almond-tree[308] shall shed its blooms; the grasshopper[309] shall be burdened, and the caperberry[310] unavailing. for man goeth to his everlasting home and the mourners are in readiness in the street. 6. asunder snaps the silver chain; shivered is the golden lamp; the pitcher shattered at the brook; the scoopwheel falls into the well. 8. o vanity of vanities, saith the speaker; all is vanity![311] footnotes: [254] for the convenience of the reader i give the chapters and verses as they are in the ordinary hebrew bible, so that they can be found at once in the authorised version. the letter _a_ after the verse number indicates the first half of that verse, the letter _b_ the second half. [255] the meaning is almost the opposite of that of the authorised version. eye and ear are wearied and bewildered by the incessant whirl of the vast machinery of the universe. _cf._ schopenhauer, ed. grisebach, vol. v. p. 295, § 144. the metre of the strophe is identical with that of the "poem of job." [256] it is interesting and instructive to compare this with the identical doctrine of buddha, as set forth in the canonical book, "samyuttaka-nikayo," vol. i. vii., 2 p, 2 suttam. it is accessible to most readers in the admirable german translation of dr. k. e. neumann, leiden, 1892. pp. 156, 157. [257] the authorised version has "shall not be satisfied with silver." the meaning is that he who loves silver shall not enjoy the good things it can purchase. [258] _i.e_., the care and anxiety which accompany the possession of wealth. the authorised version has: "the sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much: but the abundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep." the hebrew word _saba'_ can signify both wealth and repletion. here it manifestly means the former; but some well-intentioned person whose ideas of physiology were defective, having taken it to mean repletion, confirmed his view by interpolating the words: "whether he eat little or much." [259] here a portion of the original text has been lost, as is evident from the passage beginning "what profit," two sentences lower down, which sums up the troubles of the rich man and makes them consist not merely in the loss of what he actually possessed, but likewise in the hardships and privations which he endured in order to produce his wealth. i give in brackets the words which professor bickell conjecturally supplies in lieu of the lost passage. [260] and therefore extremely doubtful. when koheleth wishes to express the idea of inexorable law, or fate, he has recourse to the notion of god. [261] it is only on earth that one can hope for some approximation to happiness. if we fail to obtain it here--and the odds are very much against us--there is no hereafter to look forward to; for we _all_--the miserable as well as the fortunate--are drifting steadily into one place--the dreary _sheol_, where there is no pleasure, no striving, no life. [262] _i.e._, not merely, as commentators generally suppose, that desire is not satiated; but that the enjoyment for the sake of which alone we desire life, and toil to sustain it, is never attained. the aim of labour is enjoyment, without which existence is a burden; but the real result of it all is the mere support of life without its redeeming pleasures. _cf._ schopenhauer, vol. v. pp. 300, 301. [263] that is to say, is a very uncertain outlook. [264] this is a remarkable sentence, which, if it could be supposed to be the fruit of the writer's own speculations, would entitle him to a high place in the pantheon of speculative philosophers. this proposition, which underlies all buddhistic doctrines, would be formulated by kant or schopenhauer somewhat as follows: time, space, and causality are given to man as the _a priori_ conditions of all thought; they are the stuff his mind is made of. as they are likewise the three ingredients of which the universe is composed, it follows that the world is the web of his own intellect, and, in so far as it is knowable, exists for the intellect alone. that which underlies all the shadows of existence, the one eternal force or will, he never beholds. [265] schopenhauer would express it thus: our sources of knowledge--inner and outer observation--are identical with those of animals, the difference consisting in that faculty of imparting to our intuitions the form of abstract ideas. [266] that is to say, is highly uncertain; for, as we learn in the following lines, happiness and misery depend upon chance or luck. god gives his favourites an agreeable life, leaving the drudgery to all the rest. and his choice is not determined by any ethical acts of man. [267] "sinner" is not the correct translation of the hebrew word _khôte_ here; otherwise the author could not say that this too (_i.e._, the punishment of the sinner) is vanity. [268] the jews frequently give to piety and morality the name of wisdom. [269] the sense of this passage, which has become proverbial, is generally misunderstood. what it means is that man's work, be he never so skilful, be it never so easy, is absolutely dependent for success upon conditions which are wholly beyond his control, and that undertaken under any other conditions is inevitably doomed to failure. [270] here professor bickell supplies the words: "against this no man can strive." [271] the utmost that physical science can teach us is the where, the when and the why of the appearance of the forces of nature. the _what_ remains for ever a mystery. [272] wisdom here is taken to mean the one eternal reality which underlies the shadowy appearances that we see and know. the same use of the word and exactly the same thesis occur in job. (_cf_. a.v. job xxviii. 21, 22.) [273] he cannot answer even for his own sentiments, completely though they may seem to be under his sway. [274] _i.e._, without ethical distinctions between the good and the bad. [275] it is curious to note that a comparison strikingly similar to this occurs in the ancient indian collection of fables entitled "pantschatantra." (ed. kosegarten, p. 105.) [276] literally: tyrannical. [277] this line is no longer found in the hebrew or greek texts. it is required, however, by the sense and metre, and is inserted by professor bickell. [278] here the hebrew text contains a play of words which cannot be reproduced in english. [279] "some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall." ("measure for measure.") [280] _i.e._, for mankind. [281] here a portion of the text is evidently lost. professor bickell suggests that it ran somewhat as follows: "who received him with applause and reviled the old king. for inasmuch as he had spurned the counsel of the wise, in order to misgovern and grind down the people, therefore they hated him as those had hated him" who were before them. [282] as an antidote to the so-called "piety" founded upon the scrupulous observance of the law, which had become a very upas tree of self-complacency. mankind is already encompassed by so many and such terrible evils, that it would be sheer madness to turn religion into a means of multiplying them. [283] another passage is wanting here, which most probably was to the effect that they know not that god asks no sacrifices at their hands but only works of justice; and that therefore they take courage "to work evil." [284] various commentators have offered various explanations of this obscure passage. as none of them is convincing, i prefer to leave them unnoticed. it is not impossible that it may contain an allusion to some popular tale or fable, analogous to that of the man who called upon death in his despair, and when the grim visitor made his appearance, asked him merely to help him to carry his burden. [285] professor bickell supposes that here some words have fallen out, such as: "brood not over that which is too marvellous and too lofty for thee, neither say of the dreams of thy heart and the babbling of thy lips, 'i have found the knowledge of the holy one.'" [286] this passage is a bitterly ironical onslaught on bureaucracy. [287] this distich is rhymed in hebrew. [288] what kant would call _das ding an sich_. everything we see and know is but appearance. the underlying substance, "that which is," is unknowable. [289] political plots. [290] _i.e._, the king. [291] ironical. [292] by his unconsidered acts. [293] literally, "it must be the more lustily wielded." [294] this line is found only in the septuagint. [295] probably a proverbial way of saying that a man knows nothing. [296] the words in brackets are supplied conjecturally by professor bickell. [297] the authorised version has "in this life." but it deviates from the hebrew original. [298] the nether world where the dead are but shadows. [299] this and the following quatrain are rhymed in the original; as is also the preceding distich. [300] thy wife. [301] the arms. [302] the legs. [303] the eyes. [304] the ears. [305] the voice. [306] the tones. [307] the teeth. [308] the white hair. [309] fascinum. [310] [greek: kreis]. [311] the epilogue forms no part of the original text. * * * * * the sayings of agur translation of the restored text * * * * * the sayings of agur first saying _on god_ i sentence of the man who has worried himself about god: i have worried myself about god and succeeded not; for i am more stupid than other men, and in me there is no human understanding. neither have i learned wisdom, so that i might comprehend the science of sacred things. ii who has ascended into heaven and come down again? who can gather the wind in his fists? who can bind the waters in a garment? who can grasp all the ends of the earth? such an one would i question about god: what is his name? and what is the name of his sons, if thou knowest it?[312] second saying _on four insatiable things_ there be three things which are never satisfied, yea, four exclaim: "it is not enough!" the ghoul hath two daughters: "give, give!"--the grave and the womb.[313] the earth is not filled with water, and the fire sayeth not, "it is enough!" third saying of agur _on four inscrutable things_ there be three things too wonderful for me, yea, four which i fathom not: the way of the eagle in the air, the way of the serpent upon a rock, the way of a ship amidst the ocean, and the way of a man with a maid.[314] fourth saying _four insupportable things_ under three things the earth quakes, and under four it cannot stand. under a slave when he seeks to reign, and under a fool when he is filled with meat; under an odious woman when she gets a husband, and under a handmaid who is heir to her mistress.[315] fifth saying _four who stride majestically_ there be three things which go well, yea, four are comely in going: a lion--the hero among beasts, who turneth not aside for any one; a greyhound and a bell-goat, and a king who riseth up for his people's sake. sixth sentence _exhortation to denounce ambition_ whether thou hast acted foolishly in exalting thyself, or whether thou hast done wisely, lay thy hand upon thy lips![316] for pressure of milk produces butter, and pressure of vanity produces anger; pressure of the nose[317] produces blood, and pressure of wrath produces strife. footnotes: [312] to this and the following sayings, agur's orthodox opponent replies thus: every word of god is purified: he is a shield to them that put their trust in him. add thou not unto his words, lest he reprove thee, and thou be found a liar. two things have i demanded of thee, o jahveh, deny me them not before i die: frivolity and blasphemous words and negation remove far from me. give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food suitable for me. lest i be sated and deny thee, and say, who is the lord? or lest i be poor and yield to seduction and offend against the name of my god. accuse not a servant to his master,[312a] lest he curse thee and thou be found guilty. there is a bad generation that curses its father and doth not bless its mother,[312b] a bad generation which is pure in its own eyes, and yet is not washed from its filthiness. a bad generation, how lofty are its eyes! and how uplifted its eyelids! a bad generation whose teeth are as swords, and whose jaw-teeth are as knives to devour the poor from off the earth, and the needy from among men.[312c] [312a] as if agur were an aristocrat from blind unreasoning sympathy for the heathen aristocracy. allusion to agur's 4th saying. [312b] against agur's 2nd and 3rd sayings. [312c] against agur's 4th saying. [313] _i.e_., birth and death. (_cf. agur, the agnostic_, pp. 139, 140.) the champion of orthodoxy evidently took the passage literally and consequently condemned agur as guilty of a lack of filial respect for his mother, venting his feelings in the following lines: "the eye that scoffeth at the grey hair of the father and that despiseth the old age of the mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out and the young eagles shall devour it." [314] verse 20 a.v. is an addition inserted by a later writer who having misunderstood the last line of the fourth sentence, deemed it his duty to give it a moral turn. [315] the sentence following (vv. 24-24 a.v.) dealing with four cunning ones is probably not from agur's pen; for not only has it five distichs, but it lacks the point which characterises his sayings, besides which it does not begin, as his "numerical" sentences do, with _three_ before proceeding to _four_. [316] keep silence. [317] in hebrew the same word signifies "nose" and "strife." * * * * * index * * * * * index adversary, the, "a son of god" agur, the sayings of- their literary place character of their position in proverbs their present form agur and his orthodox opponent blunders of the latter oriental influence traceable in the sayings the mystery of generation date of composition agur shows no respect for the doctrine of retribution, for messianism, revelation, &c.; no belief in a personal god his antagonism to jewish theologians his views of right conduct angels animals, the tenderness of buddhism towards aryans and semites, contrast of mental characteristics asterisks, origen's, in the hexapla authorship of job bickell, professor, and the laws of hebrew metre discovery of the saidic version of job on the theophany in job theory as to the chaotic state of koheleth and the "praise of wisdom" textual conjectures "book, that mine adversary had written a" book of job (see job) buddhism and the theology of job and job's moral system influence of, on koheleth buddhism, spread of, into syria, egypt, &c. influence of, on agur and the doctrine of renunciation its tenderness towards animals and plants byron's "cain" and job "cain" (byron's) and job "canticles of scepticism," heine's description of koheleth cheyne, prof., and the date of job and the laws of hebrew metre and prof. bickell's theory of the plan of koheleth on the "theism" of koheleth job, strophe liii. and ps. viii. 5 compared. christ and the doctrine of renunciation christianity not incompatible with koheleth's scepticism clement of alexandria and a lost version of job cornill, dr., and the date of job council of constantinople and the historical truth of job critical apparatus applied to text of job date of job of earliest extant ms. of job of koheleth of the sayings of agur ecclesiastes (_see_ koheleth) ecclesiasticus, dropped leaves causing transposition of chapters in elephantiasis eternal justice, job's belief in koheleth's belief in evil (_see_ good and evil) ewald and the laws of hebrew metre firmament, the free-will and the origin of evil future life, job knows nothing of koheleth knows nothing of ghoul, the (_tanha_) good and evil, problem of free-will and the origin of evil the oriental theory of gregory the great and the book of job hebrew metre, prof. bickell and the laws of heine and the "canticles of scepticism" hitopadeça, the, and the sayings of agur inspiration of job not affected by reconstructive changes interpolations in job, examples of isaac of antioch, transpositions in poems caused by dropped leaves jesus sirach and the book of proverbs job, the poem of- compared with lucretius, _de nat. rerum_ its inclusion in the canon its appeal to all ages opinion of gregory the great, thomas aquinas, tennyson, luther its place in literature the problem of traditional theology the mystery of good and evil no conception of a future life nor of the resurrection or atonement the poet's view of the problem free-will and the origin of evil the oriental theory of these brahmanism and buddhism job's illumination the same as buddha's authorship of date of the question of historicity date of earliest extant ms. of a lost version of various causes for changes in text the chief cause, a horror of blasphemy apparatus for detecting these changes laws of hebrew metre parallelism evidence of the septuagint theodotion's version of the old testament the hexapla the saidic or thebaic version of job examples of interpolations reconstructive changes do not affect inspiration job's natural philosophy his dynamic theory of the universe his monotheism not jewish his moral system, based on pity, found in buddhism, and here first preached in the old testament belief in eternal justice the secret of job's resignation the ancient legend of job, use of it by the poet analysis of the poem the appearance of jehovah not literal but symbolical of job's illumination judaism, the influence of buddhism on kant and koheleth koheleth- its inclusion in the canon the literary problem of its metaphysical basis the same as that of the philosophy of buddha, kant, and schopenhauer chaotic and conflicting character of text prof. bickell's theory as to the confusion of the book instances of similar confusion in other works the proposed re-arrangement illustrations in support of prof. bickell's theory koheleth's theory of life source of happiness not wealth nor wisdom nor virtue koheleth's system relation of god to man the practical moral the view of "moral order" the world all maya, illusion koheleth's theory not inconsistent with christianity the reach of our knowledge; happiness the only true good koheleth knows nothing of future life or of divine promises or revelations his belief in eternal justice renunciation, the great doctrine wisdom the great boon content and moderation the golden rule the sources of his philosophy opposition of jewish orthodoxy to the book admission of the book to the canon its incompatibility with messianic hopes of israel disbelief in a personal god in retribution and immortality greek influences questioned; probable influence of buddhism date and locality of koheleth life to come (_see_ future life) lucretius compared with job luther and the book of job magicians mentioned in job maya, illusion, the teaching of koheleth metre in hebrew, laws of nirvana, koheleth's only real good view of old testament, untrustworthiness of historical books origen and the hexapla parallelism in hebrew poetry paul, st., and a lost version of job "praise of wisdom," its place in "proverbs," prof. bickell's discovery priests' code, the "proverbs," analysis of not written by solomon their history date of plants, tenderness of buddhism towards renunciation, the teaching of koheleth, buddha, christ, etc. resurrection, the (in job) "redeemer liveth, i know that my" saidic or thebaic version of job sariputto, and the desire for life (_tanha_) satan, "a son of god" scotus erigena and free-will schopenhauer and koheleth and renunciation and the four things insatiable semites, remains of ancient speculation among and aryans, contrast of mental characteristics septuagint, the value of, in regard to text of job tanha, the terrible ghoul tennyson's opinion of job thebaic or saidic version of job theodore of mopsuestia condemned for declaring job to be fiction theodotion's version of the old testament thomas aquinas on job transmigration of souls veda, the vedanta, the vowel points in hebrew "wisdom, praise of," its place in "proverbs," prof. bickell's discovery * * * * * generously made available by the internet archive/canadian libraries) transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. edited by the rev. w. robertson nicoll, m.a., ll.d., _editor of "the expositor."_ the book of ecclesiastes, by samuel cox, d.d. toronto: willard tract depository and bible depôt, corner of yonge and temperance streets. 1890. the book of ecclesiastes. _with a new translation._ by samuel cox, d.d., author of commentaries on job, ruth, etc. "_omnia vanitas, præter amare deum, et illi soli servire._" --st. augustine. toronto: willard tract depository and bible depôt, corner of yonge and temperance streets. 1890. preface. the lectures on which this book is founded were delivered five-and-twenty years ago, and were published in a.d. 1867.[1] for more than twenty years the book has been out of print, a large first edition having been speedily sold out. no other edition was issued owing to the fact that my publisher soon passed into another profession. i have often been asked to reprint it, but have always felt that, before reprinting, i must rewrite it. till of late, however, i could not command leisure for the task. but when, at the commencement of this year, the editor of the expositor's bible did me the honour to ask permission to reprint it, that he might include it in this excellent series, i had leisure at command, and cheerfully devoted it to the revision of my work. among the more recent commentaries i have read with this purpose in view, those which i have found most helpful and suggestive were that of delitzsch, that by dr. wright, that of dean plumptre, and the fine fragment contributed to the expositor by dr. perowne, the dean of peterborough. in the preface to the former edition i dwelt on my indebtedness to the commentary of dr. ginsburg, published in a.d. 1861. in my judgment it still remains by far the best, the most thorough and the most sound. it has but one serious defect; it is addressed to scholars, and so abounds in learning and erudition that it can never come into popular use. indeed even now, although during the last twenty years there has been an immense advance in the study and exposition of holy writ, and many able and learned men have devoted themselves to the service of the general public, i know of no commentary on this scripture which really meets the wants of the unlettered. i cannot but hope, therefore, that _the quest of the chief good_ may still serve a useful purpose, and that, in its revised form, it may be found helpful to those who most need help. [1] _the quest of the chief good._ a popular commentary on the book ecclesiastes, with a new translation. by samuel cox. london: arthur miall. in rewriting the book i have retained as much as i could of its earlier form, lest the vivacity of a first exposition of the scripture should be lost. and, indeed, the alterations i have had to make are but slight for the most part, though i have in many places altered, and, i hope, amended both the translation and the commentary: but there are one or two additions--they will be found on pages 20-26, and, again, in certain modifications of the exposition of chapter xii., verses 9-12, on pages 279-305; dealing mainly with the structure of _ecclesiastes_--which may, i trust, be found useful not to the general reader alone. since the original edition appeared i have had to study the book of job, most of the psalms, many of the prophetical writings, and some of the proverbs; and it was inevitable that in the course of these pleasant studies i should arrive at clearer and more definite conceptions on the structure of hebrew poetry. these i now place at the service of my readers, and submit to the judgment of scholars and critics. another and much more important result of these subsequent studies has been that i can now speak with a more assured confidence of the theme of this scripture, and of its handling by the author. none of the scholars who have recently commented on the book doubt that it _is_ the quest of the chief good which it sets forth; and though some of them arrange and divide it differently, yet, on the whole and in the main, they are agreed that this quest is urged in wisdom, in pleasure, in devotion to public affairs, in wealth and in the golden mean; and that it ends and rests in the large noble conclusion, that only as men reverence god, and keep his commandments, and trust in his love, do they touch their true ideal, and find a good that will satisfy and sustain them under all changes, even to the last. the assent to this view of the book was by no means general a quarter of a century ago; but it is so wide now, and is sanctioned by the authority of so many schools of learning, that i think no reader of the following pages need be disturbed by misgivings as to the accuracy of the main lines of thought here set forth. few scriptures of the old testament are so familiar to the general reader as _ecclesiastes_; and that mainly, i think, because it addresses itself to a problem which is "yours, mine, every man's." many more quotations from it have entered into our current speech than have been taken from _job_, for example, although _job_ is both a much larger and a much finer poem than this--"the finest poem," as a great living poet has said, "whether of the modern or of the antique world." it is a book which can never lose its interest for men until the last conflict in the long strife of doubt has led in the final victory of faith; and seems, in especial, to adapt itself to the conditions and wants of the present age. it deals with the very questions which are in all our minds, and offers a solution of them, and, so far as i know, the only solution, in which those who have "eternity in their hearts" can rest. may all who study it, with such help as the following pages afford, find rest to their souls, and be drawn from the heat and strife of thought into the calm and hallowed sanctuary which it throws open to our erring feet. the holme, hastings, _october 1890_. contents. pages i. the introduction 1-66 § 1. _on the authorship, form, design, and contents of the book_ 3-32 § 2. _on the history of the captivity_ 32-66 (1) the babylonian period 38-43 (2) the persian period 43-66 ii. the translation 67-110 § 1. _the prologue_ 69-70 § 2. _the first section_: or, the quest of the chief good in wisdom and in pleasure 71-76 § 3. _the second section_: or, the quest in devotion to the affairs of business 77-86 § 4. _the third section_: or, the quest in wealth and in the golden mean 87-96 § 5. _the fourth section_: or, the quest achieved 97-108 § 6. _the epilogue_ 109, 110 iii. the exposition 111-335 § 1. the prologue 113-126 § 2. the first section: or, _the quest in wisdom and in pleasure_ 127-141 _(a) the quest in wisdom_ 127-133 _(b) the quest in pleasure_ 133-137 _(c) wisdom and pleasure compared_ 138-140 _(d) the conclusion_ 140, 141 § 3. the second section: or, _the quest in devotion to the affairs of business_ 142-186 (_a_) the quest obstructed by divine ordinances 143-145 (_b_) and by human injustice and perversity 145-151 (_c_) it is rendered hopeless by the base origin of human industries 151, 152 (_d_) yet these are capable of a nobler motive and mode 153-158 (_e_) so also a happier and more effective method of worship is open to man; 158-160 (_f_) and a more helpful and consolatory trust in the divine providence 161-164 (_g_) the conclusion 164, 165 application 165-186 (_a_) devotion to business springs from jealous competition: 168, 169 (_b_) it tends to form a covetous temper; 169-171 (_c_) to produce a materialistic scepticism; 171-173 (_d_) to make worship formal and insincere; 173, 174 (_e_) and to take from life its quiet and innocent enjoyments 175-179 (_f_) the correctives of this devotion are, (1) a sense of its perils; 179, 180 (2) and the conviction that it is opposed to the will of god as expressed- (_a_) in the ordinances of his providence, 180 (_b_) in the wrongs which he permits men to inflict upon us; 181 (_c_) but above all in the immortal cravings which he has quickened in the soul 182, 183 (_g_) practical maxims deduced from this view of the business-life 184-186 (1) a maxim on co-operation 184 (2) a maxim on worship 184, 185 (3) a maxim on trust in god 185, 186 § 4. the third section: or, _the quest in wealth and in the golden mean_ 187-228 (a) _the quest in wealth_ 188-193 (_a_) the man who makes riches his chief good is haunted by fears and perplexities: 188-190 (_b_) for god has put eternity into his heart; 190, 191 (_c_) and much that he gains only feeds vanity; 191, 192 (_d_) neither can he tell what it will be good for him to have, 192 (_e_) nor foresee what will become of his gains 192, 193 (b) _the quest in the golden mean_ 193-209 (_a_) the method of the man who seeks a competence 195-199 (_b_) the perils to which it exposes him 199-207 (1) he is likely to compromise conscience: 200, 201 (2) to be indifferent to censure: 201-203 (3) to despise women: 203-205 (4) and to be indifferent to public wrongs 205-207 (_c_) the preacher condemns this theory of human life 207-209 application 209-228 (a) _the quest in wealth_ 212-218 (_a_) the man who makes riches his chief good is haunted by fears and perplexities 213, 214 (_b_) much that he gains only feeds vanity 214, 215 (_c_) he cannot tell what it will be good for him to have; 215 (_d_) nor foresee what will become of his gains: 215, 216 (_e_) and because god has put eternity into his heart, he cannot be content with temporal gains 216-218 (b) _the quest in the golden mean_ 218-228 (_a_) the method of the man who seeks a competence 220-222 (_b_) the perils to which it exposes him 222-226 (1) he is likely to compromise conscience: 222-224 (2) to be indifferent to censure: 224 (3) to despise women: 225 (4) and to be indifferent to public wrongs 226 (_c_) the preacher condemns this theory of human life 227, 228 § 5. the fourth section: or, _the quest achieved_ 229-275 (_a_) the chief good not to be found in wisdom: 230-234 (_b_) nor in pleasure: 234-237 (_c_) nor in devotion to affairs and its rewards: 237-246 (_d_) but in a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the present life, 247-256 (_c_) combined with a stedfast faith in the life to come 256-275 § 6. the epilogue: _in which the problem of the book is conclusively solved_ 276-335 introduction. § 1. _on the authorship, form, design, and contents of the book._ those who raise the question, "is life worth living?" answer it by--living on; for no man lives simply to proclaim what a worthless and wretched creature he is. but for the most part the question is mooted in a merely academical and not very sincere spirit. and to the dainty and fastidious pessimist who goes about to imply his own superiority by declaring that the world which contents his fellows is not good enough for him, there still seems no better reply than the rough but rousing and wholesome rebuke which epictetus gave to such as he some nineteen centuries ago, reminding them that there were many exits from the theatre of life, and advising them, if they disliked the "show", to retire from it by the nearest door of escape, and to make room for spectators of a more modest and grateful spirit. of the pessimists of his time he demands, "was it not god who brought you here? and as what did he bring you? was it not as a mortal? was it not as one who was to live with a little portion of flesh upon the earth, and to witness his administration--to behold the great spectacle around you for a little while? after you have beheld the solemn and august spectacle as long as is permitted you, will you not depart when he leads you out, adoring and thankful for what you have heard and seen? for you the solemnity is over. go away, then, like a modest and grateful person. make room for others." "but why," urges the pessimist, "did he bring me into the world on these hard terms?" "oh!" replies epictetus, "if you don't like the terms, it is always in your power to leave them. _he_ has no need of a discontented spectator. he will not miss you much, nor we either." but if any man lift the question into a more sincere and noble form by asking, "_how_ may life be made worth living, or _best_ worth living?"--in other words, "what is the true ideal, and what the chief good, of man?"--he will find no nobler answer to it, and none more convincingly and persuasively put, than that contained in this scripture, which modern pessimists are apt to quote whenever they want to "approve" their melancholy hypothesis "with a text." from schopenhauer downward, this book is constantly cited by them as if it confirmed the conclusion for which they contend, taubert even going so far as to find "a catechism of pessimism" in it. their assumption, however, is based on a total misapprehension of the design and drift of ecclesiastes of which no scholar should have been guilty, and of which it is hard to see how any scholar could have been guilty had he studied it as a whole, instead of carrying away from it only what he wanted. so far from lending any countenance to their conclusion of despair, it frankly traverses it--as i hope to show, and as many have shown before me--and lands us in its very opposite; the conclusion of the whole matter with the hebrew preacher being, that whoso cultivates the virtues of charity, diligence, and cheerfulness, because god is in heaven and rules over all, _he_ will not only find life well worth living, but will pursue its loftiest ideal and touch its true blessedness. when scholars and "philosophers" have fallen into a mistake so radical and profound, it is not surprising that the unlettered should have followed their leaders into the ditch, and taken this scripture to be the most melancholy in the sacred canon, instead of one of the most consolatory and inspiriting, for want of apprehending its true aim. beyond all doubt, there is a prevailing ground-tone of sadness in the book; for through by far the larger part of its course it has to deal with some of the saddest facts of human life--with the errors which divert men from their true aim, and plunge them into a various and growing misery. but the voice which sinks so often into this tone of sadness is the voice of a most brave and cheerful spirit, a spirit whose counsels can only depress us if we are seeking our chief good where it cannot be found. for the preacher, as we shall see, does not condemn the wisdom or the mirth, the devotion to business or the acquisition of wealth, in which most men find "the chief good and market of their time," as in themselves vanities. he approves of them; he shows us how we may so pursue and so use them as to find them very pleasant and wholesome; how we may so dispense with them, if they prove beyond our reach, as none the less to enjoy a very true and abiding content. his constant and recurring moral is that we _are_ to enjoy our brief day on earth; that god _meant_ us to enjoy it; that we are to be up and doing, with a heart for any strife, or toil, or pleasure; not to sit still and weep over broken illusions and defeated hopes. our lower aims and possessions become vanities to us only when we seek in them that supreme satisfaction which he who has "put eternity into our hearts" designed us to find only in him and in serving him. if we love and serve him, if we gratefully acknowledge him to be the author of "every good gift and every perfect boon," if we seek first his kingdom and righteousness; in fine, if we are christian in more than name, the study of this book should not make us sad. we should find in it a confirmation of our most intimate convictions, and incentives to act upon them. but if we do not hold our wisdom, our mirth, our labour, our wealth as the gifts and ordinances of god for our good, if we permit them to usurp his seat and become as gods to us, then indeed this book will be sad enough for us, but no whit sadder than our lives. it will be sad, and will make us sad, yet only that it may lead us to repentance, and through repentance to a true and lasting joy. * * * * * it is to be feared that the popular misconception of this singular and most instructive scripture goes much farther than this, and extends to questions much more superficial than that of the temper or spirit it breathes. if, for example, the average reader of the bible were asked, who wrote this scripture? when was it written? to whom was it addressed? what is its general scope and design? his answer, i suppose, would be: "solomon wrote this book; of course, therefore, it was written in his lifetime, and addressed to the men over whom he ruled; and his design in writing it was to reveal his own experience of life for their instruction." and yet in all probability no one of these answers is true, or anywhere near the truth. according to the most competent judges, the book ecclesiastes was not written by solomon, nor for centuries after his death; it was addressed to a generation of feeble and oppressed captives, who had been carried away into exile, or had lately returned from it, and not to the free prosperous nation which rose to its highest pitch in the reign of the wise king. it is a dramatic representation of the experience of a jewish sage, who deliberately set himself to discover and pursue the chief good of man in all the provinces and along all the avenues in which it is commonly sought, eked out by what he supposed or tradition reported solomon's experience to have been; and its design was to comfort men who were groaning under the heaviest wrongs of time with the bright hope of immortality. to scholars versed in the niceties of the oriental languages, the most convincing proof of the comparatively modern date and authorship of the book is to be found in its words, and idioms, and style. the base forms of hebrew and the large intermixture of foreign terms, phrases, and turns of speech which characterize it--these, with the absence of the nobler rhythmic forms of hebrew poetry, are held to be a conclusive demonstration that it was written during the rabbinical period, at a time long subsequent to the augustan age in which solomon lived and wrote. the critics and commentators whose names stand highest[2] tell us that it would be just as easy for them to believe that hooker wrote blair's sermons, or that shakespeare wrote the plays of sheridan knowles, as to believe that solomon wrote ecclesiastes. and of course on such questions as these we can only defer to the verdict of men who have made them the study of their lives. [2] rosenmüller, ewald, knobel, de wette, delitzsch, ginsburg, with many other competent judges, are agreed on this point; and even those who in part differ from them differ only in assigning the book to a date still farther removed from the time of solomon. there are but few scholars who now contend for the solomonic authorship, and hardly any of these are, i think, in the first rank. but with all our deference for learning, we have so often seen the conclusions of the ripest scholars modified or reversed by their successors, and we all know "questions of words" to be capable of so many different interpretations, that probably we should still hold our judgment in suspense, were there no arguments against the traditional hypothesis such as plain men use and can understand. there are many such arguments, however, and arguments that seem to be of a conclusive force. as, for instance, this: the whole social state described in this book is utterly unlike what we know to have been the condition of the hebrews during the reign of solomon, but exactly accords with the condition of the captive israelites, who, at the disruption of the hebrew monarchies, were carried away into babylonia. under solomon the hebrew state touched its highest point. his throne was surrounded by statesmen of tried sagacity; his judges were incorrupt. commerce grew and prospered, till gold became as common as silver had been, and silver as common as brass. literature flourished, and produced its most perfect fruits. and the people, though heavily taxed during the later years of his reign, enjoyed a security, a freedom, an abundance unknown whether to their fathers or to their children. "judah and israel were many in number as the sands by the sea, eating, drinking, and making merry.... and judah and israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig-tree, from dan even to beersheba, all the days of solomon" (1 kings iv. 20, 25). but as we read this book we gather from it the picture of a social state in which kings were childish, and princes addicted to revelry and drunkenness (x. 16); great fools were lifted to high places and rode on stately horses, while nobles were degraded and had to tramp through the mire (x. 6, 7); the race was not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favour to the learned (ix. 11). the most eminent public services were suffered to pass unrewarded, and were forgotten the moment the need for them was passed (ix. 14, 15). property was so insecure that to amass wealth was only to multiply extortions, and to fall a prey to the cupidity of princes and judges, insomuch that the sluggard who folded his hands, so long as he had bread to eat, was esteemed wiser than the diligent merchant who applied himself to the labours and anxieties of traffic (iv. 5, 6). life was as insecure as property, and stood at the caprice of men who were slaves to their own lusts; a hasty word spoken in the divan of any one of the satraps, or even a resentful gesture, might provoke the most terrible outrages (viii. 3, 4; x. 4). the true relation between the sexes was violated; the ruling classes crowded their harems with concubines, and even the wiser sort of men took to themselves any woman they desired; while, with cynical injustice, they first degraded women, and then condemned them as alike and altogether bad, their hands chains, their love a snare (vii. 26, 28; ix. 9). the oppressions of the time were so constant, so cruel, and life grew so dark beneath them, that those who died long ago were counted happier than those who were still alive; while happier than either were those who had not been born to see the intolerable evils on which the sun looked calmly down day by day (iv. 1-3). in fine, the whole fabric of the state was fast falling into ruin and decay, through the greed and sloth of rulers who taxed the people to the uttermost in order to supply their wasteful luxury (x. 18, 19); while yet, so dreadful was their tyranny and their spies so ubiquitous, that no man dared to breathe a word against them even to the wife of his bosom and in the secrecy of the bed-chamber (x. 20): the only consolation of the oppressed was the grim hope that a time of retribution would overtake their tyrants, from which neither their power nor their craft should be able to save them (viii. 5-8). nothing would be more difficult than to accept this as a picture of the social and political features of the hebrew commonwealth during the reign of solomon, or even during those later years of his reign in which his rule grew hard and despotic. nothing can well be more incredible than that this should be intended as a picture of his reign, save that it should be a picture _drawn by his own hand_! to suppose solomon the author of this scripture is to suppose that the wisest of kings and of men was base enough to pen a deliberate and malignant libel on himself, his time, and his realm! on the other hand, the description, dark and lurid as it is, exactly accords with all we know of the terrible condition of the jews who wept in captivity by the waters of babylon under the later persian rule, or were ground under the heels of the persian satraps after their return to the land of their fathers. in all probability, therefore, as our most competent authorities are agreed, the book is a poem rather than a chronicle, written by an unknown hebrew author, during the captivity or shortly after the return, certainly not before b.c. 500, and probably somewhat later.[3] [3] the _fourth_ century b.c. is, i think, its most probable date. in his recent exposition of ecclesiastes, the dean of wells attempts to bring the date down to about b.c. 240. but his arguments are so curious and fanciful, and his conclusion is based so largely on conjecture, and on dubious similarities of phrase in the language of the hebrew preacher, and of some of the later philosophers of greece, that i suspect very little weight will be attached to his gallant attempt to breathe new life into the moribund hypothesis of the ingenious mr. tyler. delitzsch, for example, a high and recognized authority, declares that there is "not a trace of greek influence" in this scripture, though dr. plumptre finds so many. but though neither his hypothesis nor his confessedly conjectural biography of the unknown author carries the force of "sober criticism," there is much in his commentary which will be found very helpful. nor is this inference, drawn from the style and general contents of the book, unsupported by verses in it which at first sight seem altogether opposed to such an inference. all the special and direct indications of authorship are to be found either in the first or in the last chapter. the very first verse runs, "the words of the preacher, son of david, king in jerusalem." now, david had only one son who was king in jerusalem, viz. solomon; the verse, therefore, seems to fix the authorship on solomon beyond dispute. nevertheless, the conclusion is untenable. for (1) in his known and admitted works the wise king distinctly claims to be their author. the book of proverbs commences with "the proverbs of _solomon_," and the canticles with "the song of songs, which is _solomon's_." but the book ecclesiastes does not once mention his name, though it speaks of a "son of david," _i.e._ one of david's descendants. instead of calling this son of david solomon, it calls him "coheleth," or, as we translate the word, "the preacher." now, the word coheleth[4] is not a masculine noun, as the name of a man should be, but the feminine participle of an unused conjugation of a hebrew verb which means "to collect," or "to call together." it denotes, not an actual man, but an abstraction, a personification, and is probably intended to denote one who calls a congregation round him, _i.e._ a preacher, _any_ preacher, preacher _in the abstract_. (2) this "son of david," we are told, was "king _in jerusalem_;" and the phrase implies that the book was written at a time when there either were or had been kings _out of_ jerusalem, when jerusalem was not the only site of a hebrew throne, and therefore after the disruption of solomon's realm into the rival kingdoms of israel and judah. (3) again, we find coheleth affirming (i. 12), "i _was_ king over israel in jerusalem," and (i. 16), "i acquired greater wisdom than _all_ (all _kings, i.e._, say the critics) who were before me in jerusalem." but to say nothing of the questionable modesty of the latter sentence if it fell from the pen of solomon, he was only the second occupant of the throne in jerusalem; for jebus, or jerusalem, was only conquered from a philistine clan by his father david. and if there had been only one, how could he speak of "all" who preceded him? (4) and still further, the tense of the verb in "i was king over israel" can only carry the sense "i was king, but am king no more." yet we know that solomon reigned over israel to the day of his death, that there never was a day on which he could have strictly used such a tense as this. so clear and undisputed is the force of this tense that the rabbis, who held solomon to be the author of ecclesiastes, were obliged to invent a fable or tradition to account for it. they said, "when king solomon was sitting on the throne of his kingdom, his heart was greatly lifted up within him by his prosperity, and he transgressed the commandments of god, gathering to him many horses, and chariots, and riders, amassing much gold and silver, and marrying many wives of foreign extraction. wherefore the anger of the lord was kindled against him, and he sent against him ashmodai, the ruler of the demons; and he drave him from the throne of his kingdom, and took away the ring from his hand (solomon's ring is famous for its marvellous powers in all oriental fable), and sent him forth to wander about the world. and he went through the villages and cities, with a staff in his hand, weeping and lamenting, and saying, 'i am coheleth; i was beforetime solomon, and reigned over israel in jerusalem; but now i rule over only this staff.'" it is a pretty and pathetic fable, but it is a fable; and though it proves nothing else, we may fairly infer from it that, even in the judgment of the rabbis, the book ecclesiastes must, on its own showing, have been written after solomon had ceased to be king, _i.e._ after he had ceased to live. [4] plumptre writes the word koheleth, and perowne quoheleth. which of the three initial letters should be used is of little consequence, and hence i retain the form in most common use. _ecclesiastes_ is simply its greek equivalent. in the epilogue (xii. 9-12) the author of the book lifts the dramatic mask from his face, and permits us to see who he really is; a mask, let me add, somewhat carelessly worn, since we see nothing of it in the last ten chapters of the book. although he has written in a feigned name, and, without asserting it, has so moulded his phrases, at least in the earlier chapters of his work, as to suggest to his readers that he is, if not solomon himself, at least solomon's mouthpiece, attributing the garnered results of his experience to one greater than himself, that they may carry the more weight--just as browning speaks in the name of rabbi ben ezra, for instance, or fra lippo lippi, or abt vogler, borrowing what he can of outward circumstance from the age and class to which they belong, and yet really uttering his own thought and emotion through their lips--he now confesses that he is no king of an age long past, but a rabbi, a sage, a teacher, a master, who has both made some proverbs of his own and collected the wise sayings of others who had gone before him, in order that he might carry some little light and comfort to the sorely bested men of his own generation and blood.[5] in short, he has exercised his right as a poet, or "maker," to embody the results of his wide and varied experience of life in a dramatic form, but is careful to let us know, before he takes leave of us, that it is a fictitious or dramatic solomon, and not solomon himself, to whom we have been listening throughout. [5] see the commentary on these verses for a fuller exposition of his real claims and position. so that all the phrases in the book which are indicative of its authorship confirm the inference drawn from its style and its historical contents; viz. that it was not written by solomon, nor in his reign, but by an unknown sage of a long-subsequent period, who, by a dramatic impersonation of the characteristic experiences of the son of david, or rather of his own experiences blended with the solomonic traditions and poured into their moulds, sought to console and instruct his oppressed fellow-countrymen. but perhaps the most convincing argument in favour of this conclusion is that, when once we think of it, we cannot possibly accept the solomon set before us in ecclesiastes as the solomon depicted in the historical books of scripture. solomon the son of david, with all his wisdom, played the fool. the foremost man and hebrew of his time, he gave his heart to "strange women," and to gods whose ritual was not only idolatrous, but cruel, dark, impure. in his pursuit of science, unless the whole east belie him, he ran into secret magical arts, incantations, divinations, an occult intercourse with the powers of ill. in all ways he departed from the god who had enriched him with the choicest gifts, and sank, through luxury, extravagance, and excess, first into a premature old age,[6] and then into a death so unrelieved by any sign of penitence, or any promise of amendment, that from that day to this rabbis and divines have discussed his final doom, many of them leaning to the darker alternative. this "uxorious king, whose heart, though large, beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell to idols foul," is the solomon of history. but the solomon of ecclesiastes is a sage who represents himself as conducting a series of moral experiments for the good of mankind, in order that, with all the weight of manifold experience, he may teach men what is that good and right way which alone leads to peace. however hardly we may think of the wise king who was guilty of so many follies, we can scarcely think of him as such a fool that he did not know his sins to be sins, or as such a knave that he deliberately endeavoured to palm them off on other ages, not as transgressions of the divine law, but as a series of delicate philosophic experiments which he was good enough to conduct for the benefit of the race. [6] solomon could not have been more than sixty years of age when he died, yet it was not till he was "_old_" that his wives "turned away his heart from the lord his god" (1 kings xi. 4). on the whole, then, we conclude that in this book solomon is taken as the hebrew type of wisdom, the wisdom which is based on large and varied experience; and that this experience is here dramatized, in so far as the writer could conceive it, for the instruction of a race which from first to last, from the fable of jotham to the parables of our lord, were accustomed to receive instruction in fictitious and dramatic forms. its author was not solomon, but one of "the wise" whose name can no longer be recovered; it was written, not in the time of solomon, _i.e._ about 1000 b.c., but some five or six centuries later: and it was addressed not to the wealthy and peaceful citizens whose king held his court in jerusalem, but to their degenerate and enfeebled descendants during the period of the persian supremacy.[7] [7] "it may be regarded as beyond doubt that it was written under the persian domination" (delitzsch). * * * * * doubtless many of the prevailing misapprehensions of the meaning, authorship, and animating spirit of the book are due, in some measure, to the singular form into which it is thrown. it belongs to what is known as the chokma, _i.e._ the gnomic school, as opposed to the lyrical school of hebrew poetry. the jewish, like oriental literature in general, early assumed this form, which seems to have a natural affinity with the eastern mind. grave men, who made a study of life or who devoted themselves to a life of study, were likely to be sententious, to compress much thought into few words, especially in the ages in which writing was a somewhat rare accomplishment, or in which, as in the hebrew schools, instruction was given by a living voice. no doubt they began with coining sage or witty aphorisms, generally lit up with a happy metaphor, each of which was complete in itself. such sayings, as memorable and portable, no less than as striking for beauty and "matterful" for meditation, would commend themselves to an age in which books were few and scarce. they are to be found in abundance in the proverbs of all ancient races, and in the book of proverbs which bears the name of solomon, and many of the more didactic and elaborate psalms; while the book of job preserves many of the sayings current among the arabs and the egyptians. but with the hebrews this literary mode took what is, so far as i am aware, a singular and unparalleled development, from the time of solomon onwards, rising to its highest pitch in the book of job, and sinking to its lowest--within the limits of the canon at least--in the cramping over-ingenuities of the acrostic psalms, and in such proverbs as those attributed to agur the son of jakeh. this development has not as yet, i think, attracted the attention it deserves; at least i have nowhere met with any formal recognition of it. yet, undoubtedly, while at first the hebrew sages were content to compress much wit or wisdom into the small compass of a _gnome_, which they polished like a gem, leaving each to shine by its own lustre and to make its own unaided impression, there rose in process of time men who saw new and great capacities in this ancient literary form, and set themselves to string their gems together, to arrange their own or other men's proverbs so aptly and artistically that they enhanced each other's beauty, while at the same time they compelled them to carry a logical and continuous stream of thought, to paint an elaborate picture, to build up a lofty yet breathing personification (that of wisdom, for example, in proverbs viii.), to describe a lengthened and varied ethical experience (as in ecclesiastes), and even to weave them into a large and sublime poem, like that of job, which has never been excelled. the reluctance with which this form lends itself to the nobler functions of literature, the immense difficulty of the instrument which many of the hebrew poets wielded, will become apparent to any one who should try the experiment. we have a goodly collection of proverbs, drawn from many sources, foreign as well as native, in the english tongue. let any man endeavour so to set or arrange them, or a selection from them, as to produce a fine poem on a lofty theme, and he at least will not underrate the difficulty of the task, even though we should concede to him the right to _make_ proverbs where he could not find them to his mind. yet to many of the finest hebrew poets the very restrictions of this form seem to have possessed a charm such as the far less rigid and encumbering laws of the sonnet, or even of the triolet and other fanciful poetic wares of modern times, have exerted on the minds of many of our own poets.[8] a careful student of the chokma school might even, i believe, trace the growth of this art, from its small beginnings in the earlier gnomic sayings of the wise, to its culmination in the book of job; and, in so doing, would confer a boon on all students of holy writ.[9] [8] the nearest analogy in english literature to this triumphant use of the proverb of which i can think is pope's use of the couplet--in every way a much lesser feat, however; while its burlesque or caricature may be found in tupper's _proverbial philosophy_. [9] in the book of proverbs, for instance, he would find, in addition to the incomparable personification of wisdom to which i have already referred, many examples of the proverb proper, many detached sayings whose underlying thought is illustrated by a stroke of imagination; such as that (chap. xxv. 11) in which the enhanced beauty of an appropriate word when spoken at the opportune moment is compared with the golden fruit of the orange when set in its frame of silver blooms (_expositions_, vol. iv.). he would also find some of those small picturesque descriptions produced by an artistic sequence of proverbs--the same theme being sometimes worked over by different artists, in different ages, one and the same moral being enforced by wholly different designs; as, for instance, where solomon (chap. vi. 6-11) enforces the duty of a forethoughtful industry by a picture of the ant and her prudent ways; while an unknown sage of a later date (chap. xxiv. 30-34) appends precisely the same moral, expressed in the same words, to his graphic picture of the sluggard's garden (the expositor, _second series_, vol. vi.). moreover, if he turn to chapter xxx. he will see how this form of art, which once soared so high, was capable of sinking into a kind of puerile conundrum--with its three too wonderful things, and its four little things which yet are wise--while its moral tone remained pure and high. and, finally, in the exposition of the epilogue to ecclesiastes he will find how, after sinking so low, it rose once more, in the hands of the later rabbis, into many beautiful forms of fable, and exhortation, and parable. it is to this school that the preacher belongs, as he himself informs us in the epilogue to his fine poem. he set himself, he says, "_to compose_, _to collect_, and _to arrange many proverbs_" (xii. 9), rejecting any that were not "words of truth," preferring, as was natural in a time so dark, such as were "words of comfort" (xii. 10), and seeking his sayings both from the sages who stood by the old ways and those who looked for the new (xii. 11). and, of course, the arranging of his awkward and inelastic material was far more difficult than collecting it--arranging it so as to compel it to tell his story, and carry his argument to its lofty close. it is story, the sculptor and poet, i believe, who says that "the best part of every work of art is unseen," unexpressed, inexpressible in tones, or verse, or colours: it is that invisible something which lends it dignity, spirit, life, that "style" which, in this case, is in very deed the man. and the best part of coheleth's noble work is this art of arranging his gnomic sayings in the best order, the order in which they illuminate each other most brightly and contribute most effectively to the total impression. hence, both in translating and in endeavouring to interpret him, whenever i have had to choose between rival renderings or meanings, i have made it a rule to prefer that which most conduced to the logical sequence of his work or carried the finer sense, deeming that at least so much as this was due to so great a master, and entertaining no fear that i could invent any meaning which would outrun his intention. in fine, if i were to gather up into a few sentences the impression which "much study" of this scripture has left on my mind as to the manner in which the author worked upon it, i should say: that coheleth, a man of much of solomon's original "largeness of heart" and a great lover of wisdom, set himself to collect the scattered sayings of the sages who were before him. he took the traditional story of solomon as the ground and framework of his poem, at least at the outset, though he seems to have soon laid it aside, and endeavoured so to assort and arrange the proverbs he had collected that each would lead up to the next; while each group of them would describe some of the ways in which men commonly pursued the chief good, ways in most of which solomon was at least reputed to have travelled far. finding gaps which could not be well filled up from his large and various collection, he bridged them over with proverbs of his own composing, till he had got a sufficient account of each of the main adventures of that quest. and, then, he put adventure after adventure together in the order in which they best led up to his great conclusion. in all this i have said nothing, it is true, of that "inspiration of the almighty" which alone gives man understanding of spiritual things. but why should not "he who worketh all," and has deigned to use every form of literary art by which men teach their fellows, move and inspire a lover of wisdom to collect and arrange the sayings of the wise, if by these he could carry truth and comfort to those who were in sore need of both? and where, save from heaven and from him who rules in heaven, could coheleth have learned the great secret--the secret of a retributive life beyond the grave? even the best and wisest of the hebrews saw that life only "as through a glass, darkly;" and even their fitful and imperfect conception of it seems always to have been--as in the case of david, job, isaiah--an immediate gift from god, and a gift so large that even their hands of faith could hardly grasp it. no one need doubt the inspiration of a scripture which affirms, not only that god is always with us, passing a present and effective judgment on all we do, but also that, when this life is over, he will bring every deed and every secret thing into judgment, whether it be good or whether it be bad. that was not an everyday thought with the jewish mind. we find it only in men who were moved by the holy ghost to accept the teaching of his providence or the revelation of his grace. * * * * * as for the design of the book, no one now doubts that it sets before us the search for the _summum bonum_, the quest of the chief good. its main immediate intention was to deliver the exiled jews from the misleading ethical theories and habits into which they had fallen, from the sensualism and the scepticism occasioned by their imperfect conception of the divine ways, by showing them that the true good of life is not to be secured by philosophy, by the pursuit of pleasure, by devotion to traffic or public affairs, by amassing wealth; but that it results from a temperate and thankful enjoyment of the gifts of the divine bounty, and a cheerful endurance of toil and calamity, combined with a sincere service of god and a steadfast faith in that future life in which all wrongs will be righted and all the problems which now task and afflict us will receive a triumphant solution. availing himself of the historical and traditional records of solomon's life, he depicts, under that disguise, the moral experiments which he has conducted; depicts himself as having put the claims of wisdom, mirth, business, wealth, to a searching test, and found them incompetent to satisfy the cravings of the soul; as attaining no rest nor peace until he had learned a simple enjoyment of simple pleasures, a patient constancy under heavy trials, heartfelt devotion to the service of god, and an unwavering faith in the life to come. * * * * * the contents of the poem are, or may be, distributed into a prologue, four acts or sections, and an epilogue. in the prologue (chap. i., vv. 1-11), coheleth states the problem to be solved. in the first section (chap. i., ver. 12--chap. ii., ver. 26), he depicts the endeavour to solve it by seeking the chief good in wisdom and in pleasure. in the second section (chap. iii., ver. 1--chap. v., ver. 20), the quest is pursued in traffic and political life. in the third section (chap. vi., ver. 1--chap. viii., ver. 15), the quest is carried into wealth and the golden mean. in the fourth section (chap. viii., ver. 16--chap. xii., ver. 7), the quest is achieved, and the chief good found to consist in a tranquil and cheerful enjoyment of the present, combined with a cordial faith in the future, life. and in the epilogue (chap. xii., vv. 8-14) he summarises and emphatically repeats this solution of the problem. * * * * * it was very natural that the problem here discussed should fill a large space in hebrew thought and literature; that it should be the theme of many of the psalms and of many of the prophetic "burdens", as well as of the books ecclesiastes and job. for the mosaic revelation did teach that virtue and vice would meet suitable rewards now, in this present time. at the giving of the law jehovah announced that he would show mercy to the thousands of those who kept his commandments, and that he would visit the iniquities of the disobedient upon them. the law that came by moses is crowded with promises of temporal good to the righteous, and with threatenings of temporal evil to the unrighteous. the fulfilment of these threatenings and promises is carefully marked in the hebrew chronicles; it is the supplication which breathes through the recorded prayers of the hebrew race, and the theme of their noblest songs; it is their hope and consolation under the heaviest calamities. what, then, could be more bewildering to a godly and reflective jew than to discover that this fundamental article of his faith was questionable, nay, that it was contradicted by the commonest facts of human life as life grew more complex and involved? when he saw the righteous driven before the blasts of adversity like a withered leaf, while the wicked lived out all their days in mirth and affluence; when he saw the only nation that attempted obedience to the law groaning under the miseries of a captivity embittered by the cruel caprices of rulers who could not even rule themselves, and unrelieved by any hope of deliverance, while heathen races revelled in the lusts of sense and power unrebuked: when _this_ seemed to be the rule of providence, the _law_ of the divine administration, and not that better rule revealed in his scriptures, is it any wonder that, forgetting all corrective and balancing facts, he was racked with torments of perplexity; that, while some of his fellows plunged into the base relief of sensualism, he should be plagued with doubts and fears, and search eagerly through all avenues of thought for some solution of the mystery? nor, indeed, is this problem without interest for us; for we as persistently misinterpret the new testament as the hebrews did the old. we read that "whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap;" we read that "the meek shall inherit the earth;" we read that for every act of service done to christ we shall receive "a hundredfold now, in this present time;" and we are very prompt with the gross, careless interpretation which makes such passages mean that if we are good we shall have the good things of this life, while its evil things shall be reserved for the evil. indeed, we are trained--or, perhaps i should say, until recently we _were_ trained--in this interpretation from our earliest years. our very spelling-books are full of it, and are framed on the model of "johnny was a good boy, and he got plum-cake; but tommy was a bad boy, and he got the stick." nearly all our story-books have a similar moral: it is always, or almost always, the good young man who gets the beautiful wife and large estate, while the bad young man comes to a bad end. our proverbs are full of it, and axioms such as "honesty is the best policy," a pernicious half-truth, are for ever on our lips. our art, in so far as it is _ours_, is in the same conspiracy. in hogarth, for instance, as thackeray has pointed out, it is always francis goodchild who comes to be lord mayor and poor jem scapegrace who comes to the gallows. and when, as life passes on, we discover that it is the bad boy who often gets the plum-cake, and the good boy who goes to the rod; that bad men often have beautiful wives and large estates, while good men fail of both; when we find the knave rising to place and authority, and honest goodchild in the workhouse or the _gazette_, then there rise up in our hearts the very doubts and perplexities and eager painful questions which of old time troubled the psalmist and the prophet. we cry out with job- "it is all one--therefore will i say it, the guilty and the guiltless he treateth alike; the deceiver and the deceived both are his;" or we say with the preacher,- "this is the greatest evil of all that is done under the sun that there is one fate for all; the same fate befalleth to the righteous and to the wicked, to the good and pure and to the impure, to him that sacrificeth and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the good so is the sinner, and he that sweareth as he that feareth an oath." and it is well for us if, like the hebrew poet, we can resist this cruel temptation, and hold fast the integrity of our faith; if we can rest in the assurance that, after all and when all is done, "the little that a righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked;" that god has something better than wealth and lucky haps for the good, and merciful correctives of a more sovereign potency than penury and mishaps for the wicked. if we have this faith, our study of ecclesiastes can hardly fail to deepen and confirm it; if we are not so happy as to have it, coheleth will give us sound reasons for embracing it. § 2. _on the history of the captivity._ if we may now assume the book ecclesiastes to have been written, not in the time of solomon, but during, or soon after, the babylonian captivity, our next duty is to learn what we can of the social, political, and religious conditions of the two races among whom the jews were thrown when they were carried away from the land of their fathers. that they learned much, as well as suffered much, while they sat by the waters of babylon; that they emerged from their long exile with a profound attachment to the word of god, such as their fathers had never known, and with many precious additions to that word, is beyond a doubt. as plants grow fastest by night, so men make their most rapid growth in knowledge and in faith when times are dark and troubled. and all students of this period are at one in affirming that during the captivity a radical and most happy change passed upon the hebrew mind. they came out of it with a hatred of idolatry, a faith in the life beyond the grave, a pride in their national law, a hope in the advent of the great deliverer and redeemer, with which the elder psalmists and prophets had failed to inspire them, but which henceforth they never wholly relinquished. with the religious there was blended an intellectual advance. books and teachers were sought and honoured as never heretofore. schools and synagogues grew up in every town and village in which they dwelt. "of making of many books there was no end." education was compulsory. study was regarded as more meritorious than sacrifice, a scholar as greater than a prophet, a teacher as greater than a king, if at least we may trust proverbs which were current among them. before the captivity one of the least literate of nations--noble as their national literature was, at its close the jews were distinguished by their zeal for culture and education. to trace the progress of this marvellous revival of letters and religion--a renaissance and a reformation in one--would be a most welcome task, had we the materials for it and the skill to use them. but even the scanty materials that exist lie scattered through the historical and literary remains of many different races--in the cylinders, sculptures, paintings, inscriptions, tombs, shrines of nineveh, babylon, behistun, and persepolis, in the zendavesta, in the pages of herodotus and the earlier greek historians, in josephus, in the apocrypha, in the talmud, and in at least a dozen of the old testament books; and some of these "sources" are very far as yet from having been explored and mastered. hence the history of this period still remains to be written, and will probably be largely conjectural whenever, if ever, it is written. yet what period is of graver interest to the student of the bible? if we could recover its history, it would throw a new and most welcome light on well-nigh one-half of the old testament scriptures, if not on all. happily, a brief sketch of it, such as is well within any man's reach, will suffice to show how, from their contact with the babylonian and persian races, the jews received literary and religious impulses which go far to account for the marvellous changes which swept over them, and enable us to read the preacher intelligently, and see how his social and political allusions exactly correspond with what we know of the time.[10] [10] for this sketch i am largely indebted to rawlinson's _five great monarchies of the ancient eastern world_, and his commentary on _herodotus_. * * * * * about a hundred and twenty years after the destruction of the kingdom of israel by shalmaneser, king of assyria (b.c. 719), the kingdom of judah fell before nebuchadnezzar, king of babylon (b.c. 598-596). the city, palace, and temple of jerusalem were levelled in a common ruin; the nobles, priests, merchants, and skilled artisans, all the pith and manhood of judah, were carried away captive; only a few of the most abject of the people were left to mourn and starve amid the ravaged fields. nothing could present a more striking contrast to their native land than the region to which the jews were deported. instead of a small picturesque mountain-country, with its little cities set on hills or on the brink of precipitous ravines, they entered on a vast plain, fertile beyond all precedent indeed, and abounding in streams, but with nothing to break the monotony of level flats save the high walls and lofty towers of one enormous city. for babylonia proper was simply an immense plain, lying between the arabian desert and the tigris, and of an extent somewhat under that of ireland. but though of a limited area as compared with the vast empire of which it was the centre, by its amazing fertility it was capable of sustaining a crowded population. it was watered not only by the great rivers tigris and euphrates, but by their numerous affluents, many of which were themselves considerable streams; it was "a land of brooks and fountains." on this rich alluvial plain, amply supplied with water, and under the fierce heat of the sun, wheat and barley, with all kinds of grain, yielded a return far beyond all modern parallel. the capital city of this fertile province was the largest and the most magnificent of the ancient world, standing on both sides of the euphrates, as london stands on both sides of the thames, and covering at least a hundred square miles. in this country and city (for "babylon" stands for both in the bible), so unlike the sunny cliffs and scattered villages of their native home, the jews, who, like all hill-races, cherished a passionate affection for the land of their fathers, spent many bitter years. on the broad featureless plain they pined for "the mountains" of judea (ezekiel xxxvi.; psalm cxxxvii.); they sat down by the waters and wept as they remembered "the hill of the lord." they do not seem, however, to have been handled with exceptional harshness by their captors. they were treated as colonists rather than as slaves. they were allowed to live together in considerable numbers, and to observe their own religious rites. they took the advice of the prophet jeremiah (xxix. 4-7), who had warned them that their exile would extend over many years, and built houses, planted gardens, married wives, and brought up children; they "sought the peace of the city" in which they were captives, "and prayed for it," knowing that in its peace they would have peace. if many of them had to labour gratuitously on the great public works--and this labour was exacted of most of the conquered races--many rose, by fidelity, thrift, diligence, to places of trust, and amassed considerable wealth. among those who filled high posts in the household or administration of the successive monarchs of babylon were daniel, hananiah, mishael, and azariah; zerubbabel, ezra, nehemiah, and mordecai; tobit--if indeed tobit be a real and not a fictitious person--and his nephew achiacharus. but who were the people, and what were the social and political conditions of the people, among whom the hebrew captives lived? the two leading races with whom they were brought in contact were the babylonians--an offshoot from the ancient chaldean stock--and the persians. the history of the captivity divides itself into two main periods, therefore, the persian and the babylonian, at each of which we must glance. 1. _the babylonian period._--for more than fifty years after they were carried away captive, the jews served a chaldean race, and were governed by assyrian despots, of whom nebuchadnezzar[11] was by far the greatest whether in peace or war. it is hardly too much to say that but for him the babylonians would have had no place in history. a great soldier, a great statesman, a great builder and engineer, he knew how to consolidate and adorn his vast empire, an empire which is said to have "extended from the atlantic to the caspian, and from caucasus to the great sahara." we owe our best conception of the personal character and public life of this great despot to the book of daniel. daniel, although a jew and a captive, was the vizier of the babylonian monarch, and retained his post until the persian conquest, when he became the first of "the three presidents" of the new empire. he therefore paints nebuchadnezzar from the life. and in his book we see the great king at the head of a magnificent court, surrounded by "princes, governors, and captains, judges, treasurers, councillors, and sheriffs," waited on by "well-favoured" eunuchs, attended by a crowd of astrologers and "wise men" who interpret to him the will of heaven. he wields an absolute power, and disposes with a word of the lives and fortunes of his subjects, even the highest and most princely. all offices are in his gift. he can raise a slave to the second place in his kingdom (daniel, to wit), and impose a foreigner (again, daniel) on the priestly college as its head. of so enormous a wealth that he makes an image of pure gold ninety feet high and nine feet broad, he lavishes it on public works--on temples, gardens, canals, fortifications--rather than on personal indulgence. religious after a fashion, he wavers between "the god of the jews" and the deity after whom he was named and whom he calls _his_ god. in temper he is hasty and violent, but not obstinate; he suddenly repents of his sudden resolves; he is capable of bursts of gratitude and devotion no less than of fierce accesses of fury, and displays at times a piety and self-abasement astonishing in an oriental despot. his successors--evil-merodach, neriglissar, laborosoarchod, nabonadius, and belshazzar--need not detain us. little is known of them, and, with one exception, their reigns were very short; and their main task seems to have been the erection of vast and sumptuous structures such as nebuchadnezzar had been wont to rear. probably none of the babylonian monarchs save nebuchadnezzar made any deep impression on the hebrew mind. [11] instead of _nebuchadnezzar_ jeremiah and ezekiel use the form _nebuchadrezzar_, which is nearer to the original _nabu-kuduri-utzur_, _i.e._ "nebo is the protector against misfortune." and, indeed, the people of babylon were much more likely than their despots to influence the hebrew captives; for with them they would be brought into daily contact. now the babylonians were marked by a singular intellectual ability. keen to know, patient to observe, exact and laborious in their researches, they could hardly fail to teach much to subject races, and to inspire them with some desire for knowledge. they had carried the sciences of mathematics and astronomy to a high pitch of perfection. they are said to have determined, within two seconds, the exact length of the solar year, and not to have been far wrong in the distances at which they computed the sun, moon and planets from the earth; and they compiled a serviceable catalogue of the fixed stars. the hebrew prophets often refer to their "wisdom and learning." they excelled in architecture. two of their vast works, the walls of babylon, and the hanging gardens, were reckoned among "the seven wonders" of the ancient world. their skill in manufacturing and arranging enamelled bricks has never yet been equalled.[12] in all mechanical arts, indeed, such as cutting stones and gems, casting gold and silver, blowing glass, modelling vases and ware, weaving carpets and muslins and linen, they take a very high place among the nations of antiquity. with manufacturing and artistic skill they combined the spirit of enterprise and adventure which leads to commerce. they were addicted to maritime pursuits; the "cry," or joy, "of the chaldeans is in their ships," says isaiah (xliii. 14); and ezekiel (xvii. 4) calls babylonia "a land of traffic," and its chief city "a city of merchants." [12] there is a curious allusion to these enamelled bricks, and the admiration the jews conceived for them, in ezekiel xxiii. 14-16. but a larger, and probably the largest, class of the people must have busied themselves with the toils of agriculture; the broad chaldean plain being famous, from the time of the patriarchs to the present day, for an amazing and almost incredible fertility. wheat, barley, millet, and sesame, all flourished with astonishing luxuriance, the ground commonly yielding a hundredfold, two hundredfold, and even ampler rewards for the toil of the husbandman. with these abundant sources of wealth at their command, the people naturally grew luxurious and dissolute. "the daughter of the chaldeans," says isaiah (xlvii. 1-8), "is tender and delicate," given to pleasures, apt to live carelessly; her young men, says ezekiel (xxiii. 15), are dandies, "exceeding in dyed attire," painting their faces, and wearing earrings. chastity, in our modern sense of the term, was unknown.[13] the pleasures of the table and of the couch were carried to excess. yet, like many other eastern races, the babylonians hid under their soft luxurious exterior a fierceness very formidable to their foes. the hebrew prophets (hab. i. 6-8; isaiah xiv. 16) describe them as "a bitter and hasty," a "terrible and dreadful" people, "fiercer than the evening wolves," a people whose tramp "made the earth tremble, and did shake kingdoms;" and all the historians of the time charge them with a thirst for blood which often took the most savage and inhuman forms. [13] see _herodotus_, book i., chap. 199; _strabo_, xvi., p. 1058; and the _book of baruch_, vi. 43. of the horrible licence and cruelty of the worship of bel, merodach, and nebo, which did much to foster the fierce and cruel temper of the people, it is not necessary, it is hardly possible, to speak. roughly taken, it was the service of the great forces of nature by a wanton indulgence of the worst passions of man. it is enough to know that in babylon idolatry took forms which made all forms of idolatry henceforth intolerable to the jews; that now, once for all, they renounced that worship of strange gods to which they and their fathers had always hitherto been prone. this of itself was an immense advance, a great gain. nor was it their only gain; for if by contact with the idolatrous babylonians the jews were driven back on their own law and scripture, their intercourse with a people of so active an intellect and a learning so deep and wide led them to study the word of jehovah in a new and more intelligent spirit. nor is it less obvious that in the social and political conditions of the babylonians we have a key to many of the allusions to public life contained in ecclesiastes. the great empire, indeed, presents precisely those elements which, in degenerate times and under feebler despots, must inevitably develop into the disorder, and misery, and crime which coheleth depicts. * * * * * 2. _the persian period._--the conquest of babylon by the persians, led by the heroic cyrus, is, thanks to daniel, one of the most familiar incidents of ancient history, so familiar that i need not recount it. by this conquest cyrus--"the shepherd, the messiah, of the lord," as isaiah (xliv. 28; xlv. 1) terms him--became the undisputed master of well-nigh the whole known world of the time. nor does he seem to have been unworthy of his extraordinary position. of all ancient oriental monarchs, out of the hebrew pale, he bears the highest repute. even the greek authors, for the most part, represent him as energetic and patient, magnanimous and modest, and of a religious mind. æschylus calls him "kindly" or "generous." xenophon selected him as a model prince for all races. plutarch says that "in wisdom, and virtue, and greatness of soul he appears to have been in advance of all kings." diodorus makes one of his speakers say that cyrus gained his ascendency by his self-command and good-feeling and gentleness. simple in his habits, brave, and of a most just, humane, and clement spirit, he hated the cruel and lascivious idols of the east, and worshipped one only god, "the god of heaven." there is none like him in the antique world, none at least among the kings and princes of that world. and when, at the conquest of babylon, he discovered in the captive jews a race that also hated idols, and served one lord, and knew a law of life as pure as his own, or even purer, we need feel no surprise either that he broke their bands in sunder and set them free to return to their native land, or that they saw in this pure and noble nature, this virtuous and religious prince, "a servant of jehovah," and even a partial and shadowy resemblance to that divine deliverer and redeemer for whose advent they had been taught to look. cyrus was sixty years of age when he took babylon (b.c. 539), and died ten years after his conquest. he was succeeded by men utterly unlike himself, so unlike that the persian nobles revolted from them, and placed darius hystaspes, the heir of an ancient dynasty, on the throne. as cyrus was the soldier of the persians, so darius was their statesman. he it was who founded the "satrapial" form of administration; _i.e._ instead of governing the various provinces of his empire through native princes, he placed persian satraps over them, these satraps being charged with the collection of the public revenue, the maintenance of order, and the administration of justice; in fact, he governed the whole eastern world very much as we govern india. the internal organization of his vast unwieldy empire was the great work of darius through his long reign of six-and-thirty years; but the event by which he is best remembered, and which proved to be fruitful in the most disastrous results to the state, was the opening of that fatal war with greece, which at last, and under his feeble and degenerate successors, xerxes, artaxerxes, and the rest, reached its close in the downfall of the persian empire. we need not linger over the details of the story. it will be enough, for our purpose, to say that from the accession of xerxes down to the conquest of the persian empire by alexander the great--a stretch of a hundred and fifty years--that empire was declining to its fall. its history towards the end was a mere succession of intrigues and insurrections, conspiracies and revolts. "battle, murder, and sudden death" are its staple. the restraints of law and order grew ever weaker. the satraps were practically supreme in their several provinces, and used their power to extort enormous wealth from their miserable subjects. eunuchs and concubines ruled in the palace. manliness died out; the persians were no longer taught "to ride, to draw the bow, and to speak the truth;" cunning and treachery took its place. the scene grows more and more pitiful, till at last the welcome darkness rushes down, and hides the ignoble agony of perhaps the vastest and wealthiest empire the world has seen. * * * * * but we must turn from the despots and their adventures to form some slight acquaintance with the people, the persian people who, by the conquest of cyrus, became the ruling class in the empire, always remembering, however, that the babylonians must have remained by myriads both in the capital and in the provinces, and would continue to exert their influence on hebrew thought and activity. in all moral and religious qualities the persians were far in advance of the chaldeans, though they were probably behind them in many civilized arts and crafts. they were famous for their truthfulness and valour. the greeks[14] confessed the persians to be their equals in "boldness and warlike spirit"--æschylus[15] calls them "a valiant-minded people"--while they are lavish in praise of the persian veracity, a virtue in which they themselves were notably deficient. to the persians god was "the father of all truth;" to lie was shameful and irreligious. they disliked traffic because of its haggling, equivocation, and dishonest shifts. "their chief faults," and even these were not developed till they became masters of the world, "were an addiction to self-indulgence and luxury, a passionate _abandon_ to the feeling of the hour whatever it might be, and a tameness and subservience in all their relations toward their princes which seem to moderns incompatible with self-respect and manliness." patriotism came to mean mere loyalty to the monarch; the habit of unquestioning submission to his will, and even to his caprice, became a second nature to them. the despotic humour natural in "a ruling person" was thus nourished till it ran to the wildest excess. "he was their lord and master, absolute disposer of their lives, liberties, and property, the sole fountain of law and right, incapable himself of doing wrong, irresponsible, irresistible--a sort of god upon earth; one whose favour was happiness, at whose frown men trembled, before whom all bowed themselves down with the lowest and humblest obeisance." no subject could enter his presence save by special permission, or without a prostration like that of worship. to come unbidden was to be cut down by the royal guards, unless, as a sign of grace, he extended his golden sceptre to the culprit. to tread on the king's carpet was a grave offence; to sit, even unwittingly, on his seat a capital crime. so slavish was the submission both of nobles and of people that we are required on good authority to accredit such stories as these: wretches bastinadoed by the king's order declared themselves delighted that his majesty had condescended to remember them; a father, whose innocent son was shot by the despot in pure wantonness, had to crush down his natural indignation and grief, and to compliment the royal archer on the accuracy of his aim. [14] _herodotus_, ix. 62. [15] æschyl., _pers._, 94. despising trade and commerce as menial and degrading, the ruling caste of a vast empire, with a monopoly of office and boundless means of wealth at their command, accustomed to lord it over subject races, of a high spirit and a faith comparatively pure, their very prosperity was their ruin, as it has been that of many a great nation. in their earlier times, they were noted for their sobriety and temperance. content with simple diet, their only drink was water from the pure mountain streams; their garb was plain, their habits homely and hardy. but their temperance soon gave place to an immoderate luxury.[16] they acquired the babylonian vices, and adopted at least the licence of the babylonian rites. they filled their harems with wives and concubines. from the time of xerxes onwards they grew nice and curious of appetite, eager for pleasure, effeminate, dissolute. [16] "there is no nation which so readily adopts foreign customs as the persians.... as soon as they hear of any luxury they instantly make it their own.... each of them has several wives, and a still larger number of concubines."--(_herodotus_ book i., chap. 135). with the growth of luxury on the part of the nobles and the people, the fear of the despot, at whose mercy all their acquisitions stood, grew more intense, more harassing, more degrading. xerxes and his successors were utterly reckless in their exercise of the absolute power conceded to them, and delegated it to favourites as reckless as themselves. no noble however eminent, no servant of the state however faithful or distinguished, could be sure that he might not at any moment incur a displeasure which would strip him of all he possessed, even if it did not also condemn him to a cruel and lingering death. out of mere sport and wantonness, to relieve the tedium of a weary hour, the despot might slay him with his own hand. for the crime, or assumed crime, of one person a whole family, or class, or race might be cut off unheard. of the lengths to which this cruelty and caprice might go we have a sufficient example in the book of esther. the ahasuerus of that singular narrative was, there can hardly be any doubt, the xerxes of secular history--the very names, unlike as they sound, are the same name differently pronounced by two different races.[17] and all that the book of esther relates of the despot who repudiates a wife because she will not expose herself to the drunken admiration of a crowd of revellers, who raises a servant to the highest honours one day and hangs him the next, who commands the massacre of an entire race and then bids them inflict a horrible carnage on those who execute his decree, exactly accords with the greek narratives which depict him as scourging the sea for having broken down his bridge over the hellespont, beheading the engineers whose work was swept away by a storm, wantonly putting to death the sons of pythias, his oldest friend, before their father's eyes; as first giving to his mistress the splendid robe presented to him by his queen, and then giving up to the queen's barbarous vengeance the mother of his mistress; as shamefully misusing the body of the heroic leonidas, and, after his defeat by the greeks, giving himself up to a criminal voluptuousness and offering a reward to the inventor of any new pleasure. [17] their common root is the sanscrit _kshatra_, a king; in the persepolitan inscriptions this word appears as ksérshé, and from this both the hebrew _achashuerash_ (ahasuerus) and the greek _xerxes_ would easily be formed. * * * * * the book ecclesiastes was written certainly not before the reign of xerxes (b.c. 486-465), and probably many years after it, a period in which, bad as were the conditions of his time, the times grew ever more lawless, the despotism more intolerable, the violence and licentiousness of the subordinate officials more unblushing. but at whatever period within these limits we may place it, all we have learned of the babylonians and the persians during the later years of the captivity and the earlier years of the exile (during which the jews were still under the persian rule) is in entire correspondence with the social and political state depicted by the preacher. the abler and more kindly despots--as cyrus, darius, artaxerxes--showed a singular favour to the jews. cyrus published a decree authorizing them to return to jerusalem and rebuild their temple, and enjoining the officials of the empire to further them in their enterprise; darius confirmed that decree, despite the malignant misrepresentations of the samaritan colonists; artaxerxes held ezra and nehemiah in high esteem, and sent them to restore order and prosperity to the city of their fathers and its inhabitants. but a large number, apparently even a large majority, of the jews, unable or disinclined to return, remained in the various provinces of the great empire, and were of course subject to the violence and injustice from which the persians themselves were not exempt. "vanity of vanities, vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" cries the preacher till we grow weary of the mournful refrain. might he not well take that tone in a time so out of joint, so lowering, so dark? the book is full of allusions to the persian luxury, to the persian forms of administration, above all, to the corruptions of the later years of the persian empire, and the miseries they bred. coheleth's elaborate description (ii. 4-8) of the infinite variety of means by which he sought to allure his heart unto mirth--his palaces, vineyards, paradises, with their reservoirs and fountains, crowds of attendants, treasures of gold and silver, the harem full of beauties of all races--seems taken direct from the ample state of some luxurious persian grandee. his picture of the public administration (v. 8, 9), in which "superior watcheth over superior, and superiors again watch over them," is a graphic sketch of the satrapial system, with its official hierarchy rising grade above grade, which was the work of darius.[18] when the animating and controlling spirit of that system was taken away, when weak foolish despots sat on the throne, and despots just as foolish and weak ruled in every provincial divan, there ensued precisely that political state to which coheleth perpetually refers.[19] iniquity sat in the place of judgment, and in the place of equity there was iniquity (iii. 16); kings grew childish, and princes spent their days in revelry (x. 16); fools were lifted to high place, while nobles were degraded; and slaves rode on horses, while their quondam masters tramped through the mire (x. 6, 7). there was no fair reward for faithful service (ix. 11). death brooded in the air, and might fall suddenly and unforeseen on any head, however high (ix. 12). to correct a public abuse was like pulling down a wall: some of the stones were sure to fall on the reformer's feet, from some cranny a serpent was sure to start out and bite him (x. 8, 9). to breathe a word against a ruler, even in the strictest privacy, was to run the hazard of destruction (x. 20). a resentful gesture, much more a rebellious word, in the divan was enough to ensure outrage. in short, the whole political fabric was fast falling into disrepair and decay, the rain leaking through the rotting roof, while the miserable people were ground down with ruinous exactions, in order that their rulers might revel on undisturbed (x. 18, 19). it is under such a pernicious and ominous maladministration of public affairs, and the appalling miseries it breeds, that there springs up in the hearts of men that fatalistic and hopeless temper to which coheleth gives frequent expression. better never to have been born than to live a life so cramped and thwarted, so full of perils and fears! better to snatch at every pleasure, however poor and brief, than seek, by self-denial, by virtue, by integrity, to accumulate a store which the first petty tyrant who gets wind of it will sweep off, or a reputation for wisdom and goodness which will be no protection from, which will be only too likely to provoke, the despotic humours of men "dressed in a little brief authority." [18] "the political condition of the people which this book presupposes is that in which they are placed under satraps" (delitzsch). [19] it would be possible to collect from the psalms of this date materials for a description of the wrongs and miseries inflicted on the jews, and of their keen sense of them, quite as graphic and intense as that of the preacher. here are a few phrases hastily culled from them. the oppressors of israel are described as being "clothed with cruelty as with a garment," as "returning evil for good, and hatred for good-will." "lift up thyself, thou judge of the earth; render to the proud their desert. they prate, they speak arrogantly; all the workers of iniquity boast themselves. they break in pieces thy people, o lord, and afflict thine heritage. they slay the widow and the stranger, and murder the fatherless. and they say, the lord shall not see, neither shall the god of jacob consider" (xciv.). "i am bowed down and brought very low; i go mourning all the day long: truly i am nigh unto falling, and my heaviness is ever before me" (xxxviii.). "my days consume away like smoke, and my bones are burned up like as a firebrand; my heart is smitten down and withered like grass, so that i forget to eat my bread" (cii.). "i am helpless and poor, and my heart is wounded within me" (cix.). most of the "imprecatory" psalms belong to this period; and the terrible wrongs of the captivity, though they may not justify, in large measure explain and excuse, that desire for vengeance which has given so much offence to some of our modern critics. if even shakespeare,[20] in an unrestful and despairing mood strangely foreign to his serene temperament, beheld "desert a beggar born, and needy nothing trimmed in jollity, and purest faith unhappy forsworn, and gilded honour shamefully misplaced, and maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, and right perfection wrongfully disgraced, and strength by limping sway disabled, and art made tongue-tied by authority, and folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, and simple truth miscall'd simplicity, and captive good attending captain ill;" if, "tired with all these," he cried for "restful death," we can hardly wonder that the preacher, who had fallen on times so evil that, compared with his, shakespeare's were good, should prefer death to life. [20] sonnets, lxvi. * * * * * but there is another side to this sad story of the captivity, another and a nobler side. if the jews suffered much from persian misrule, they learned much and gained much from the persian faith. in its earlier form the religious creed whose documents zoroaster afterwards collected and enlarged in the zendavesta was probably the purest of the ancient heathen world; and even when it was corrupted by the baser additions of later times, its purer form was still preserved in songs (gâthâs) and traditions. there can be no reasonable doubt that it largely affected the subsequent faith of the hebrews, not indeed teaching them any truth they had not been taught before, but constraining them to recognize truths in their scriptures which hitherto they had passed over or neglected. in its inception the persian creed and practice were a revolt against the sensuous and sensual worship of the great forces of nature into which most eastern religions, often pure enough, in their primitive forms, had degenerated, and, in especial, from the base forms into which the hindus had degraded that primitive faith which is still to be recovered from the rig-veda. it acknowledged persons, real spiritual intelligences, in place of mere natural powers; and it drew moral distinctions between them, dividing these ruling intelligences into good and bad, pure and impure, benignant and malevolent,--an immense advance on the mere admiration of whatever was strong. nay, in some sense, the persian faith affirmed monotheism against polytheism; for it asserted that one great intelligence ruled over all other intelligences, and through them over the universe. this supreme intelligence, which the persians called ahura-mazda (ormazd), is the true creator, preserver, governor, of all spirits, all men, all worlds. he is "good," "holy," "pure," "true," "the father of all truth," "the best being of all," "the master of purity," "the source and fountain of all good." on the righteous he bestows "the good mind" and everlasting happiness; while he punishes and afflicts the evil. his worshippers were to the last degree intolerant of idolatry. they suffered no image to profane their temples; their earliest symbol of deity is almost as pure and abstract as a mathematical sign, a circle with wings; the circle to denote the eternity of god, and the wings his omnipresence. under this supreme lord, "the god of heaven," they admitted inferior beings, angels and archangels, whose names mark them out as personified divine attributes, or as faithful servants who administer some province of the divine empire. to win the favour of the god of heaven it was requisite to cultivate the virtues of purity, truthfulness, industry, and a pious sense of the divine presence; and these virtues must spring from the heart, and cover thought as well as word and deed. his worship consisted in the frequent offering of prayer, praise, and thanksgiving; in the reiteration of certain sacred hymns; in the occasional sacrifice of animals which, after being presented before ormazd, furnished forth a feast for priest and worshipper; and in the performance of a mystic ceremony (the _soma_), the gist of which seems to have lain in a grateful acknowledgment that the fruits of the earth, typified by the intoxicating juice of the homa plant, were to be received as the gift of heaven. a sentence or two from one of the hymns[21] of which there are many in the zendavesta, will show better than many words to how high a pitch divine worship was carried by the persians: "we worship thee, ahura-mazda, the pure, the master of purity. we praise all good thoughts, all good words, all good deeds which are or shall be; and we likewise keep clean and pure all that is good. o ahura-mazda, thou true happy being! we strive to think, to speak, and to do only such things as may be best fitted to promote the two lives" (_i.e._ the life of the body and the life of the soul). [21] haug's _essays_, pp. 162-3, quoted by rawlinson. in this course of well-doing the faithful were animated and confirmed by a devout belief in the immortality of the soul and a conscious future existence. they were taught that at death the souls of men, both good and bad, travelled along an appointed path to a narrow bridge which led to paradise; over this bridge only pious souls could pass, the wicked falling from it into an awful gulf in which they received the due reward of their deeds. the happy souls of the good were helped across the long narrow arch by an angel,[22] and as they entered paradise a great archangel rose from his throne to greet each of them with the words, "how happy art thou, who hast come to us from mortality to immortality!" [22] this helpful angel is by no means peculiar to the persian faith. all the imaginative races of antiquity conceived of a being more divine than man, though originally not equal to the gods, who guided the departed soul on its lonely journey through the dark interspaces of death. theut conducted the released spirit of the egyptian to the judgment-seat. hermes performed the same kind office for the greeks, mercury for the romans. yama was the _nekropompos_ of the hindus, and the persians retained the legend. the rig-veda represents him as the first man who passed through death to immortality, and as therefore the best guide of other men. nor is it doubted that the persians derived their belief in a future life from the primitive hindu creed. if their faith was, as i have said, a revolt from the degenerate forms of hindu worship, it was also a return to its more ancient forms, as religious reformations are apt to be. the fathers of the aryan stock had an unwavering assurance of a future life. in his essay on the _funeral rites of the brahmans_, max müller cites a sort of liturgy with which the ancient hindu used to bid farewell to his deceased friend while the body lay on the funeral pyre, which is, surely, very noble and pathetic: "depart thou, depart thou by the ancient paths, to the place whither our fathers have departed. meet with the ancient ones (the pitrs); meet with the lord of death; obtain thy desires in heaven. throw off thine imperfections; go to thy home. become united with a body; clothe thyself in a shining form. go ye; depart ye; hasten ye from hence" (rig-veda x. 14). to which, as choral responses, might be added, "let him depart to those for whom flow the rivers of nectar. let him depart to those who through meditation have obtained the victory, who by fixing their thoughts on the unseen have gone to heaven.... let him depart to the mighty in battle, to the heroes who have laid down their lives for others, to those who have bestowed their goods on the poor" (rig-veda x. 154). as the body was consumed on the pyre the friends of the dead chanted a hymn in which, after having bidden his body return to the various elements from which it sprang, they prayed, "as for his unborn part, do thou, lord (agni), quicken it with thy heat; let thy flame and thy brightness kindle it: convey it to the world of the righteous." it was from this pure and lofty source that the persians drew their faith in the better life to be. max müller also quotes as the prayer of a dying hindu woman, "place me, o pure one, in that everlasting and unchanging world where light and glory are found. make me immortal in the world in which joys, delights, and happiness abide, where the desires are obtained" (atharda veda xii. 3, 17). cremation itself bore witness to the hindu faith in immortality, since they held that "the fire which set free the spiritual element from the superincumbent clay, completed the third or heavenly birth," the second birth having been achieved when men set themselves to a faithful discharge of their religious duties. this wonderfully pure creed was, however, in process of time, corrupted in many ways. first of all, "the sad antithesis of human life," the conflict between light and darkness, good and evil--the standing puzzle of the world--led the votaries of ormazd to _dualism_. ormazd loved and created only the good. the evil in man, and in the world, must be the work of an enemy. this enemy, ahriman (augrô-maniyus), has been seeking from eternity to undo, to mar and blast, the fair work of the god of heaven. he is the baleful author of all evil, and under him are spirits as malignant as himself. between these good and evil powers there is incessant conflict, which extends to every soul and every world. it will never cease until the great deliverer arise--for even of _him_ the persians had some dim prevision--who shall conquer and destroy evil at its source, all things then rounding to their final goal of good. another corrupting influence had its origin in a too literal interpretation of the names given to the divine being, or the qualities ascribed to him, by the founders of the faith. ormazd, for example, had been described as "true, _lucid_, _shining_, the originator of all the best things, of the spirit in nature and of the growth in nature, _of the luminaries and of the self-shining brightness which is in the luminaries_." from these epithets and ascriptions there sprang in later days the worship of the sun, then of fire, as a type of god--a worship still maintained by the disciples of zoroaster, the ghebers and the parsees. and from this point onward the old sad story repeats itself; once more we have to trace a pure and lofty primitive faith along the grades through which it declines to the low, base level of a sensuous idolatry. the magians, always the bitter enemies of zoroastrianism, held that the four elements--fire, air, earth, and water--were the only proper objects of human reverence. it was not difficult for them to persuade those who already worshipped fire, and were beginning to forget of whom fire was the symbol, to include in their homage air, water, and earth. divination, incantations, the interpretation of dreams and omens soon followed, with all the dark shadows which science and religion cast behind them. and then came the lowest deep of all, that worship of the gods by sensual indulgence to which idolatry gravitates, as by a law. nevertheless, we must remember that, even at their worst, the persians preserved the sacred records of their earlier faith, and that their best men steadily refused to accept the base additions to it which the magians proposed. corrupt as in many respects many of them became, the conquest of babylon was the death-blow to the sensual idol-worship which had reigned for twenty centuries on the chaldean plain; it never wholly recovered from it, though it survived it for a time. from that date it declined to its fall: "bel bowed down; nebo stooped; merodach was broken in pieces" (isa. xlvi. 1; jer. l. 2). the nobler monarchs of persia were true disciples of the primitive creed of their race. it was similarity of creed which won their favour for the hebrew captives. in the decree which enfranchised them (ezra i. 2, 3) cyrus expressly identifies ormazd, "the god of heaven," with jehovah, the god of israel; he says, "_the lord god of heaven_ hath given me all the kingdoms of the earth, and he hath charged me to build _him_ a house at jerusalem." nor was this belief in one god, whose temple was to be defiled by no image even of himself, the only point in common between the better persians, such as cyrus and darius, and the better jews. there were many such points. both believed in an evil spirit tempting and accusing men; in myriads of angels, all the host of heaven, who formed the armies of god and did his pleasure; in a tree of life and a tree of knowledge, and a serpent the enemy of man; both shared the hope of a coming deliverer from evil, the belief in an immortal and retributive life beyond the grave, and a happy paradise in which all righteous souls would find a home and see their father's face. these common faiths and hopes would all be points of sympathy and attachment between the two races; and it is to this agreement in religious doctrine and practice that we must ascribe the striking facts that the persians, ordinarily the most intolerant of men, never persecuted the jews; and that the jews, ordinarily so impatient of foreign domination, never made a single attempt to cast off the persian yoke, but stood by the declining empire even when the greeks were thundering at its gates. on one question all competent historians and commentators are agreed; viz. that the jews gained immensely in the clearness and compass of their religious faith during the captivity. that, which was the punishment, was also the term, of their idolatry; into that sin they never afterwards fell. now first, too, they began to understand that the bond of their unity was not local, not national even, but spiritual and religious; they were spread over every province of a foreign empire, yet they were one people, and a sacred people, in virtue of their common service of jehovah and their common hope of messiah's advent. this hope had been vaguely felt before, and just previous to the captivity isaiah had arrayed it in an unrivalled splendour of imagery; now it sank into the popular mind, which needed it so sorely, and became a deep and ardent longing of the national heart. from this period, moreover, the immortality of the soul and the life beyond death entered distinctly and prominently into the hebrew creed. always latent in their scriptures, these truths disclosed themselves to the jews as they came into contact with the persian doctrines of judgment and future rewards. hitherto they had thought mainly, if not exclusively, of the temporal rewards and punishments by which the mosaic law enforced its precepts. henceforth they saw that, in time and on earth, human actions are not carried to their final and due results; they looked forward to a judgment in which all wrongs should be righted, all unpunished sins receive their recompense, and all the sufferings of the good be transmuted into joy and peace. now this, as we shall see, is the very moral of the book ecclesiastes, the triumphant climax to which it mounts. the endeavour of coheleth is to show how evil and good were blended in the human lot, evil so largely preponderating in the lot of many of the good as to make life a curse unless it were sustained by hope; to give hope by assuring the hebrew captives that "god takes cognizance of all things," and "will bring every work to judgment," good or bad; and to urge on them, as the conclusion of his quest, and as the whole duty of man, to prepare for that supreme audit by fearing god and keeping his commandments. this was the light he was commissioned to carry into their great darkness; and if the lamp and the oil were of god, it is hardly too much to say that the spark which kindled the lamp was taken from the persian fire, since that too was of god. or, to vary the figure, and make it more accurate, we may say that the truths of the future life lay hidden in the hebrew scriptures, and that it was by the light of the persian doctrine of the future that the jews, stimulated by the mental culture and activity acquired in babylon, discovered them in the word. it is thus, indeed, that god has taught men in all ages. the word remains ever the same, but our conditions change, our mental posture varies, and with our posture the angle at which the light of heaven falls on the sacred page. we are brought into contact with new races, new ideas, new forms of culture, new discoveries of science, and the familiar word forthwith teems with new meanings, with new adaptations to our needs; truths unseen before, though they were always there, come to view, deep truths rise to the surface, mysterious truths grow simple and plain, truths that jangled on the ear melt into harmony; our new needs stretch out lame hands of faith, and find an unexpected but ample supply; and we are rapt in wonder and admiration as we afresh discover the bible to be the book for all races and for all ages, an inexhaustible fountain of truth and comfort and grace. translation. the prologue. _in which the problem of the book is indirectly stated._ chap. i., vv. 1-11. 1 the words of the preacher, son of david, king in jerusalem. 2 vanity of vanities, saith the preacher; vanity of vanities, all is vanity, 3 since man hath no profit from all his labour which he laboureth under the sun![23] [23] just as we speak of this "sublunary world," so "under the sun" is the characteristic designation of the earth throughout this book. 4 one generation passeth, and another generation cometh; while the earth abideth for ever. 5 the sun also riseth, and the sun goeth down; and panteth toward the place at which it will rise again. 6 the wind goeth toward the south, and veereth to the north; it whirleth round and round; and the wind returneth on its course. 7 all the streams run into the sea, yet the sea is not full; to the place whence the streams came, thither they return again. 8 all things are weary with toil. man cannot utter it. the eye can never be satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing. 9 what hath been will be, and that which is done is that which will be done; and there is no new thing under the sun. 10 if there be anything of which it is said, "behold, this is new!" it hath been long ago, in the ages that were before us. 11 there is no remembrance of those who have been; nor will there be any remembrance of men who are to come among those that will live after them. first section. _the quest of the chief good in wisdom and in pleasure._ chap. i., v. 12, to chap. ii., v. 26. [sidenote: _the quest in wisdom._ ch. i., vv. 12-18.] 12 i, the preacher, was king over israel, in jerusalem: 13 and i applied my heart to survey and search by wisdom into all that is done under heaven: this sore task hath god given to the children of men, to exercise themselves therewith. ver. 13. _to survey and search into, etc._ the verbs indicate the broad extent which his researches covered, and the depth to which they penetrated. 14 i have considered all the works that are done under the sun, and, behold, they are all vanity and vexation of spirit. ver. 14. _vexation of spirit._ literally, "striving after the wind." but the time-honoured phrase, "vexation of spirit," sufficiently expresses the writer's meaning; and it seems better to retain it than, with the revised version, to introduce the hebrew metaphor, which has a somewhat novel and foreign sound. 15 that which is crooked cannot be set straight, and that which is lacking cannot be made up. 16 therefore i spake to my heart, saying, lo, i have acquired greater wisdom than all who were before me in jerusalem, my heart having seen much wisdom and knowledge; 17 for i had given my heart to find knowledge and wisdom. i perceive that even this is vexation of spirit; ver. 17. _to find knowledge and wisdom._ both the authorized and revised versions render "to know wisdom, and to know _madness and folly_." the latter clause, however, violates both the sense and the grammatical construction. the word translated "to know" is not an infinitive, but a noun, and should be rendered "knowledge;" the word translated "folly" means "prudence," and the word translated "madness" hardly means more than "folly." the text, too, seems corrupt. the sense of the passage is against it, i think, as it now stands; for the design of the preacher is simply to show the insufficiency of wisdom and knowledge, not to prove folly foolish. on the whole, therefore, it seems better to follow the high authority which arranges the text as it is here rendered. the hebraist will find the question fully discussed in _ginsburg_. 18 for in much wisdom is much sadness, and to multiply knowledge is to multiply sorrow. [sidenote: _the quest in pleasure._ ch ii., vv. 1-11.] 1 then i said to my heart, go to, now let me prove thee with mirth, and thou shalt see pleasure: and, lo, this too is vanity! 2 to mirth i said, thou art mad! and to pleasure, what canst thou do? 3 i thought in my heart to cheer my body with pleasure, while my spirit guided it wisely, and to lay hold on folly, till i should see what it is good for the sons of men to do under heaven, through the brief day of their life. 4 i gave myself to great works; i builded me houses; i planted me vineyards; 5 i made me gardens and parks, and i planted in them all manner of fruit-trees; 6 i made me tanks of water, from which to water the groves: 7 i bought me men-servants and maid-servants, and had servants born in my house. i had also many herds of oxen and sheep, more than all who were before me in jerusalem: 8 i heaped up silver and gold, and the treasures of kings and of kingdoms: i got me men-singers and women-singers; and took delight in many fair concubines: 9 so that i surpassed all who were before me in jerusalem, my wisdom abiding with me; 10 and nothing that my eyes desired did i withhold from them, i did not keep back my heart from any pleasure; for my heart took joy in all my toil, and this was my portion therefrom. 11 but when i turned to look on all the works which my hands had wrought, and at the labour which it cost me to accomplish them, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun. * * * * * [sidenote: _wisdom and pleasure compared._ ch. ii., vv. 12-23.] 12 then i turned to compare wisdom with madness and folly- and what can he do that cometh after the king whom they made king long ago?- 13 and i saw that wisdom excelleth folly as far as light excelleth darkness: 14 the wise man's eyes are in his head, while the fool walketh blindly. nevertheless i knew that the same fate will befall both. 15 therefore i spake with my heart: "a fate like that of the fool will befall me, even me; to what end, then, am i wiser?" and i said to my heart: "this too is vanity, 16 for there is no more remembrance of the wise man than of the fool; for both will be forgotten, as in time past so also in days to come: and, alas, the wise man dieth even as the fool!" 17 so life became hateful to me, for a sore burden was upon me, even the labour which i wrought under the sun; since all is vanity and vexation of spirit: 18 yea, i hated all the gain which i had gained under the sun, because i must leave it to the man who shall come after me, 19 and who can tell whether he will be a wise man or a fool? yet shall he have power over all my gain which i have wisely gained under the sun: this too is vanity. 20 then i turned and gave my heart up to despair concerning all the gain which i had gained under the sun; 21 for here is a man who hath laboured wisely, and prudently, and dexterously, and he must leave it as a portion to one who hath not laboured therein: this also is vanity and a great evil; 22 for man hath nothing of all his heavy labour, and the vexation of his heart under the sun, 23 since his task grieveth and vexeth him all his days, and even at night his heart hath no rest: this too is vanity. * * * * * [sidenote: _the conclusion._ ch. ii., vv. 24-26.] 24 there is nothing better for a man than to eat and to drink, and to let his soul take pleasure in his labour. but even this, i saw, cometh from god; 25 for who can eat, and who enjoy himself, apart from him? 26 for to the man who is good before him, he giveth wisdom and knowledge and joy; but to the sinner he giveth the task to gather and to heap up, that he may leave it to him who is good before god: this also is vanity and vexation of spirit. _second section._ _the quest of the chief good in devotion to the affairs of business._ chap. iii., v. 1, to chap. v., v. 20. [sidenote: _the quest obstructed by divine ordinances_; ch. iii., vv. 1-15.] 1 there is a time for all things, and a season for every undertaking under heaven: 2 a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up plants; 3 a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; 4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; 5 a time to cast stones, and a time to gather up stones; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; 6 a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; 7 a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to be silent, and a time to speak; 8 a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace: 9 he who laboureth hath therefore no profit from his labours. 10 i have considered the task which god hath given to the sons of men, to exercise themselves withal: 11 he hath made everything beautiful in its season; he hath also put eternity into their heart; only they understand not the work of god from beginning to end. 12 i found that there was no good for them but to rejoice, and to do themselves good all their life; 13 but also that, if a man eat and drink, and take pleasure in all his labour, it is a gift of god. 14 i found too that whatever god hath ordained continueth for ever; nothing can be added to it, and nothing taken from it: and god hath so ordered it that men may fear before him. 15 that which is hath been, and that which is to be was long ago; for god recalleth the past. [sidenote: _and by human injustice and perversity._ ch. iii., v. 16. ch. iv., v. 3.] 16 moreover, i saw under the sun that there was iniquity in the place of justice, and in the place of equity there was iniquity. 17 i said to mine heart: "god will judge the righteous and the wicked, for there is a time for everything and for every deed with him." 18 yet i said to my heart of the children of men: "god hath sifted them, to show that they, even they, are but as beasts. 19 for a mere chance is man, and the beast a mere chance, and they are both subject to the same chance; as is the death of the one, so is the death of the other; and both have the same spirit: and the man hath no advantage over the beast, for both are vanity: 20 both go to the same place; both sprang from dust, and both turn into dust: 21 and who knoweth whether the spirit of man goeth upward, or the spirit of the beast goeth downward to the earth?" ver. 21. the question is here, as so often in hebrew, the strongest form of negative. as in ver. 19 the preacher affirms of man and beast that "both have the same spirit," and, in ver. 20, that "both go to the same place," so, in this verse, he emphatically denies that there is any difference in their destination at death. 22 wherefore i saw that there is nothing better for man than to rejoice in his labours; for this is his portion: and who shall give him to see what will be after him? [sidenote: iv.] 1 then i turned to consider once more all the oppressions that are done under the sun: i beheld the tears of the oppressed, and they had no comforter; and their oppressors were violent, yet had they no comforter: 2 and i accounted the dead who died long ago happier than the living who are still alive; 3 while happier than either is he who hath not been born, who hath not seen the evil which is done under the sun. [sidenote: _it is rendered hopeless by the base origin of human industries._ ch. iv., vv. 4-8.] 4 then too i saw that all this toil, and all this dexterity in toil, spring from man's rivalry with his neighbour: this also is vanity and vexation of spirit. 5 the sluggard foldeth his hands, yet he eateth his meat: 6 better a handful of quiet than two handsful of labour with vexation of spirit. 7 and again i turned, and saw a vanity under the sun: 8 here is a man who hath no one with him, not even a son or a brother; and yet there is no end of all his labour, neither are his eyes satisfied with riches: for whom, then, doth he labour and deny his soul any of his wealth? this too is vanity and an evil work. [sidenote: _yet these are capable of a nobler motive and mode._ ch. iv., vv. 9-16.] 9 two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labour: 10 for if one fall, the other will lift up his fellow; but woe to the lonely one who falleth and hath no fellow to lift him up! 11 moreover, if two sleep together, they are warm; but he that is alone, how can he be warm? 12 and if an enemy assail the one, two will withstand him. and a threefold cord is not easily broken. 13 happier is a poor and wise youth than an old and foolish king who even yet has not learned to take warning; 14 for he goeth forth from the prison to the throne, although he was born a poor man in the kingdom. 15 i see all the living who walk under the sun flocking to the youth who stood up in his stead; 16 there is no end to the multitude of the people over whom he ruleth: nevertheless those who live after him will not rejoice in him; for even this is vanity and vexation of spirit. * * * * * [sidenote: _so also a nobler and happier mode of worship is open to men:_ ch. v., vv. 1-7.] 1 keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of god; for it is better to obey than to offer the sacrifice of fools, who know not when they do evil. 2 do not hurry on thy mouth, and do not force thy heart to utter words before god; for god is in heaven, and thou upon earth: therefore let thy words be few. 3 for as a dream cometh through much occupation, so foolish talk through many words. 4 when thou vowest a vow unto god, defer not to pay it; for he is a fool whose will is not steadfast. pay that which thou hast vowed. 5 better that thou shouldest not vow than that thou shouldest vow and not pay. 6 suffer not thy mouth to cause thy flesh to sin, and say not before the angel, "it was an error:" for why should god be angry at thine idle talk and destroy the work of thy hands? ver. 6. _before the angel._ that is, before the angel who, as the hebrews thought, presided over the altar of worship, and who was present even when only two or three met for the study of the law: to study the law being in itself an act of worship. 7 for in many words, as in many dreams, there is vanity: but fear thou god. * * * * * [sidenote: _and a more helpful and consolatory trust in the divine providence._ ch. v., vv. 8-17.] 8 if thou seest the oppression of the poor, and the perversion of justice in the state, be not dismayed thereat; for superior watcheth superior, and superiors again watch over them: 9 and the advantage for the people is, that it extendeth to all, for even the king is servant to the field. ver. 9. some commentators prefer another possible reading of this difficult verse: _but the profit of a land is every way a king devoted to the field, i.e._ a lover and promoter of good husbandry. this reading, however, does not, i think, harmonise so well with the context as that given above. 10 he that loveth silver is never satisfied with silver, nor he that clingeth to riches with what they yield: this too is vanity; 11 for when riches increase they increase that consume them: what advantage then hath the owner thereof, save the looking thereupon with his eyes? 12 sweet is the sleep of the husbandman, whether he eat little or much; while abundance suffereth not the rich to sleep. 13 there is a great evil which i have seen under the sun- riches hoarded up by the rich to the hurt of the owner thereof: 14 for the riches perish in some unlucky adventure, and he begetteth a son when he hath nothing in his hand: 15 as he cometh forth from the womb of his mother, even as he cometh naked, so also he returneth again, and taketh nothing from his labour which he may carry away in his hand. 16 this also is a great evil, that just as he came so he must go. for what profit hath he who laboureth for the wind? 17 yet all his days he eateth in darkness, and is much perturbed, and hath vexation and grief. * * * * * [sidenote: _the conclusion._ ch. v., vv. 18-20.] 18 behold, that which i have said holds good,- that it is well for man to eat and to drink and to enjoy the good of all his labour wherein he laboureth under the sun, through the brief day of his life which god hath given him: for this is his portion. 19 and i have also said, that a man to whom god hath given riches and wealth, if he hath also enabled him to eat thereof, and to take his portion and to rejoice in his labour;- this is a gift of god: 20 he doth not fret because the days of his life are not many, for god hath sanctioned the joy of his heart. third section. _the quest in wealth and in the golden mean._ chaps. vi., ver. 1, to viii., ver. 15. [sidenote: _the quest in wealth. he who makes riches his chief good is haunted by fears and perplexities_: ch. vi., vv. 1-6.] 1 there is another evil which i have seen under the sun, and it weigheth heavily upon men: 2 here is a man to whom god hath given riches and wealth and abundance, so that his soul lacketh nothing of all that it desireth; and god hath not given him the power to enjoy it, but a stranger enjoyeth it: this is vanity and a great evil. 3 though one beget a hundred children, and live many years, yea, however many the days of his years, yet if his soul be not satisfied with good, even though the grave did not wait for him, better is an abortion than he: 4 for this cometh in nothingness and goeth in darkness, and its memory is shrouded in darkness; 5 it doth not even see and know the sun: it hath more rest than he. 6 and if he live twice a thousand years and see no good:- do not both go to the same place? * * * * * [sidenote: _for god has put eternity into his heart_; ch. vi., vv. 7-10.] 7 all the labour of this man is for his mouth; therefore his soul cannot be satisfied: 8 for what advantage hath the wise man over the fool, or what the poor man over the stately magnate? ver. 8. _the magnate._ literally, "he who knoweth to walk before the living;" some "great person," some man of eminent station, who is much in the eye of the public. 9 it is better, indeed, to enjoy the good we have than to crave a good beyond our reach: yet even this is vanity and vexation of spirit. ver. 9. _to enjoy the good we have_, etc. literally, "better is that which is seen by the eyes (the present good) than that which is pursued by the soul (the distant and uncertain good)." 10 that which hath been was long since ordained; and it is very certain that even the greatest is but a man, and cannot contend with him who is mightier than he. [sidenote: _and much that he gains only feeds vanity;_] 11 moreover there are many things which increase vanity: what advantage then hath man? [sidenote: _nor can he tell what will become of his gains._] 12 and who knoweth what is good for man in life, the brief day of his vain life which he spendeth as a shadow? and who can tell what shall be after him under the sun? * * * * * [sidenote: _the quest in the golden mean. the method of the man who pursues it._ ch. vii., vv. 1-14.] 1 a good name is better than good nard, and the day of death better than the day of one's birth: 2 it is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, because this is the end of every man, and the living should lay it to heart: ver. 2. "because _this_ is the end;" _i.e._ the death bewailed in the house of mourning. 3 better is serious thought than wanton mirth, for by a sad countenance the heart is bettered: 4 the heart of the wise therefore is in the house of mourning, but in the house of mirth is the heart of fools. 5 it is better for a man to listen to the reproof of the wise than to listen to the song of fools; 6 for the laughter of fools is like the crackling of thorns under a pot: this also is vanity. ver. 6. _the laughter of fools_, etc. there is a play on words in the original which cannot be reproduced in english. dean plumptre, following the lead of delitzsch, proposes as the nearest equivalents, "as crackling nettles under kettles," or "as crackling stubble makes the pot bubble." 7 wrong-doing maketh the wise man mad, as a bribe corrupteth the heart. 8 the end of a reproof is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride; 9 therefore hurry not on thy spirit to be angry: for anger is nursed in the bosom of fools. 10 say not, "how is it that former days were better than these?" for that is not the part of wisdom. 11 wisdom is as good as wealth, and hath an advantage over it for those who lead an active life: ver. 11. _those who lead an active life._ literally, "those who see the sun," _i.e._ those who are much in the sun, who lead a busy active life, are much occupied with traffic or public affairs. 12 for wisdom is a shelter, and wealth is a shelter; but the advantage of wisdom is that it fortifieth the heart of them that have it. ver. 12. _fortifieth the heart; i.e._ quickens life, a new life, a life which keeps the heart tranquil and serene under all chances and changes. 13 consider moreover the work of god, since no man can straighten that which he hath made crooked. 14 in the day of prosperity be thou content; and in the day of adversity consider that god hath made this as well as that, in order that man should not be able to foresee that which is to come. ver. 14.: _in the day of prosperity_, etc. literally, "in the day of good be in good." it may be rendered "in the good day be of good cheer." _this as well as that; i.e._ adversity as well as prosperity. god sends both in order that, not foreseeing what will come to pass, we may live in a constant and humble dependence on him. * * * * * [sidenote: _the perils to which it exposes him._ (1) _he is likely to compromise conscience_: ch. vii., vv. 15-20.] 15 in my fleeting days i have seen both the righteous die in his righteousness, and the wicked live long in his wickedness: 16 be not too righteous therefore, nor make thyself too wise lest thou be abandoned; 17 be not very wicked, nor yet very foolish, lest thou die before thy time: 18 it is better that thou shouldest lay hold of this and also not let go of that; for whoso feareth god will take hold on both. ver. 18. _this ... and that._ _this__ refers to the folly and wickedness of ver. 17, and _that_ to the wisdom and righteousness of ver. 16. _take hold on both._ literally, "go along with both." 19 this wisdom alone is greater strength to the wise than an army to a beleaguered city; ver. 19. _this wisdom_: viz. the moderate common-sense view of life which has just been described. _than an army_, etc. literally, "than _ten_ (_i.e._ many) mighty men in a city." 20 for there is not a righteous man on earth who doeth good and sinneth not. * * * * * [sidenote: (2) _to be indifferent to censure_: ch. vii., vv. 21, 22.] 21 moreover seek not to know all that is said of thee, lest thou hear thy servant speak evil of thee; ver. 21. _seek not to know_, etc. literally, "give not thy _heart_ (even if thy ears) to all words that are uttered." 22 for thou knowest in thine heart that thou also hast many times spoken evil of others. 23 all this wisdom have i tried; i desired a higher wisdom, but it was far from me; 24 that which was far off remaineth far off, and deep remaineth deep: who can find it out? [sidenote: (3) _to despise women_; ch. vii., vv. 25-29.] 25 then i and my heart turned to know this wisdom and diligently examine it- to discover the cause of wickedness, vice, and that folly which is madness: 26 and i found woman more bitter than death; she is a net; her heart is a snare, and her hands are chains: whoso is good before god shall escape her, but the sinner shall be taken by her. 27 behold, what i have found, saith the preacher- taking things one by one to reach the result- 28 i have found one man among a thousand, but in all that number a woman have i not found: 29 lo, this only have i found, that god made man upright, but that they seek out many devices. * * * * * [sidenote: (4) _and to be indifferent to public wrongs._ ch. viii., vv. 1-13.] 1 who is like the wise man? and who like him that understandeth the interpretation of this saying? the wisdom of this man maketh his face bright, and his rude features are refined. ver. 1. _this saying_: _i.e._ that which follows. _and his rude features_, etc. culture lends an air of refinement to the face, carriage, manners. 2 i say then, obey the king's commandment, and the rather because of the oath of fealty: 8? ver. 2. _the oath of fealty._ literally, "the oath by god." the babylonian and persian despots exacted an oath of loyalty from conquered races. each had to swear by the god he worshipped. 3 do not throw off thine allegiance, nor resent an evil word, for he can do whatsoever he please; ver. 3. _do not throw off_, etc. literally, "do not hurry from his presence, or even stand up because of an evil word." to stand up in the divan of an eastern despot is a sign of resentment; to rush from it a sign of disloyalty and rebellion. 4 for the word of a king is mighty; and who shall say to him, "what doest thou?" 5 whoso keepeth his commandment will know no evil. moreover the heart of the wise man foreseeth a time of retribution- 6 for there is a time of retribution for all things- when the tyranny of man is heavy upon him: 7 because he knoweth not what will be, and because no one can tell him when it will be. ver. 7. _because he knoweth not_; _i.e._ the tyrant does not know. the sense seems to be: retribution is all the more certain because, in his infatuation, the despot does not foresee the disastrous results of his tyranny, and because no one can tell him when or how they will disclose themselves. 8 no man is ruler over his own spirit, to retain the spirit, nor has he any power over the day of his death; and there is no furlough in this war, and no craft will save the wicked. 9 all this have i seen, having applied my heart to all that is done under the sun. ver. 9.: _all this have i seen; i.e._ all this retribution on tyrants and the consequent deliverance of the oppressed. 10 but there is a time when a man ruleth over men to their hurt. thus i have seen wicked men buried, and come again; and those who did right depart from the place of the holy, and be forgotten in the city: this also is vanity. ver. 10.: but the preacher has also seen times when retributive justice did _not_ overtake the oppressors, when they _came again_ in the persons of children as wicked and tyrannical as themselves. 11 because sentence against an evil deed is not executed forthwith, the heart of the sons of men is set in them to do evil. ver. 11.: _because sentence_, etc. "god does not always pay on saturdays," says an old italian proverb. 12 though a sinner do evil a hundred years, and groweth old therein, yet i know that it shall be well with those who fear god, who truly fear before him; 13 and it shall not be well with the wicked, but, like a shadow, he shall not prolong his days, because he doth not fear before god. [sidenote: _therefore the preacher condemns this view of human life._] 14 nevertheless, this vanity doth happen on the earth, that there are righteous men who have a wage like that of the wicked, and there are wicked men who have a wage like that of the righteous: this too, i said, is vanity. 15 and i commended mirth, because there is nothing better for man under the sun than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry; for this will go with him to his work through the days of his life, which god giveth him under the sun. ver. 15.: "and _this_ will go with him:" viz. this clear enjoying temper, than which, as yet, the preacher has found "nothing better." fourth section. _the quest of the chief good achieved._ chap. viii., ver. 16, to chap. xii., ver. 7. [sidenote: _the chief good not to be found in wisdom_: ch. viii., v. 16.-ch. ix., v. 6.] 16 as then i applied my heart to acquire wisdom, and to see the work which is done under the sun- and such a one seeth no sleep with his eyes by day or by night: 17 i saw that man cannot find out all the work of god which is done under the sun; though man labour to discover it, he cannot find it out; and though the wise may say he understandeth it nevertheless he hath not found it out. ver. 17.: to illustrate this verse dean plumptre happily quotes hooker's noble and familiar words: "dangerous it were for the feeble brain of man to wade far into the doings of the most high; whom although to know be life, and joy to make mention of his name, yet our soundest knowledge is to know that we know him not as indeed he is, neither can know him, and our safest eloquence concerning him is our silence, when we confess without confession that his glory is inexplicable, his greatness above our capacity and reach." [sidenote: ix.] 1 for all this have i taken to heart and explored, that the righteous, and the wise, and their labours are in the hand of god: they know not whether they shall meet love or hatred; all lies before them. all are treated alike; ver. 1.: _they know not whether they shall meet love or hatred_ may mean that even the wisest cannot tell whether they shall meet (1) the love or the enmity of god, as shown in adverse or favourable providences; or (2) the things which they love or hate; or (3) the love or the hatred of their fellows. the last of the three seems the most likely. _all lies before them; i.e._ all possible chances, changes, events. only god can determine or foresee what is coming to meet them. 2 the same fate befalleth to the righteous and to the wicked, to the good and pure and to the impure, to him that sacrificeth and to him that sacrificeth not; as with the good so is it with the sinner, with him that sweareth as with him who feareth an oath. 3 this is the greatest evil of all that is done under the sun, that there is one fate for all: and that, although the heart of the sons of men is full of evil, and madness is in their hearts through life, yet, after it, they go to the dead; ver. 3.: the words of this verse do not, as they stand, seem to carry on the logical sequence of thought. the preacher's complaint is that even the wise and the good are not exempted from the common fate, not that the foolish and reckless are exposed to it. the text may be corrupt; but ginsburg is content with it. a good reading of it, however, is still wanting. 4 for who is exempted? to all the living there is hope, for a living dog is better than a dead lion; 5 for the living know that they shall die, but the dead know not anything; and there is no more any compensation to them, for the very memory of them is gone: 6 their love, too, no less than their hatred and rivalry, hath perished; and there is no part for them in ought that is done under the sun. * * * * * [sidenote: _nor in pleasure:_ ch. ix., vv. 7-12.] 7 go, then, eat thy bread with gladness, and drink thy wine with a merry heart, since god hath accepted thy works: 8 let thy garments be always white; let no perfume be lacking to thy head: 9 and enjoy thyself with any woman whom thou lovest all the days of thy life which he giveth thee under the sun, all thy fleeting days: for this is thy portion in life, and in the labour which thou labourest under the sun. ver. 9.: "enjoy thyself with _any_ woman." the word here rendered "woman" does not mean "wife." and as the hebrew preacher is here speaking under the mask of the lover of pleasure, this immoral maxim is at least consistent with the part he plays. more than one good critic, however, read "a wife" for "any woman." 10 whatsoever thine hand findeth to do, do it whilst thou art able; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in hades, whither thou goest. 11 then i turned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; nor yet bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favour to the learned; 12 but time and chance happen to all, and that man doth not even know his time: like fish taken in a fatal net, and like birds caught in a snare, so are the sons of men entrapped in the time of their calamity, when it falleth suddenly upon them. * * * * * [sidenote: _nor in devotion to public affairs and its rewards_: ch. ix., v. 13-ch. x. v. 20.] 13 this wisdom also have i seen under the sun, and it seemed great to me- 14 there was a little city, and few men in it, and a great king came against it and besieged it, and threw up a military causeway against it: 15 now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he saved that city by his wisdom; yet no one remembered this same poor man. 16 therefore say i, though wisdom is better than strength, yet the wisdom of the poor is despised, and his words are not listened to: 17 though the quiet words of the wise have much advantage over the vociferations of a fool of fools, and wisdom is better than weapons of war, yet one fool destroyeth much good: [sidenote: x.] 1 as a dead fly maketh sweet ointment to stink, so a little folly overpowereth (much) wisdom and honour. 2 nevertheless the mind of the wise man turns toward his right hand, but the mind of the fool to his left; 3 for so soon as the fool setteth his foot in the street he betrayeth his lack of understanding; yet he saith of every one (he meeteth), "he is a fool!" ver. 3.: _setteth his foot in the street._ literally, "walketh in the road." the sentence seems to be a proverb used to denote the extreme stupidity of the fool who, the very moment he leaves his house, is bewildered, cannot even find his way from one familiar spot to another, and sees his own folly in every face he meets. 4 if the anger of thy ruler be kindled against thee, resent it not: patience will avert a graver wrong. ver. 4.: _resent it not._ literally, "quit not thy place."--see note on chapter viii., ver. 3. 5 there is an evil which i have seen under the sun, an outrage which only a ruler can commit: 6 a great fool is lifted to high place, while the noble sit degraded: 7 i have seen servants upon horses, and masters walking like servants on the ground. ver. 7.: to ride upon a horse is still a mark of distinction in many eastern states. in turkish cities, till of late, no christian was permitted to ride any nobler beast than an ass or a mule: so neither were the jews, in the middle ages, in any christian city. 8 yet he that diggeth a pit shall fall into it; and whoso breaketh down a wall a serpent shall bite him; 9 he who pulleth down stones shall be hurt therewith; and whoso cleaveth logs shall be cut. 10 if the axe be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, he must put on more strength; but wisdom should teach him to sharpen it. ver. 10.: ginsburg renders this difficult and much-disputed passage thus: "if the axe be blunt, and he do not sharpen it beforehand, he shall only increase the army; the advantage of repairing hath wisdom," and explains it as meaning: "if any insulted subject lift a blunt axe against the trunk of despotism, he will only make the tyrant increase his army, and thereby augment his own sufferings; but it is the prerogative of wisdom to repair the mischief which such precipitate folly occasions." i have offered what seems a simpler explanation in the comment on this passage, and have tried to give a simpler, yet not less accurate, rendering in the text. but there are almost as many readings of this difficult verse as there are critics; and it is impossible to do more than make a hesitating choice among them. 11 if the serpent bite because it is not charmed, there is no advantage to the charmer. ver. 11.: _the charmer._ literally, "the master of the tongue." the allusion of the phrase is of course to the subtle cantillations by which the charmer drew, or was thought to draw, serpents from their "lurk," and to render them harmless. 12 the words of the wise man's mouth win him grace; but the lips of a fool swallow him up, 13 for the words of his mouth are folly at the beginning, and end in malignant madness. 14 the fool is full of words, though no man knoweth what shall be, either here or hereafter: and who can tell him? 15 the work of a fool wearieth him, for he cannot even find his way to the city. ver. 15.: _he cannot even find his way to the city_; a proverbial saying. it denotes the fool who has not wit enough even to keep a high road, to walk in the beaten path which leads to a capital city. the thought was evidently familiar to jewish literature; for isaiah (xxxv. 8) speaks of the way of holiness as a highway in which "wayfaring men, _though fools_, shall not err." 16 woe to thee, o land, when thy king is a child, and thy princes feast in the morning! 17 happy art thou, o land, when thy king is noble, and thy princes eat at due hours, for strength and not for revelry! 18 through slothful hands the roof falleth in, and through lazy hands the house lets in the rain. vers. 18, 19.: _and money pays for all; i.e._ the money of the people. the slothful prodigal rulers, under whose mal-administration the whole fabric of the state was fast falling into decay, extorted the means for their profligate revelry from their toil-worn and oppressed subjects. it is significant of the caution induced by the extreme tyranny of the time, that the whole description of its political condition is conveyed in proverbs more enigmatical than usual, and capable of being interpreted in more senses than one. 19 they turn bread, and wine, which cheereth life, into revelry; and money has to pay for all. 20 nevertheless revile not the king even in thy thoughts, nor a prince even in thy bed-chamber, lest the bird of the air carry the report, and the winged tribes tell the story. * * * * * [sidenote: _but in a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the present life_; ch. xi., vv. 1-8.] 1 cast thy bread upon the waters, for in time thou mayest find the good of it; 2 give a portion to seven, and even to eight, for thou knowest not what calamity may come upon the earth. 3 when the clouds are full of rain, they empty it upon the earth; and when the tree falleth, toward south or north, in the place where the tree falleth there will it lie. 4 whoso watcheth the wind shall not sow, and he who observeth the clouds shall not reap; 5 as thou knowest the course of the wind as little as that of the embryo in the womb of the pregnant, so thou knowest not the work of god, who worketh all things. 6 sow, then, thy seed in the morning, and slack not thy hand in the evening, since thou knowest not which shall prosper, this or that, or whether both shall prove good: 7 and the light shall be sweet to thee, and it shall be pleasant to thine eyes to behold the sun: 8 for even if a man should live many years, he ought to rejoice in them all, and to remember that there will be many dark days; yea, that all that cometh is vanity. * * * * * [sidenote: _combined with a stedfast faith in the life to come._ ch. xi., v. 9-ch. xii., v. 7.] 9 rejoice, o young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth; and pursue the ways of thine heart, and that which thine eyes desire; and know that for all these god will bring thee into judgment: 10 banish, therefore, care from thy mind, and put away sadness from thy flesh, for youth and manhood are vanity. [sidenote: xii.] and remember thy creator in the days of thy youth, before the evil days come, and the years approach of which thou shalt say, "i have no pleasure in them;" 2 before the sun groweth dark, and the light, and the moon, and the stars; and the clouds return after the rain: 3 when the keepers of the house shall quake, and the men of power crouch down; when the grinding-maids shall stop because so few are left, and the women who look out of the lattices shall be shrouded in darkness, and the door shall be closed on the street: ver. 3.: _the women who look out of the lattices; i.e._ the luxurious ladies of the harem looking through their windows to see what is going on outside. compare judges v. 28; 2 samuel vi. 16; and 2 kings ix. 30. 4 when the sound of the mills shall cease, and the swallow fly shrieking to and fro, and all the song-birds drop silently into their nests. ver. 4.: _the swallow_, etc. literally, "_the_ bird shall arise for a noise," _i.e._ the bird which flies abroad and makes a noise at the approach of a tempest: viz. the swallow. _all the songbirds._ literally, "all the daughters of song," a hebraism for birds. 5 there shall be terror at that which cometh from the height, and fear shall beset the highway: the almond also shall be rejected, and the locust be loathed, and the caper-berry provoke no appetite; because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners pace up and down the street;- ver. 5.: _from the height, i.e._ from heaven. _the locust be loathed._ it is commonly assumed that the locust was only eaten by the poor; but aristotle (_hist. anim._, v. 30) names them as a delicacy, and ginsburg affirms that they are still considered so by the cultivated and well-to-do arabs. _his long home._ literally, "his _eternal_ home," the domus æterna of the early christian tombs. 6 before the silver cord snappeth asunder, and the golden bowl escapeth; before the pitcher be shattered at the fountain, and the wheel is broken at the well; 7 and the body is cast into the earth from which it came, and the spirit returneth to god who gave it. the epilogue. _in which the problem of the book is conclusively solved._ chap. xii., vv. 8-14. 8 vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity! 9 and not only was the preacher a wise man; he also taught the people wisdom, and compared, collected, and arranged many proverbs. 10 the preacher sought out words of comfort, and wrote down in uprightness words of truth. 11 the words of the wise are like goads, and those of the masters of the assemblies like spikes driven home, given out by the same shepherd. 12 and of what is more than these, my son, beware; for of making of many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness to the flesh. 13 the conclusion of the matter is this;- that god taketh cognisance of all things: fear him, therefore, and keep his commandments, for this it behoveth every man to do, ver. 13.: _god taketh cognisance of all things._ literally, "everything is noted" or "heard," _i.e._ by god the judge. ginsburg conjectures, not without reason, as i think, that the sacred name was omitted from this clause of the verse simply because the author wished to reserve it for the more emphatic clause which follows it. many good scholars, however, read the clause as meaning simply, "the conclusion of the matter, _when all has been heard," i.e._ which even the sages can adduce. 14 since god will bring every deed to the judgment appointed for every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be bad. exposition. the prologue. _in which the problem of the book is indirectly stated._ chap. i., vv. 1-11. the search for the _summum bonum_, the quest of the chief good, is the theme of the book ecclesiastes. naturally we look to find this theme, problem, this "riddle of the painful earth," distinctly stated in the opening verses of the book. it is stated, but not distinctly. for the book is an autobiographical poem, the journal of the preacher's inward life set forth in a dramatic form. "a man of ripe wisdom and mature experience, he takes us into his confidence. he unclasps the secret volume, and invites us to read it with him. he lays before us what he has been, what he has thought and done, what he has seen and felt and suffered; and then he asks us to listen to the judgment which he has deliberately formed on a review of the whole."[24] but that he may the more reservedly lay bare his heart to us, he uses the poet's privilege, and presents himself to us under a mask and wrapped in solomon's ample mantle. and a dramatic poet conveys his conceptions of human character and circumstance and action, not by direct picturesque descriptions, but, placing men before us "in their habit as they lived," he makes them speak to us, and leaves us to infer their character and condition from their words. [24] dean perowne, in _the expositor_, first series, vol. ix. in accordance with the rules of his art, the dramatic preacher brings himself on the stage of his poem, permits us to hear his most penetrating and characteristic utterances, confesses his own most secret and inward experiences, and thus enables us to conceive and to judge him. he is true to his artistic canons from the outset. his prologue, unlike that of the book of job, is cast in the dramatic form. instead of giving us a clear statement of the moral problem he is about to discuss, he opens with the characteristic utterances of the man who, wearied with many futile endeavours, gathers up his remaining strength to recount the experiments he has tried and the conclusion he has reached. like browning, one of the most dramatic of modern poets, he plunges abruptly into his theme, and speaks to us from the first through "feigned lips." just as in reading the _soliloquy of the spanish cloister_, or the _epistle of karshish, the arab physician_, or a score other of browning's poems, we have first to glance through it in order to collect the scattered hints which indicate the speaker and the time, and then laboriously to think ourselves back, by their help, into the time and conditions of the speaker, so also with this hebrew poem. it opens abruptly with "words of the preacher," who is at once the author and the hero of the drama. "who is he," we ask, "and what?" "when did he live, and what place did he fill?" and at present we can only reply, he is the voice of one crying in the wilderness of oriental antiquity, and saying, "vanity of vanities! _all_ is vanity!"[25] for what intent, then, does his voice break the long silence? of what ethical mood is this pathetic note the expression? what prompts his despairing cry? [25] compare horace (od. iv. 7, 9): _pulvis et umbra sumus_. it is the old contrast--old as literature, old as man--between the ordered steadfastness of nature and the disorder and brevity of human life. the preacher gazes on the universe above and around him. the ancient earth is firm and strong beneath his feet. the sun runs his race with joy, sinks exhausted into its ocean bed, but rises on the morrow, like a giant refreshed with old wine, to renew its course. the variable and inconstant wind, which bloweth where it listeth, blows from the same quarters, runs through the very circuit which was its haunt in the time of the world's grey fathers. the streams which ebb and flow, which go and come, run along time-worn beds and are fed from their ancient source. but man, "to one point constant never," shifts from change to change. as compared with the calm uniformity of nature, his life is a mere phantasy, passing for ever through a tedious and limited range of forms, each of which is as unsubstantial as the fabric of a vision, many of which are as base and sordid as they are unreal, and all of which, for ever in a flux, elude the grasp of those who pursue them, or disappoint those who hold them in their hands. "all is vanity; for man has no profit," no adequate and enduring reward, "for all his labour;" literally, "no balance, no surplus, on the balance-sheet of life:" less happy, because less stable, than the earth on which he dwells, he comes and goes, while the earth goes on for ever (vv. 2-4). this painful contrast between the ordered stability of nature and the changeful and profitless disorder of human life is emphasized by a detailed reference to the large natural forces which rule the world, and which abide unchanged, although to us they seem the very types of change. the figure of ver. 5 is, of course, that of the racer. the sun rises every morning to run its course, pursues it through the day, "pants," as one well-nigh breathless, toward its goal, and sinks at night into its subterraneous bed in the sea; but, though exhausted and breathless at night, it rises on the morrow refreshed, and eager, like a strong, swift man, to renew its daily race. in ver. 6 the wind is represented as having a regular law and circuit, though it now blows south, and now veers round to the north. the east and west are not mentioned, probably because they are tacitly referred to in the rising and setting sun of the previous verse: all the four quarters are included between the two. in ver. 7 the streams are described as returning on their sources; but there is no allusion here, as we might suppose, to the tides,--and indeed tidal rivers are comparatively rare,--or to the rain which brings back the water evaporated from the surface of the streams and of the sea. the reference is, rather, to an ancient conception of the physical order of nature held by the hebrew as by other races, according to which the ocean, fed by the streams, sent back a constant supply through subterraneous passages and channels, in which the salt was filtered out of it; through these they supposed the rivers to return to the place whence they came. the ruling sentiment of these verses is that, while all the natural elements and forces, even the most variable and inconstant, renew their strength and return upon their course, for frail man there is no return; permanence and uniformity characterise _them_, while transitoriness and instability mark _him_ for their own. they seem to vanish and disappear; the sun sinks, the winds lull, the streams run dry; but they all come back again: for him there is no coming back; once gone, he is gone for ever. but it is vain to talk of these or other instances of the weary yet restless activity of the universe; "man cannot utter it." for, besides these elemental illustrations, the world is crowded with illustrations of incessant change, which yet move within narrow bounds and do nothing to relieve its sameliness. so numerous are they, so innumerable, that the curious eye and inquisitive ear of man would be worn out before they had completed the tale of them: and if eye and ear could never be satisfied with hearing and seeing, how much less the slower tongue with speaking (ver. 8)? all through the universe what hath been still is and will be; what was done is done still and always will be done; the sun still running the same race, the winds still blowing from the same points, the streams still flowing between the same banks and returning by the same channels. if any man suppose that he has discovered new phenomena, any natural fact which has not been repeating itself from the beginning, it is only because he is ignorant of that which has been from of old (vv. 9, 10).[26] yet, while in nature all things return on their course and abide for ever, man's day is soon spent, his force soon exhausted. _he_ does not return; nay, he is not so much as remembered by those who come after him. just as we have forgotten those who were before us, so those who live after us will forget us (ver. 11). the burden of all this unintelligible world lies heavily on the preacher's soul. he is weary of the world's "everlasting sameness." the miseries and confusions of the human lot baffle and oppress his thoughts. above all, the contrast between nature and man, between its massive and stately permanence and the frailty and brevity of our existence, breeds in him the despairing mood of which we have the keynote in his cry, "vanity of vanities, vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" [26] so marcus aurelius (_meditt._, xi. 1): "they that come after us will see nothing new; and they who went before saw nothing more than we have seen." yet this is not the only, not the inevitable, mood of the mind as it ponders that great contrast. _we_ have learned to look upon it with other, perhaps with wider, eyes. we say, how grand, how soothing, how hopeful is the spectacle of nature's uniformity! how it lifts us above the fluctuations of inward thought, and gladdens us with a sense of stability and repose! as we see the ancient inviolable laws working out into the same gracious and beautiful results day after day and year by year, and reflect that "what has been will be," we are redeemed from our bondage to vanity and corruption; we look up with composed and reverent trust to him who is our god and father, and onward to the stable and glorious immortality we are to spend with him; we argue with habakkuk (chap. i. ver. 12), "art not _thou_ from everlasting, o lord our god, our holy one? _we_ shall not die," but live. but if we did not know the ruler of the universe to be our god and father; if our thoughts had still to "jump the life to come" or to leap at it with a mere guess; if we had to cross the gulf of death on no more solid bridge than a peradventure; if, in short, our life were infinitely more troubled and uncertain than it is, and the true good of life and its bright sustaining hope were still to seek, how would it be with us then? then, like the preacher, we might feel the steadfastness and uniformity of nature as an affront to our vanity and weakness. in place of drinking in hope and composure from the fair visage and unbroken order of the universe, we might deem its face to be darkened with a frown or its eye to be glancing on us with bitter irony. instead of finding in its inevitable order and permanence a hopeful prophecy of _our_ recovery into an unbroken order and an enduring peace, we might passionately demand why, on an abiding earth and under an unchanging heaven, we should die and be forgotten; why, more inconstant than the variable wind, more evanescent than the parching stream, one generation should go never to return, and another generation come to enjoy the gains of those who were before them, and to blot their memory from the earth. this, indeed, _has_ been the impassioned protest and outcry of every age. literature is full of it. the contrast between the tranquil unchanging sky, with its myriads of pure lustrous stars, which are always there and always in a happy concert, and the frailty of man rushing blindly through his brief and perturbed course has lent its ground-tones to the poetry of every race. we meet it everywhere. it is the oldest of old songs. in all the many languages of the divided earth we hear how the generations of men pass swifty and stormfully across its bosom, "searching the serene heavens with the inquest of their beseeching looks," but winning no response; asking always, and always in vain, "why are we thus? why are we thus? frail as the moth, and of few days like the flower?" it is this contrast between the serenity and the stability of nature and the frailty and turbulence of man which afflicts coheleth and drives him to conclusions of despair. here is man, "so noble in reason, so infinite in faculty, in apprehension so like a god," longing with an ardent intensity for the peace which results from the equipoise and happy occupation of his various powers; and yet his whole life is wasted in labours and tumults, in perplexity and strife; he goes to his grave with his cravings unsatisfied, his powers untrained, unharmonised, knowing no rest till he lies in the narrow bed from which is no uprising! what wonder if to such an one as he "this goodly frame, the earth, seems but a sterile promontory" stretching out a little space into the dark, infinite void; "this most excellent canopy, the air ... this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire," nothing but "a foul, pestilential congregation of vapours"? what wonder if, for him, the very beauty of nature should turn into a repulsive hideousness, and its steadfast, unchanging order be held a satire on the disorder and vanity of his life? solomon, moreover,--and solomon in his premature old age, sated and weary, is the mask under which the preacher conceals his natural face,--had had a large experience of life, had tried its ambitions, its lusts, its pursuits and pleasures; he had tested every promise of good which it held forth, and found them all illusory; he had drunk of every stream, and found no pure living water with which he could slake his thirst. and men such as he, sated but not satisfied, jaded with voluptuous delights and without the peace of faith, commonly look out on the world with haggard eyes. they feed their despair on the natural order and purity which they feel to be a rebuke to the impurity of their own restless and perturbed hearts. many of us have, no doubt, stood on richmond hill, and looked with softening eyes on the rich pastures dotted with cattle, and broken with clumps of trees through which shoot up village spires, while the full, placid thames winds in many a curve through pasture and wood. it is not a grand or romantic scene; but on a quiet evening, in the long level rays of the setting sun, it is a scene to inspire content and thankful, peaceful thoughts. wilberforce tells us that he once stood in the balcony of a villa looking down on this scene. beside him stood the owner of the villa, a duke notorious for his profligacy in a profligate age; and as they looked across the stream, the duke cried out, "o that river! there it runs, on and on, and i so weary of it!" and _there_ you have the very mood of this prologue; the mood for which the fair, smiling heavens and the gracious, bountiful earth carry no benediction of peace, because they are reflected from a heart all tossed into crossing and impure waves. all things depend on the heart we bring to them. this very contrast between nature and man has no despair in it, breeds no dispeace or anger in the heart at leisure from itself and at peace with god. tennyson, for instance, makes a merry musical brook sing to us on this very theme. "i come from haunts of coot and hern, i make a sudden sally and sparkle out among the fern, to bicker down a valley. "i chatter over stony ways in little sharps and trebles, i bubble into eddying bays, i babble on the pebbles. "i chatter, chatter as i flow to join the brimming river; _for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever_. "i steal by lawns and grassy plots, i slide by hazel covers; i move the sweet forget-me-nots that grow for happy lovers. "i slip, i slide, i gloom, i glance among my skimming swallows; i make the netted sunbeams dance against my sanded shallows. "i murmur under moon and stars in brambly wildernesses; i linger by my shingly bars; i loiter round my cresses. "and out again i curve and flow to join the brimming river; _for men may come and men may go but i go on for ever_." it is the very plaint of the preacher set to sweet music. he murmurs, "one generation passeth, and another generation cometh, but the earth abideth for ever;" while the refrain of the brook is,- "for men may come and men may go, but i go on for ever." yet we do not feel that the song of the brook should feed any mood of grief and despair. the tune that it sings to the sleeping woods all night is "a cheerful tune." by some subtle process we are made to share us bright, tender hilarity, though we too are of the men that come and go. into what a fume would the hebrew preacher have been thrown had any little "babbling brook" dared to sing this saucy song _to him_. he would have felt it as an insult, and have assumed that the merry, innocent creature was "crowing" over the swiftly passing generations of men. but, for the christian poet, the brook sings a song whose blithe dulcet strain attunes the heart to the quiet harmonies of peace and good-will. again i say all depends on the heart we turn to nature. it was because his heart was heavy with the memory of many sins and many failures, because too the lofty christian hopes were beyond his reach, that this "son of david" grew mournful and bitter in her presence. this, then, is the mood in which the preacher commences his quest of the chief good. he is driven to it by the need of finding that in which he can rest. as a rule, it is only on the most stringent compulsions that we any of us undertake this high quest. of their profound need of a chief good most men are but seldom and faintly conscious; but to the favoured few, who are to lead and mould the public thought, it comes with a force they cannot resist. it was thus with coheleth. he could not endure to think that those who have "all things put under their feet" should lie at the mercy of accidents from which their realm is exempt; that _they_ should be the mere fools of change, while _that_ abides unchanged for ever. and, therefore, he set out to discover the conditions on which they might become partakers of the order and stability and peace of nature; the conditions on which, raised above all the tides and storms of change, they might sit calm and serene even though the heavens should be folded as a scroll and the earth be shaken from its foundations. this, and only this, will he recognise as the chief good, the good appropriate to the nature of man, because capable of satisfying all his cravings and supplying all his wants. first section. _the quest of the chief good in wisdom and in pleasure._ chap. i., ver. 12, to chap. ii., ver. 26. oppressed by his profound sense of the vanity of the life which man lives amid the play of permanent natural forces, coheleth sets out on the search for that true and supreme good which it will be well for the sons of men to pursue through their brief day; the good which will sustain them under all their toils, and be "a portion" so large and enduring as to satisfy even their vast desires. [sidenote: _the quest in wisdom._ ch. i., vv. 12-18.] 1. and, as was natural in so wise a man, he turns first to _wisdom_. he gives himself diligently to inquire into all the actions and toils of men. he will ascertain whether a larger acquaintance with their conditions, a deeper insight into the facts, a more just and complete estimate of their lot, will remove the depression which weighs upon his heart. he devotes himself earnestly to this quest, and acquires a "greater wisdom than all who were before him." this wisdom, however, is not a scientific knowledge of facts or of social and political laws, nor is it the result of philosophical speculations on "the first good or the first fair," or on the nature and constitution of man. it is the wisdom that is born of wide and varied experience, not of abstract study. he acquaints himself with the facts of human life, with the circumstances, thoughts, feelings, hopes, and aims of all sorts and conditions of men. he is fain to know "all that men do under the sun," "all that is done under heaven." like the arabian caliph, "the good haroun alraschid," we may suppose that coheleth goes forth in disguise to visit all quarters of the city; to talk with barbers, druggists, calenders, porters, with merchants and mariners, husbandmen and tradesmen, mechanics and artizans; to try conclusions with travellers and with the blunt wits of home-keeping men. he will look with his own eyes and learn for himself what their lives are like, how they conceive of the human lot, and what, if any, are the mysteries which sadden and perplex them. he will ascertain whether _they_ have any key that will unlock his perplexities, any wisdom that will solve his problems or help him to bear his burden with a more cheerful heart. because his depression was fed by every fresh contemplation of the order of the universe, he turns from nature to "the proper study of mankind." but this also he finds a heavy and disappointing task. after a wide and dispassionate scrutiny, when he has "seen _much_ wisdom and knowledge," he concludes that man has no fair reward "for all his labour that he laboureth under the sun," that no wisdom avails to set straight that which is crooked in human affairs, or to supply that which is lacking in them. the sense of vanity bred by his contemplation of the stedfast round of nature only grows more profound and more painful as he reflects on the numberless and manifold disorders which afflict humanity. and hence, before he ventures on a new experiment, he makes a pathetic appeal to the heart which he had so earnestly applied to the search, and in which he had stored up so large and various a knowledge, and confesses that "even this is vexation of spirit," that "in much wisdom is much sadness," and that "to multiply knowledge is to multiply sorrow." and whether we consider the nature of the case or the conditions of the time in which this book was written, we shall not be surprised at the mournful conclusion to which he comes. for the time was full of cruel oppressions and wrongs. life was insecure. to acquire property was to court extortion. the hebrews, and even the conquering race which ruled them, were slaves to the caprice of satraps and magistrates whose days were wasted in revelry and in the unbridled indulgence of their lusts. and to go among the various conditions of men groaning under a despotism like that of the turk, whose foot strikes with barrenness every spot on which it treads; to see all the fair rewards of honest toil withheld, the noble degraded and the foolish exalted, the righteous trodden down by the feet of the wicked; all this was not likely to quicken cheerful thoughts in a wise man's heart: instead of solving, it could but complicate and darken the problems over which he was already brooding in despair. and, apart from the special wrongs and oppressions of the time, it is inevitable that the thoughtful student of men and manners should become a sadder as he becomes a wiser man. to multiply knowledge, at least of this kind, _is_ to multiply sorrow. we need not be cynics and leave our tub only to reflect on the dishonesty of our neighbours, we need only go through the world with open and observant eyes in order to learn that "in much wisdom is much sadness." recall the wisest of modern times, those who have had the most intimate acquaintance with man and men, goethe and carlyle for example; are they not all touched with a profound sadness?[27] do they not look with some scorn on the common life of the mass of men, with its base passions and pleasures, struggles and rewards? and, in proportion as they have the spirit of christ, is not their very scorn kindly, springing from a pity which lies deeper than itself? did not even the master himself, though full of ruth and grace, share their feeling as he saw publicans growing rich by extortion, hypocrites mounting to moses' chair, subtle, cruel foxes couched on thrones, scribes hiding the key of knowledge, and the blind multitude following their blind leaders into the ditch? [27] père lacordaire has a fine passage on this theme. "weak and little minds find here below a nourishment which suffices for their intellect and satisfies their love. they do not discover the emptiness of visible things because they are incapable of sounding them to the bottom. but a soul which god has drawn nearer to the infinite very soon feels the narrow limits within which it is pent; it experiences moments of inexpressible sadness, the cause of which for a long time remains a mystery; it even seems as though some strange concurrence of events must have chanced in order thus to disturb its life; and all the while the trouble comes from a higher source. in reading the lives of the saints, we find that nearly all of them have felt that sweet melancholy of which the ancients said _that there was no genius without it_. in fact, melancholy is inseparable from every mind that looks below the surface and every heart that feels profoundly. not that we should take complacency in it, for it is a malady that enervates when we do not shake it off; and it has but two remedies--_death or god_." elsewhere, still quite in the spirit of the preacher, he says: "every day i feel more and more that all is vanity. _i cannot leave my heart in this heap of mud._" nay, if we look out on the world of to-day, can we say that even the majority of men are wise and pure? is it always the swift who win the race, and the strong who carry off the honours of the battle? do none of our "intelligent lack bread," nor any of the learned favour? are there no fools lifted to high places to show with how little wisdom the world is governed, and no brave and noble breasts dinted by the blows of hostile circumstances or wounded by "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune"? are all our workmen diligent and all our masters fair? are no false measures and balances known in our markets, and no frauds on our exchanges? are none of our homes dungeons, with fathers and husbands for jailors? do we never hear, as we stand without, the sound of cruel blows and the shrieks of tortured captives? are there no hypocrites in our churches "that with devotion's visage sugar o'er" a corrupt heart? and do the best men always gain the highest place and honour? are there none in our midst who have to bear- "the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, the pangs of despised love, the laws delay. the insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes"? alas, if we think to find the true good in a wide and varied knowledge of the conditions of men, their hopes and fears, their struggles and successes, their loves and hates, their rights and wrongs, their pleasures and their pains, we shall but share the defeat of the preacher, and repeat his bitter cry, "vanity of vanities, vanity of vanities, all is vanity!" for, as he himself implies at the very outset (ver. 13), "this sore task," this eternal quest of a wisdom which will solve the problems and remove the inequalities of human life, is god's _gift_ to the children of men,--this search for a solution they never reach. age after age, unwarned by the failure of those who took this road before them, they renew the hopeless quest. [sidenote: _the quest in pleasure._ ch. ii., vv. 1-11.] 2. but if we cannot reach the object of our quest in wisdom, we may, perchance, find it in pleasure. this experiment also the preacher has tried, tried on the largest scale and under the most auspicious conditions. wisdom failing to satisfy the large desires of his soul, or even to lift it from its depression, he turns to mirth.[28] once more, as he forthwith announces, he is disappointed in the result. he pronounces mirth a brief madness; in itself, like wisdom, a good, it is not the chief good; to make it supreme is to rob it of its natural charm. [28] so goethe's _faust_, after having failed to solve the insoluble problems of life by study and research, "plunges deep in pleasure," that he "may thus still the burning thirst of passionate desire." not content with this general verdict, however, he recounts the details of his experiment, that he may deter us from repeating it. speaking in the person of solomon and utilising the facts of _his_ experience, coheleth claims to have started in the quest with the greatest advantages; for "what can he do who cometh after the king whom they made king long ago?" he surrounded himself with all the luxuries of an oriental prince, not out of any vulgar love of show and ostentation, nor out of any strong sensual addictions, but that he might discover wherein the secret and fascination of pleasure lay, and what it could do for a man who pursued it wisely. he built himself new, costly palaces, as the sultan of turkey used to do almost every year. he laid out paradises, planted them with vines and fruit-trees of every sort, and large shady groves to screen off and attemper the heat of the sun.[29] he dug great tanks and reservoirs of water, and cut channels which carried the cool vital stream through the gardens and to the roots of the trees. he bought men and maids, and surrounded himself with the retinue of servants and slaves requisite to keep his palaces and paradises in order, to serve his sumptuous tables, to swell his pomp: _i.e._ he gathered together such a train of ministers, attendants, domestics, indoor and outdoor slaves, as is still thought necessary to the dignity of an oriental "lord." his herds of flocks, a main source of oriental wealth, were of finer strain and larger in number than had been known before. he amassed enormous treasures of silver and gold, the common oriental hoard. he collected the peculiar treasures "of kings and of the kingdoms;" whatever special commodity was yielded by any foreign land was caught up for his use by his officers or presented to him by his allies.[30] he hired famous musicians and singers, and gave himself to those delights of harmony which have had a peculiar charm for the hebrews of all ages. he crowded his harem with the beauties both of his own and of foreign lands. he withheld nothing from them that his eyes desired, and kept not his heart from any pleasure. he set himself seriously and intelligently to make happiness his portion; and, while cherishing or cheering his body with pleasures, he did not rush into them with the blind eagerness "whose violent property foredoes itself" and defeats its own ends. his "mind guided him wisely" amid his delights; his "wisdom helped him" to select, and combine, and vary them, to enhance and prolong their sweetness by a certain art and temperance in me enjoyment of them. [29] "one such pleasaunce as this there was at etam, solomon's belvedere, as josephus informs us (_antiq._, viii. 7, 3). thither it was the custom of the king, he says, to resort when he made his morning excursions from the city, clad in a white garment, and driving his chariot, surrounded by his body-guard of young men in the flower of their age, clad in tyrian purple, and with gold dust strewed upon their hair, so that their whole head sparkled when the sun shone upon it, and mounted upon horses from the royal stables, famed for their beauty and fleetness."--dr. perowne, _the expositor_, first series, vol. x. [30] in speaking of the persian revenue, rawlinson says that besides a definite money payment, "a payment, the nature and amount of which were also fixed, had to be made in kind, each province being required to furnish that commodity, or those commodities, for which it was most celebrated,"--as, for example, grain, sheep, cattle, mules, fine breeds of horses, beautiful slaves. _the five great monarchies_, vol. iv., chap. vii., p. 421. "he built his soul a lordly pleasure-house, wherein at ease for aye to dwell; he said, 'oh soul, make merry and carouse, dear soul, for all is well!'" alas, all was _not_ well, though he took much pains to make and think it well. even his choice delights soon palled upon his taste, and brought on conclusions of disgust. even in his lordly pleasure-house he was haunted by the grim, menacing spectres which troubled him before it was built. in the harem, in the paradise he had planted, under the groves, beside the fountains, at the sumptuous banquet,--a bursting bubble, a falling leaf, an empty wine cup, a passing blush, sufficed to bring back the thought of the brevity and the emptiness of life. when he had run the full career of pleasure, and turned to contemplate his delights and the labour they had cost him, he found that these also were vanity and vexation of spirit, that there was no "profit" in them, that they could not satisfy the deep, incessant craving of the soul for a true and lasting good. is not his sad verdict as true as it is sad? we have not his wealth of resources. nevertheless there may have been a time when our hearts were as intent on pleasure as was his. we may have pursued whatever sensuous, intellectual, or aesthetic excitements were open to us with a growing eagerness till we have lived in a whirl of craving and stimulating desire and indulgence, in which the claims of duty have been neglected and the rebukes of conscience unheeded. and if we _have_ passed through this experience, if we have been carried for a time into this giddying round, have we not come out of it jaded, exhausted, despising ourselves for our folly, disgusted with what once seemed the very top and crown of delight? do we not mourn, our after life through, over energies wasted and opportunities lost? are we not sadder, if wiser, men for our brief frenzy? as we return to the sober duties and simple joys of life, do not _we_ say to mirth, "thou art mad!" and to pleasure, "what canst thou do for us?" yes, our verdict is that of the preacher, "lo, this too is vanity!" _non enim hilaritate, nec lascivia, nec visu, aut joco, comite levitatis, sed sæpe etiam tristes firmitate, et constantia sunt beati._[31] [31] cicero, _de fin._, lib. ii., cap. 20. [sidenote: _wisdom and mirth compared._ ch. ii., vv. 12-23.] it is characteristic of the philosophic temper of our author, i think, that, after pronouncing wisdom and mirth vanities in which the true good is not to be found, he does not at once proceed to try a new experiment, but pauses to compare these two "vanities," and to reason out his preference of one over the other. _his_ vanity is wisdom. for it is only in one respect that he puts mirth and wisdom on an equality, viz. that they neither of them are, or lead up to, the supreme good. in all other respects he affirms wisdom to be as much better than pleasure as light is better than darkness, as much better as it is to have eyes that see the light than to be blind and walk in a constant gloom (vv. 12-14). it is because wisdom is a light and enables men to see that he accords it his preference. it is by the light of wisdom that he has learned the vanity of mirth, nay, the insufficiency of wisdom itself. but for that light he might still be pursuing pleasures which could not satisfy, or laboriously acquiring a knowledge which would only deepen his sadness. wisdom had opened his eyes to see that he must seek the good which gives rest and peace in other regions. he no longer goes on his quest in utter blindness, with all the world before him where to choose, but with no indication of the course he should, or should not, take. he has already learned that two large provinces of human life will not yield him what he seeks, that he must expend no more of his brief day and failing energies on these. therefore wisdom is better than mirth. nevertheless it is not best, nor can it remove the dejections of a thoughtful heart. somewhere there is, there must be, that which is better still. for wisdom cannot explain to him why the same fate should befall both the sage and the fool (ver. 15), nor can it abate the anger that burns within him against an injustice so obvious and flagrant. wisdom cannot even explain why, even if the sage must die no less than the fool, both must be forgotten wellnigh as soon as they are gone (vv. 16, 17); nor can it soften the hatred of life and its labours which this lesser yet patent injustice has kindled in his heart. nay, wisdom, for all so brightly as it shines, throws no light on an injustice which, if of lower degree, frets and perplexes his mind,--why a man who has laboured prudently and dexterously and has acquired great gains should, when he dies, leave all to one who has not laboured therein, without even the poor consolation of knowing whether he will be a wise man or an idiot (vv. 19-21). in short, the whole skein of life is in a dismal tangle which wisdom itself, dearly as he loves it, cannot unravel; and the tangle is that man has no fair "profit" from his labours, "since his task grieveth and vexeth him all his days, and even at night his heart hath no rest;" and when he dies he loses all his gains, such as they are, for ever, and cannot so much as be sure that his heir will be any the better for them. "this also is vanity" (vv. 22, 23). * * * * * [sidenote: _the conclusion._ ch. ii. vv. 24-26.] and yet, good things are surely good, and there is a wise and gracious enjoyment of earthly delights. it is right that a man should eat and drink, and take a natural pleasure in his toils and gains. who, indeed, has a stronger claim than the labourer himself to eat and enjoy the fruit of his labours? still, even this natural enjoyment is the gift of god; apart from his blessing the heaviest toils will produce but a scanty harvest, and the faculty of enjoying that harvest may be lacking. it _is_ lacking to the sinner; _his_ task is to heap up gains which the good will inherit. but he that is good before god will have the gains of the sinner added to his own, with wisdom to enjoy both.[32] this, whatever appearances may sometimes suggest, is the law of god's giving: that the good shall have abundance, while the bad lack; that more shall be given to him who has wisdom to use what he has aright, while from him who is destitute of this wisdom, even that which he hath shall be taken away. nevertheless even this wise use and enjoyment of temporal good does not and cannot satisfy the craving heart of man; even this, when it is made the ruling aim and chief good of life, is vexation of spirit. [32] this affirmation, so surprising at first sight, is also made by job (chap. xxvii., vv. 15, 16), "this is the doom of the wicked man from god.... though he heap up silver like dust, and gather robes as mire, that which he hath gathered shall the righteous wear, and the innocent shall divide his silver." * * * * * thus the first act of the drama closes with a negative. the moral problem is as far from being solved as at the outset. all we have learned is that one or two avenues along which we urge the quest will not lead us to the end we seek. as yet the preacher has only the _ad interim_ conclusion to offer us, that both wisdom and mirth are good, though neither, nor both combined, is the supreme good; that we are therefore to acquire wisdom and knowledge, and to blend pleasure with our toils; that we are to believe pleasure and wisdom to be the gifts of god, to believe also that they are bestowed, not in caprice, but according to a law which deals out good to the good and evil to the evil. we shall have other opportunities of weighing and appraising his counsel--it is often repeated--and of seeing how it works into and forms part of coheleth's final solution of the painful riddle of the earth, the baffling mystery of life. second section. _the quest of the chief good in devotion to the affairs of business._ chap. iii., ver. 1, to chap. v., ver. 20. i. if the true good is not to be found in the school where wisdom utters her voice, nor in the garden in which pleasure spreads her lures: may it not be found in the market, in devotion to business and public affairs? the preacher will try this experiment also. he gives himself to study and consider it. but at the very outset he discovers that he is in the iron grip of immutable divine ordinances, by which "seasons" are appointed for every undertaking under heaven (ver. 1), ordinances which derange man's best-laid schemes, and "shape his ends, rough-hew them how he will," that no one can do anything to purpose "apart from god," except by conforming to the ordinances, or laws, in which he has expressed his will (comp. chap, ii., vv. 24-26). [sidenote: _the quest obstructed by divine ordinances_; ch. iii., vv. 1-15.] the time of birth, for instance, and the time of death, are ordained by a power over which men have no control; they begin to be, and they cease to be, at hours whose stroke they can neither hasten nor retard. the season for sowing and the season for reaping are fixed without any reference to their wish; they must plant and gather in when the unchangeable laws of nature will permit (ver. 2). even those violent deaths, and those narrow escapes from death, which seem most purely fortuitous, are predetermined; as are also the accidents which befall our abodes (ver. 3). so, again, if only because determined by these accidents, are the feelings with which we regard them, our weeping and our laughter, our mourning and our rejoicing (ver. 4). if we only clear a plot of ground from stones in order that we may cultivate it, or that we may fence it in with a wall; or if an enemy cast stones over our arable land to unfit it for uses of husbandry--a malignant act frequent in the east--and we have painfully to gather them out again: even this, which seems so purely within the scope of human free-will, is also within the scope of the divine decrees--as are the very embraces we bestow on those dear to us, or withhold from them (ver. 5). the varying and unstable desires which prompt us to seek this object or that as earnestly as we afterwards carelessly cast it away, and the passions which impel us to rend our garments over our losses, and by-and-bye to sew up the rents not without some little wonder that we should ever have been so deeply moved by that which now sits so lightly on us; these passions and desires, which at one time strike us dumb with grief and so soon after make us voluble with joy, with all our fleeting and easily-moved hates and loves, strifes and reconciliations, move within the circle of law, although they wear so lawless a look, and are obsequious to the fixed canons of heaven (vv. 6-8). they travel their cycles; they return in their appointed order. the uniformity of nature is reproduced in the uniform recurrence of the chances and changes of human life; for in this, as in that, god repeats himself, recalling the past (ver. 15). the thing that is is that which hath been, and that which will be. social laws are as constant and as inflexible as natural laws. the social generalisations of modern science--as given, for instance, in buckle's _history_--are but a methodical elaboration of the conclusion at which the preacher here arrives. of what use, then, was it for men to "kick against the goads," to attempt to modify immutable ordinances? "whatever god hath ordained continueth for ever; nothing can be added to it, and nothing can be taken from it" (ver. 14). nay, why should we care to alter or modify the social order? everything is beautiful and appropriate in its season, from birth to death, from war to peace (ver. 11). if we cannot find the satisfying good in the events and affairs of life, that is not because we could devise a happier order for them, but because "god hath put _eternity_ into our hearts" as well as time, and did not intend that we should be satisfied till we attain an eternal good. if only we "understood" that, if only we recognised gods design for us "from beginning to end," and suffered eternity no less than time to have its due of us, we should not fret ourselves in vain endeavours to change the unchangeable, or to find an enduring good in that which is fugitive and perishable. we should rejoice and do ourselves good all our brief life (ver. 12); we should eat and drink and take pleasure in our labours (ver. 13); we should feel that this faculty for innocently enjoying simple pleasures and wholesome toils is "a gift of god:" we should conclude that god had ordained that regular cycle and order of events which so often forestalls the wish and endeavour of the moment, in order that we should fear him in place of relying on ourselves (ver. 14), and trust our future to him who so wisely and graciously recalls the past. * * * * * [sidenote: _and by human injustice and perversity._ ch. iii., v. 16.-ch. iv., v. 3.] but not only are our endeavours to find the "good" of our labours thwarted by the gracious, inflexible laws of the just god; they are often baffled by the injustice of ungracious men. in the days of coheleth, iniquity sat in the seat of justice, wresting all rules of equity to its base private ends (ver. 16). unjust judges and rapacious satraps put the fair rewards of labour and skill and integrity in jeopardy, insomuch that if a man by industry and thrift, by a wise observance of divine laws and by taking occasions as they rose, had acquired affluence, he was too often, in the expressive eastern phrase, but as a sponge which any petty despot might squeeze. the frightful oppressions of the time were a heavy burden to the hebrew preacher. he brooded over them, seeking for aids to faith and comfortable words wherewith to solace the oppressed. for a moment he thought he had lit on the true comfort, "well, well," he said within himself, "_god_ will judge the righteous and the wicked; for there is a time for everything and for every deed with him" (ver. 17). could he have rested in this thought, it would have been "a sovereign balm" to him, or indeed to any other hebrew; although to us, who have learned to desire the redemption rather than the punishment of the wicked, their redemption _through_ their inevitable punishments, the true comfort would still have been wanting. but he could not rest in it, could not hold it fast, and confesses that he could not. he lays his heart bare before us. we are permitted to trace the fluctuating thoughts and emotions which swept across it. no sooner has he whispered to his heart that god, who is at leisure from himself and has endless time at his command, will visit the oppressors and avenge the oppressed, than his thoughts take a new turn, and he adds: "and yet god _may_ have sifted the children of men only to shew them that they are no better than the beasts" (ver. 18): _this_ may be his aim in all the wrongs by which they are tried. repugnant as the thought is, it nevertheless fascinates him for the instant, and he yields to its wasting and degrading magic. he not only fears, suspects, thinks that man is no better than a beast; he is quite sure of it, and proceeds to argue it out. his argument is very sweeping, very sombre. "a mere chance is man, and the beast a mere chance." both spring from a mere accident, no one can tell how, and have a blind hazard for a creator; and "both are subject to the same chance," or mischance, throughout their lives, all the decisions of their intelligence and will being overruled by the decrees of an inscrutable fate. both perish under the same power of death, suffer the same pangs of dissolution, are taken at unawares by the same invisible yet resistless force. the bodies of both spring from the same dust, and moulder back into dust. nay, "both have the same spirit;" and though vain man sometimes boasts that at death his spirit goeth upward, while that of the beast goeth downward, yet who can prove it? for himself, and in his present mood, coheleth doubts, and even denies it. he is absolutely convinced that in origin and life and death, in body and spirit and final fate, man is as the beast is, and hath no advantage over the beast (vv. 19-21). and therefore he falls back on his old conclusion, though now with a sadder heart than ever, that man will do wisely, that, being so blind and having so dark a prospect, he cannot do more wisely than to take what pleasure and enjoy what good he can amid his labours. _if_ he is a beast, _as_ he is a beast, let him at least learn of the beasts that simple, tranquil enjoyment of the good of the passing moment, untroubled by any vexing presage of what is to come, in which it must be allowed that they are greater proficients than he (ver. 22). thus, after rising in the first fifteen verses of this third chapter, to an almost christian height of patience, and resignation, and holy trust in the providence of god, coheleth is smitten by the injustice and oppressions of man into the depths of a pessimistic materialism. * * * * * but now a new question arises. the preacher's survey of human life has shaken his faith even in the conclusion which he has announced from the first, viz., that there is nothing better for a man than a quiet content, a busy cheerfulness, a tranquil enjoyment of the fruit of his toils. _this_ at least he has supposed to be possible: but is it? all the activities, industries, tranquillities of life are jeopardised, now by the inflexible ordinances of heaven, and again by the capricious tyranny of man. to this tyranny his fellow-countrymen are now exposed. they groan under its heaviest oppressions. as he turns and once more reflects (chap. iv., ver. 1) on their unalleviated and unfriended misery, he doubts whether content, or even resignation, can be expected of them. with a tender sympathy that lingers on the details of their unhappy lot, and deepens into a passionate and despairing melancholy, he witnesses their sufferings and "counts the tears" of the oppressed. with the emphasis of a hebrew and an oriental, he marks and emphasises the fact that "they had no comforter," that though "their oppressors were violent, yet they had no comforter." for throughout the east, and among the jews to this day, the manifestation of sympathy with those who suffer is far more common and ceremonious than it is with us. neighbours and acquaintances are expected to pay long visits of condolence; friends and kinsfolk will travel long distances to pay them. their respective places and duties in the house of mourning, their dress, words, bearing, precedence, are regulated by an ancient and elaborate etiquette. and, strange as it may seem to us, these visits are regarded not only as gratifying tokens of respect to the dead, but as a singular relief and comfort to the living. to the preacher and his fellow-captives, therefore, it would be a bitter aggravation of their grief that, while suffering under the most cruel oppressions of misfortune, they were compelled to forego the solace of these customary tokens of respect and sympathy. as he pondered their sad and unfriended condition, coheleth--like job, when his comforters failed him--is moved to curse his day. the dead, he affirms, are happier than the living,[33]--even the dead who died so long ago that the fate most dreaded in the east had befallen them, and the very memory of them had perished from the earth: while happier than either the dead, who have had to suffer in their time, or than the living, whose doom had still to be borne, were those who had never seen the light, never been born into a world all disordered and out of course (vv. 2, 3).[34] [33] xerxes, in his invasion of greece, conceived the wish "to look upon all his host." a throne was erected for him on a hill near abydos, sitting on which he looked down and saw the hellespont covered with his ships, and the vast plain swarming with his troops. as he looked, he wept; and when his uncle artabanus asked him the cause of his tears, he replied: "there came upon me a sudden pity when i thought of the shortness of man's life, and considered that of all this host, so numerous as it is, not one will be alive when a hundred years are gone by." this is one of the most striking and best known incidents in the life of the persian despot; but the rejoinder of artabanus, though in a far higher strain, is less generally known. i quote it here as an illustration of the preacher's mood. said artabanus: "and yet there are sadder things in life than that. short as our time is, there is no man, whether it be here among this multitude or elsewhere, who is so happy as not to have felt the wish--i will not say once, but full many a time--that he were dead rather than alive. calamities fall on us, sicknesses vex and harass us, and make life, short though it be, to appear long. _so death, through the wretchedness of our life, is a most sweet refuge to our race._"--_herodotus_, book vii., c. 46. [34] so in sophocles (_oed. col._, 1225) we read--i quote from dean plumptre's translation: "never to be at all excels all fame; quickly, next best, to pass from whence we came." [sidenote: _it is rendered hopeless by the base origin of human industries._ ch. iv., vv. 4-8.] this stinging sense of the miserable estate of his race has, however, diverted the preacher from the conduct of the main argument he had in hand: to that he now returns (ver. 4). and now he argues: you cannot hope get good fruit from a bad root. but the several industries in which you are tempted to seek "the chief good and market of your time" have a most base and evil origin; they "spring from man's jealous rivalry with his neighbour." every man tries to outdo and to outsell his neighbours; to secure a larger business, to surround himself with a more profuse luxury, or to amass an ampler hoard of gold. this business life of yours is utterly selfish, and therefore utterly base. you are not content with a sufficient provision for simple wants. you do not seek your neighbour's good. you have no noble or patriotic aim. your ruling intention is to enrich yourselves at the expense of neighbours who, in their turn, are _your_ rivals rather than your neighbours, and who try to get the better of you just as you try to get the better of them. can you hope to find the true good in a life whose aims are so sordid, whose motives so selfish? the very sluggard who folds his hands in indolence so long as he has bread to eat is a wiser man than you; for he has at least his "handful of quiet," and knows some little enjoyment of life; while you, driven on by jealous competition and the eager cravings of insatiable desire, have neither leisure nor appetite for enjoyment: both your hands are full, indeed, but there is no quiet in them, only labour, labour, labour, with vexation of spirit (vv. 5, 6). so intense and selfish was this rivalry, increase of appetite growing by what it fed upon, so keen grew the desire to amass, that the preacher paints a portrait, for which no doubt many _a hebrew_ might have sat, of a man--nay, rather, of a miser--who, though solitary and kinless, with not even a son or a brother to inherit his wealth, nevertheless hoards up riches to the close of his life; there is no end to his labours; he never can be rich enough to allow himself any enjoyment of his gains (vv. 7, 8). [sidenote: _yet these are capable of a nobler motive and mode._ ch. iv., vv. 9-16.] now a jealous rivalry culminating in mere avarice,--that surely is not the wisest or noblest spirit of which those are capable who devote themselves to affairs. even "the idols of the market" may have a purer cult. business, like wisdom or mirth, may neither be, nor contain, the supreme good: still, like them, it is not in itself and of necessity an evil. there must be a better mode of devotion to it than this selfish and greedy one; and such a mode coheleth, before he pursues his argument to a close, pauses to point out. as if anticipating a modern theory which grows in favour with the wiser sort of mercantile men, he suggests that co-operation--of course i use the word in its etymological rather than in its technical sense--should be substituted for competition. "two are better than one," he argues; "union is better than isolation; conjoint labour brings the larger reward" (ver. 9). to bring his suggestion home to the business bosom of men, he uses five illustrations, four of which have a strong oriental colouring. the first is that of two pedestrians (ver. 10); if one should fall--and such an accident, owing to the bad roads and long cumbrous robes common in the east, was by no means infrequent--the other is ready to set him on his feet; while, if he is alone, the least that can befall him is that his robe will be trampled and bemired before he can gather himself up again. in the second illustration (ver. 11), our two travellers, wearied by their journey, sleep together at its close. now in syria the nights are often keen and frosty, and the heat of the day makes men more susceptible to the cold. the sleeping-chambers, moreover, have only unglazed lattices which let in the frosty air as well as the welcome light; the bed is commonly a simple mat, the bedclothes only the garments worn through the day. and therefore the natives huddle together for the sake of warmth. to lie alone was to lie shivering in the chill night air. the third illustration (ver. 12) is also taken from the east. our two travellers, lying snug and warm on their common mat, buried in slumber, that "dear repose for limbs with travel tired," were very likely to be disturbed by thieves who had dug a hole through the clay walls of the house, or crept under the tent, to carry off what they could. these thieves, always on the alert for travellers, are marvellously supple, rapid, and silent in their movements; but as the traveller, aware of his danger, commonly puts his "bag of needments" or valuables under his head, it does sometimes happen that the deftest thief will rouse him by withdrawing it. if one of our two wayfarers was thus aroused, he would call on his comrade for help, and between them the thief would stand a poor chance; but the solitary traveller, suddenly roused from sleep, with no helper at hand, might very easily stand a worse chance than the thief. the fourth illustration (ver. 12) is that of the threefold cord--three strands twisted into one, which, as we all know, english no less than hebrew, is much more than three times as strong as any one of the separate strands. but in the fifth and most elaborate illustration (vv. 13, 14), we are once more carried back to the east. the slightest acquaintance with oriental history will teach us how uncertain is the tenure of royal power; how often it has happened that a prisoner has been led from a dungeon to a throne, and a prince suddenly deposed and reduced to impotence and penury. coheleth supposes such a case. on the one hand, we have a king old, but not venerable, since, long as he has lived, he has not "even yet learned to accept admonition;" he has led a solitary, selfish, suspicious life, secluded himself in his harem, surrounded himself with a troop of flattering courtiers and slaves. on the other hand, we have the poor but wise young man, "the affable youth," who has lived with all sorts and conditions of men, acquainted himself with their habits and wants and desires, and conciliated their regard. his growing popularity alarms the old despot and his minions. he is cast into prison. his wrongs and sufferings endear him to the wronged and suffering people. by a sudden outbreak of popular wrath, by a revolution such as often sweeps through eastern states, he is set free, and led from the prison to the throne, although he was once so poor that none would do him reverence. this is the picture in the mind's eye of the preacher; and, as he contemplates it, he rises into a kind of prophetic rapture, and cries, "i see--i see all the living who walk under the sun flocking to the youth who stands up in the old king's stead; there is no end to the multitude of the people over whom he ruleth!" (ver. 15). by these graphic illustrations coheleth sets forth the superiority of the sociable over the solitary and selfish temper, of union over isolation, of the neighbourly goodwill which leads men to combine for common ends over the jealous rivalry which prompts them to take advantage of each other, and to labour each for himself alone. but even as he urges this better, happier temper on men occupied with business and public affairs, even as he contemplates its brightest illustration in the youthful prisoner whose winning and sociable qualities have lifted him to a throne, the old mood of melancholy comes back on him; there is the familiar pathetic break in his voice as he concludes (ver. 16), that even this wise youth, who wins all hearts for a time, will soon be forgotten; that "even this," for all so hopeful as it looks, "is vanity and vexation of spirit." * * * * * a profound gloom rests on the second act of this drama. it has already taught us that we are helpless in the grip of laws which we had no voice in making; that we often lie at the mercy of men whose mercy is but a caprice; that in our origin and end, in body and spirit, in faculty and prospect, in our lives and pleasures, we are no better than the beasts which perish: that the avocations into which we plunge, and amid which we seek to forget our sad estate, spring from our jealousy the one of the other, and tend to a lonely miserliness without use or charm. the preacher's familiar conclusion--"be tranquil, be content, enjoy as much as you can"--has grown doubtful to him. he has seen the brightest promise come to nought. in a new and profounder sense, "all is vanity and vexation of spirit." but, though passing through a great darkness, he sees, and reflects, some little light. even when facts seem to contradict it, he holds fast to the conclusion that wisdom is better than folly, and kindness better than selfishness, and to do good even though you lose by it better than to do evil and gain by it. his faith wavers only for a moment; it never wholly loosens its hold. and, in the fifth chapter, the light grows, though even here the darkness does not altogether disappear. we are sensible that the twilight in which we stand is not that of evening, which will deepen into night, but that of morning, which will shine more and more until the day dawn, and the daystar arise in the calm heaven of patient tranquil hearts. * * * * * [sidenote: _so also a happier and more effective method of worship is open to men_; ch. v., vv. 1-7.] the men of affairs are led from the vocations of the market and the intrigues of the divan into the house of god. our first glance at the worshippers is not hopeful or inspiriting. for here are men who offer sacrifices in lieu of obedience; and here are men whose prayers are a voluble repetition of phrases which run far in advance of their limping thoughts and desires: and there are men quick to make vows in moments of peril, but slow to redeem them when the peril is past. at first the house of god looks very like a house of merchandise, in which brokers and traders drive a traffic as dishonest as any that disgraces the exchange. but while the merchants and politicians stand criticising the conduct of the worshippers, the preacher turns upon them and shows them that _they_ are the worshippers whom they criticise; that he has held up a glass in which they see themselves as others see them; that it is _they_ who vow and do not pay, _they_ who hurry on their mouths to utter words which their hearts do not prompt, _they_ who take the roundabout course of sinning and sacrificing for sin instead of that plain road of obedience which leads straight to god. but what comfort for them is there in that? how should it help them, to be beguiled into condemning themselves? truly there would not be much comfort in it did not the compassionate preacher forthwith disclose the secret of this dishonest worship, and give them counsels of amendment. he discloses the secret in two verses (vv. 3 and 7), which have much perplexed the readers of this book. he there explains that just as a mind harassed by much occupation and the many cares it breeds cannot rest even at nights, but busies itself in framing wild disturbing dreams, so also is it with the foolish worshipper who, for want of thought and reverence, pours out before god a multitude of unsifted and unconsidered wishes in a multitude of words. in effect he says to them: "you men of affairs often get little help or comfort from the worship of god because you come to it with preoccupied hearts, just as a man gets little comfort from his bed because his brain, jaded and yet excited by many cares, will not suffer him to rest. hence it is that you promise more than you perform, and utter prayers more devout than any honest expression of your desires would warrant, and offer sacrifices to avoid the charge and trouble of obedience to the divine laws. and as i have shown you a more excellent way of transacting business than the selfish grasping mode to which you are addicted, so also i will show you a more excellent style of worship. go to the house of god 'with a straight foot,' a foot trained to walk in the path of obedience. keep your heart, set a watch over it, lest it should be diverted from the simple and devout homage it should pay. do not urge and press it to a false emotion, to a strained and insincere mood. let your words be few and reverent when you speak to the great king. do not vow except under the compulsion of stedfast resolves, and pay your vows even to your own hurt when once they are made. do not anger god, or the angel of god who, as you believe, presides over the altar, with idle unreal talk and idle half-meant resolves, making vows of which you afterwards repent and do not keep, pleading that you made them in error or infirmity. but in all the exercises of your worship show a holy fear of the almighty; and then, under the worst oppressions of fortune and the heaviest calamities of time, you shall find the house of god _a sanctuary_, and his worship a strength, a consolation, and a delight." this, surely, was very wholesome counsel for men of business in hard times. [sidenote: _and a more helpful and consolatory trust in the divine providence._ ch. v., vv. 8-17.] not content with this, however, the preacher goes on to show how, when they returned from the house of god to the common round of life, and were once more exposed to its miseries and distractions, there were certain comfortable and sustaining thoughts on which they might stay their spirits. to the worship of the sanctuary he would have them add a strengthening trust in the providence of god. that providence was expressed, as in other ordinances, so also in these two:-first; whatever oppressions and perversions of justice and equity there were in the land (ver. 8), still the judges and satraps who oppressed them were not supreme; there was an official hierarchy in which superior watched over superior, and if justice were not to be had of the one, it might be had of another who was above him; if it were not to be had of any, no, not even of the king himself, there was this reassuring conviction that, in the last resort, even the king was "the servant of the field" (ver. 9), _i.e._, was dependent on the wealth and produce of the land, and could not, therefore, be unjust with impunity, or push his oppressions too far lest he should decrease his revenue or depopulate his realm. this was "the advantage" the people had; and if it were in itself but a slight advantage to this man or that, clearly it was a great advantage to the body politic; while as an indication of the providence of god, of the care with which he had arranged for the general well-being, it was full of consolation. the second fact, or class of facts, in which they might recognise the gracious care of god was this,--that the unjust judges and wealthy rapacious "lords" who oppressed them had very much less satisfaction in their fraudulent gains than they might suppose. god had so made men that injustice and selfishness defeated their own ends, and those who lived for wealth, and would do evil to acquire it, made but a poor bargain after all. "he that _loveth_ silver is never satisfied with silver, nor he that _clings_ to wealth with what it yields" (ver. 10). "when riches increase, they increase that consume them"--dependents, parasites, slaves, flock around the man who rises to wealth and place. he cannot eat and drink more, or enjoy more, than when he was a man simply well-to-do in the world; the only advantage he has is that he sees others consume what he has acquired at so great a cost (ver. 11).[35] he cannot know the sweet refreshing sleep of husbandmen weary with toil (ver. 12), for his heart is full of care and apprehension. robbers may drive off his flocks, or "lift" his cattle; his investments may fail, or his secret hoard be plundered; he must trust much to servants, and they may be unfaithful to their trust; his official superiors may ruin him with the bribes they extort, or the prince himself may want a sponge to squeeze. if none of these evils befall him, he may apprehend, and have cause to apprehend, that his heir longs for his death, and will prove little better than a fool, wasting in wanton riot what _he_ has amassed with much painful toil (vv. 13, 14). and, in any event, he cannot take his wealth with him on his last journey (vv. 15, 16). so that, naturally enough, he is much perturbed, and "hath great vexation and grief" (ver. 17), cannot sleep for his apprehensive care for his "abundance;" and at last must go out of the world as bare and unprovided as he came into it.[36] he "labours for the wind," and reaps what he has sown. was such a life, mounting to such a close, a thing to long for and toil for? was it worth while to hurl oneself against the adamantine laws of heaven and risk the oppressions of earth, to injure one's neighbours, to sink into an insincere and distracted worship and a weakening distrust of the providence of god, in order to spend anxious toilsome days and sleepless nights, and at last to go out of the world naked of all but guilt, and rich in nothing but the memory of frauds and wrongs? might not even a captive or a slave, whose sleep was sweetened by toil, and who, from his trust in god and the sacred delights of honest worship, gathered strength to endure all the oppressions of the time, and to enjoy whatever alleviations and innocent pleasures were vouchsafed him--might not even he be a wiser, happier man than the despot at whose caprice he stood? [35] ginsburg quotes a capital illustration of this verse from the dialogue of pheraulas and sacian (xenophon, _cyrop._, viii. 3); "do you think, sacian, that i live with more pleasure the more i possess?... by having this abundance i gain merely this, that i have to guard more, to distribute to others, and have the trouble of taking care of more; for a great many attendants now demand of me their food, their drink, and their clothes. whosoever, therefore, is greatly pleased with the possession of riches will, be assured, feel much annoyed at the expenditure of them." [36] compare psalm xlix., vv. 16, 17: be not afraid though one be made rich, or if the glory of his house be increased; _for he shall carry away nothing with him when he dieth neither shall his pomp follow him_. * * * * * [sidenote: _the conclusion._ ch. v., vv. 18-20.] for himself coheleth has a very decided opinion on this point. he is quite sure that his first conclusion is sound, though for a moment he had questioned its soundness, and that a quiet, cheerful, and obedient heart is greater riches than the wealthiest estate. with all the emphasis of renewed and now immovable conviction he declares, behold, that which i have said holds good; it is well for a man to eat and to drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labours through the brief day of his life. and i have also said--and this too is true--that a man to whom god hath given riches and wealth--for even a rich man may be a good man and use his wealth wisely--if he hath also enabled him to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labour--this too is a most divine gift. he does not fret over the brevity of his life; it is not much, or often, or sadly in his thoughts: for he knows that the joy his heart takes in the toils and pleasures of life is approved by god, or even, as the phrase seems to mean, corresponds in some measure with the joy of god himself; that his tranquil enjoyment is a reflection of the divine peace. * * * * * ii.[37] there are not many englishmen who devote themselves solely or mainly to the acquisition of wisdom, and who, that they may teach the children of men that which is good, live laborious days, withdrawing from the general pursuit of wealth and scorning the lures of ease and self-indulgence; such men, indeed, are but a small minority in any age or land. nor do those who give themselves exclusively to the pursuit of pleasure constitute more than a small and miserable class, though most of us have wasted on it days that we could ill spare. but when the hebrew preacher, having followed his quest of the supreme good in pleasure and wisdom, turns to the affairs of business--and i use that term as including both commerce and politics--he enters a field of action and inquiry with which we are nearly all familiar, and can hardly fail to speak words which will touch us close home. for, whatever else we may or may not be, we are most of us among the worshippers of the great god traffic--a god whose wholesome, benignant face too often lowers and darkens, or ever we are aware, into the sordid and malignant features of mammon. [37] in commenting on sections ii. and iii. of this book i found that both the exposition of the sacred text and the application of its lessons to the details of modern life would gain in force by being handled separately. the second part of each of these chapters consists mainly, therefore, of an exhortation based on the previous exposition, the marginal notes indicating the passages of holy writ on which these exhortations are based. now in dealing with this broad and momentous province of human life the preacher exhibits the candour and the temperance which marked his treatment of wisdom and mirth. just as he would not suffer us to think of wisdom as in itself an evil, nor of pleasure as an evil, so neither will he allow us to think of business as essentially and of necessity an evil. this, like those, may be abused to our hurt; but none the less they may all be used, and were meant to be used, for our own and our neighbours' good. pursued in the right method, from the right motive, with the due moderation and reserve, business, as he is careful to point out, besides bringing other great advantages, may be a new bond of union and brotherhood: it develops intercourse among men and races of men, and should develop sympathy, goodwill, and a mutual helpfulness. nevertheless, thrift may degenerate into miserliness, and the honest industry of content into a dishonest eagerness for undue gains, and a wise attention to business into an excessive devotion to it. these degenerate tendencies had struck their roots deep into the hebrew mind of his day, and brought forth many bitter fruits. the preacher describes and denounces them; he lays an axe to the very roots of these evil growths: but it is only that he may clear a space for the fairer and more wholesome growths which sprang beside them, and of which they were the wild bastard offshoots. throughout this second section of the book, his subject is excessive devotion to business, and the correctives to it which his experience enables him to suggest. 1. his handling of the subject is very thorough and complete. men of business might do worse than get the lessons he here teaches by heart. according to him, their excessive devotion to affairs springs from a "jealous rivalry"; it tends to form in them a grasping covetous temper which can never be satisfied, to produce a materialistic scepticism of all that is noble, spiritual, aspiring in thought and action, to render their worship formal and insincere, and, in general, to incapacitate them for any quiet happy enjoyment of their life. this is his diagnosis of their disease, or of that diseased tendency which, if it be for the most part latent in them, always threatens to become pronounced and to infect all healthy conditions of the soul. [sidenote: _devotion to business springs from jealous competition_: ch. iv., v. 4.[38]] [38] coheleth's description is so true and pertinent, it hits so many of our modern faults and sins, that i am obliged to cite my authority for every paragraph lest i should be suspected of putting a private and personal interpretation on these ancient words. (_a_) let us glance once more at the several symptoms we have already heard him discuss, and consider whether or not they accord with the results of our own observation and experience. is it true, then--or, rather, is it not true--that our devotion to business is becoming excessive and exhausting, and that this devotion springs mainly from our jealous rivalry and competition with each other? if, some two or three and twenty centuries ago, the jews were bent every man on outdoing and outselling his neighbour; if his main ambition was to amass greater wealth or to secure a larger business than his competitors, or to make a handsomer show before the world; if in the urgent pursuit of this ambition he held his neighbours not as neighbours, but as unscrupulous rivals, keen for gain at his expense and to rise by his fall; if, to reach his end, he was willing to get up early and go late to rest, to force all his energies into an injurious activity and strain them close to the snapping-point: if this were what a jew of that time was like, might you not easily take it for a portrait of many an english merchant, manufacturer, lawyer, or politician? is it not as accurate a delineation of our life as it could be of any ancient form of life? if it be, as i think it is, we have grave need to take the preacher's warning. we gravely need to remember that the stream cannot rise above its source, nor the fruit be better than the root from which it grows; that the business ardour which has its origin in a base and selfish motive can only be a base and selfish ardour. when men gather grapes from thorns and figs from thistles, then, but not before, we may look to find a satisfying good in "all the toil and all the dexterity in toil" which spring from this "jealous rivalry of the one with the other." [sidenote: _it tends to form a covetous temper_: ch. iv., v. 8.] (_b_) nor, in the face of facts patent to the most cursory observer, can we deny that this eager and excessive devotion to the successful conduct of business tends to produce a grasping, covetous temper which, however much it has gained, is for ever seeking more. it is not only true that the stream cannot rise above its source; it is also true that the stream _will_ run downward, and must inevitably contract many pollutions from the lower levels on which it declines. the ardour which impels men to devote themselves with eager intensity to the labours of the market may often have an origin as pure as that of the stream which bubbles up on the hills, amid grass and ferns, and runs tinkling along its clear rocky channels, setting its labour to a happy music, singing its low sweet song to the sweet listening air. but as it runs on, if it swell in volume and power, it also _sinks_ and grows foul. bent at first on acquiring the means to support a widowed mother, or to justify him in taking a wife, or to provide for his children, or to win an honourable place in his neighbours' eyes, or to achieve the chance of self-culture and self-development, or to serve some public and worthy end, the man of business and affairs too often suffers himself to become more and more absorbed in his pursuits. he conceives larger schemes, is drawn into more perilous enterprises, and advances through these to fresh openings and opportunities, until at last, long after his original ends are compassed and forgotten, he finds himself possessed by the mere craving to extend his labours, resources, influence, if not by the mere craving to amass--a craving which often "teareth" and "tormenteth" him, but which can only be exorcised by an exertion of spiritual force which would leave him half dead. "he has no one with him, not even a son or a brother;" the dear mother or wife is long since dead; his children, to use his own detestable phrase, are "off his hands"; the public good has slipped from his memory and aims: but still "there is no end to all his labours, neither are his eyes satisfied with riches." coheleth speaks of one such man: alas, of how many such might we speak! [sidenote: _to produce a materialistic scepticism_; ch. iii., vv. 18-21.] (_c_) the "speculation" in the eye of business men is not commonly of a philosophic cast, and therefore we do not look to find them _arguing_ themselves into the materialism which infected the hebrew preacher as he contemplated them and their blind devotion to their idol. they are far, perhaps very far, from thinking that in body and spirit, in origin and end, man is no better than the beast, a creature of the same accident and subject to "the same chance." but though they do not reason out a conclusion so sombre and depressing, do they not practically acquiesce in it? if it is far from their thoughts, do they not _live_ in its close neighbourhood? their mind, like the dyer's hand, is subdued to that it works in. accustomed to think mainly of material interests, their character is materialised. they are disposed to weigh all things--truth, righteousness, the motives and aims of nobler men--in the scales of the market, and can very hardly believe that they should attach any grave value to ought which will not lend itself to their coarse handling. in their judgment, mental culture, or the graces of moral character, or single-hearted devotion to lofty ends, are not worthy to be compared with a full purse or large possessions. they regard as little better than a fool, of whom it is very kind of them to take a little care, the man who has thrown away what they call "his chances," in order that he may learn wisdom or do good. giving, perhaps, a cheerful and unforced accord to the current moral maxims and popular creed, they permit neither to rule their conduct. if they do not say, "man is no better than a beast," they carry themselves as if he were no better, as though he had no instincts or interests above those of the thrifty ant, or the cunning beaver, or the military locust, or insatiable leech--although they are both surprised and affronted when one is at the pains to translate their deeds into words. judged by their deeds, they _are_ sceptics and materialists, since they have no vital faith in that which is spiritual and unseen. they have found "the life of their hands," and they are content with it. give them whatever furnishes the senses, whatever in them holds by sense, and they will cheerfully let all else go. but such a materialism as this is far more injurious, far more likely to be fatal, than that which reflects, and argues, and utters itself in words, and refutes itself by the very powers which it employs. with them the malady has struck inward, and is beyond the reach of cure save by the most searching and drastic remedies. [sidenote: _to make worship formal and insincere_; ch. v., vv. 1-7.] (_d_) but now if, like coheleth, we follow these men to the temple, what is the scene that meets our eye? in the english temple, i fear, that which would first strike an unaccustomed observer would be the fact that very few men of business are there. they are "conspicuous by their absence," or, at best, noted for an only occasional attendance. the hebrew temple was crowded with men; in the english temple it is the other sex which predominates. but glance at the men who are there? do you detect no signs of weariness and perfunctoriness? do you hear no vows which will never be paid, and which they do not intend to pay even when they make them? no prayers which go beyond any honest and candid expression of their desires? do you not feel and know that many of them are making an unwilling sacrifice to the decencies and the proprieties, instead of worshipping god the spirit in spirit and nerving themselves for the difficulties of obedience to the divine law? listen: they are saying, "almighty god, father of all mercies, we bless thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but _above all_ for thine inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our lord jesus christ, for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory." but _are_ these ineffable spiritual benefits "above all" else to them? do they care for "the means of grace" as much even as for the state of the market, or for "the hope of glory" as much as for success or promotion? which is most in their thoughts, their lives, their aspirations, for which will they take most pains and make most sacrifices--for what _they_ mean by the beautiful phrase "all the blessings of this life," or for that sacred and crowning act of the divine mercy, "the redemption," in which god has once for all revealed his fatherly forgiving love? what is it that makes their worship formal and insincere? it is the very cause which, as the preacher tells us, produced the like evil effect upon the jews. they come into the temple with pre-occupied hearts. their thoughts are distracted by the cares of life even as they bend in worship. and hence even the most sacred words turn to "idle talk" on their lips, as remote from the true feeling of the moment as "the multitude of dreams" which haunt the night; they utter fervent prayers without any due sense of their meaning, or any hearty wish to have them granted. [sidenote: _and to take from life its quiet and innocent enjoyments._ ch. v., vv. 10-17.] (_e_) now surely a life so thick with perils, so beset with temptations, should have a very large and certain reward to offer. but has it? for one, coheleth thinks it has not. in his judgment, according to his experience, instead of making a man happier even in this present time, to which it limits his thoughts and aims, it robs him of all quiet and happy enjoyment of his life. and, mark, it is not the unsuccessful man of business, who might naturally feel sore and aggrieved, but the successful man, the man who has made a fortune and prospered in his schemes, whom the preacher describes as having lost all faculty of enjoying his gains. even the man who has wealth and abundance, so that his soul lacketh nothing of all that he desireth, is placed before us as the slave of unsatisfied desire and constant apprehension. both his hands are so full of labour that he cannot lay hold on quiet. though he loves silver so well, and has so much of it, he is not satisfied therewith; his riches yield him no certain and abiding delight. and how can he be in "happy plight" who is "debarred the benefit of rest? when day's oppression is not eased by night, but day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? and each, though enemies to either's reign, do in consent shake hands to torture him." the sound sleep of humble contented labour is denied him. he is haunted by perpetual apprehensions that "there is some ill a-brewing to his rest," that evil in some dreaded shape will befall him. he doubts "the filching age will steal his treasure." he knows that when he is called hence he can carry away nothing in his hand; all his gains must be left to his heir, who may either turn out a wanton fool or be crushed and degraded by the burden and temptations of a wealth for which he has not laboured. and hence, amid all his toils and gains, even the most prosperous and successful man suspects that he has been "labouring for the wind" and may reap the whirlwind: "he is much perturbed, and hath vexation and grief." _is_ the picture overdrawn? is not the description as true to modern experience as to that of "the antique world"? shakespeare, who is our great english authority on the facts of human experience, thought it quite as true. his merchant of venice has argosies on every sea; and two of his friends, hearing him confess that sadness makes such a want-wit of him that he has much ado to know himself, tell him that his "mind is tossing on the ocean" with his ships. they proceed to discuss the natural effects of having so many enterprises on hand. one says- "believe me, sir, had i such venture forth, the better part of my affections would be with my hopes abroad. i should be still plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind; peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads; and every object that might make me fear misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt would make me sad." and the other adds- "my wind, cooling my broth, would blow me to an ague, when i thought what harm a wind too great at sea might do. i should not see the sandy hour-glass run, but i should think of shallows and of flats, and see my wealthy andrew, dock'd in sand, vailing her high-top lower than her ribs to kiss her burial. should i go to church and see the holy edifice of stone, and not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks, which, touching but my gentle vessel's side, would scatter all her spices in the stream; enrobe the roaring waters with my silks: and, in a word, but even now worth this, and now worth nothing? shall i have the thought to think on this; and shall i lack the thought that such a thing bechanced would make me sad?" "abundance suffereth not the rich to sleep;" the thought that his "riches may perish in some unlucky adventure" rings a perpetual alarum in his ears: "all his days he eateth in darkness, and is much perturbed, and hath vexation and grief." these are the words of the hebrew preacher: are not our own great poet's words an expressive commentary on them, an absolute confirmation of them, covering them point by point? and shall we envy the wealthy merchant whose two hands are thus "full of labour and vexation of spirit"? is not "the husbandman whose sleep is sweet, whether he eat little or much," better off than he? nay, has not even the sluggard who, so long as he hath meat, foldeth his hands in quiet, a truer enjoyment of his life? of course coheleth does not mean to imply that every man of business degenerates into a miserly sceptic, whose worship is a formulated hypocrisy and whose life is haunted with saddening apprehensions of misfortune. no doubt there were then, as there are now, many men of business who were wise enough to "take pleasure in all their labours," to cast their burden of care on him in whose care stand both to-morrow and to-day; men to whom worship was a calming and strengthening communion with the father of their spirits, and who advanced, through toil, to worthy or even noble ends. he means simply that these are the perils to which all men of business are exposed, and into which they fall so soon as their devotion to its affairs grows excessive. "make business, and success in business, your chief good, your ruling aim, and you will come to think of your neighbours as selfish rivals; you will begin to look askance on the lofty spiritual qualities which refuse to bow to the yoke of mammon; your worship will sink into an insincere formalism; your life will be vexed and saddened with fears which will strangle the very faculty of tranquil enjoyment:" this is the warning of the preacher; a warning of which our generation, in such urgent sinful haste to be rich, stands in very special need. 2. but what checks, what correctives, what remedies, would the preacher have us apply to the diseased tendencies of the time? how shall men of business save themselves from being absorbed in its interests and affairs? [sidenote: _the correctives of this devotion are a sense of its perils_; ch. v., vv. 10-17.] (_a_) well, the very sense of the danger to which they are exposed--a danger so insidious, so profound, so fatal--should surely induce caution and a wary self-control. the symptoms of the disease are described that we may judge whether or not we are infected by it; its dreadful issues that, if infected, we may study a cure. the man who loves riches is placed before us that we may learn what he is really like--that he is not the careless happy being we often assume him to be. we see him decline on the low bare levels of covetousness and materialism, hypocrisy and fear; and, as we look, the preacher turns upon us with, "there, _that_ is the slave of mammon in his habit as he lives. do you care to be like that? will you break your heart unless you are allowed to assume his heavy and degrading burden?" [sidenote: _and the conviction that it is opposed to the will of god as expressed in the ordinances of his providence_, ch. iii., vv. 1-8.] this is one help to a wise content with our lot; but he has many more at our service, and notably this,--that an undue devotion to the toils of business is contrary to the will, the design, the providence of god. god, he argues, has fixed a time for every undertaking under heaven, and has made each of them beautiful in its season, but only then. by his wise kindly ordinances he has sought to divert us from an injurious excess in toil. our sowing and our reaping, our time of rest and our time for work, the time to save and the time to spend, the time to gain and the time to lose,--all these, with all the fluctuating feelings they excite in us: in short, our whole life, from the cradle to the grave, is under, or should be under, law to him. it is only when we violate his gracious ordinances,--working when we should be at rest, waking when we should sleep, saving when we should spend, weeping over losses which are real gains, or laughing over gains which will prove to be losses--that we run into excess, and break up the peaceful order and tranquil flow of the life which he designed for us. [sidenote: _in the wrongs which he permits men to inflict upon us_; ch. iii., v. 16-ch. iv., v. 3.] because we will not be obsequious to the ordinances of his wisdom, he permits us to meet a new check in the caprice and injustice of man--making even these to praise him by subserving our good. if we do not suffer the violent oppressions which drew tears from the preacher's fellow-captives, we nevertheless stand very much at the mercy of our neighbours in so far as our outward haps are concerned. unwise human laws or an unjust administration of them, or the selfish rapacity of individual men--brokers who rig the market; bankers whose long prayers are a pretence under cloak of which they rob widows and orphans, and sometimes _make_ them; bankrupts for whose wounds the gazette has a singular power of healing, since they come out of it "sounder" men than they went in: these are only some of the instruments by which the labours of the diligent are shorn of their due reward. and we are to take these checks as correctives, to find in the losses which men inflict the gifts of a gracious god. he permits us to suffer these and the like disasters lest our hearts should be overmuch set on getting gain. he graciously permits us to suffer them that, seeing how often the wicked thrive (in a way and for a time) on the decay of the upright, we may learn that there is something better than wealth, more enduring, more satisfying, and may seek that higher good. [sidenote: _but above all, in the immortal cravings which he has quickened in the soul._ ch. iii., v. 11.] nay, going to the very root of the matter and expounding its whole philosophy, the preacher teaches us that wealth, however great and greatly used, _cannot_ satisfy men, since god has "_put eternity into their hearts_" as well as time: and how should all the kingdoms of a world that must soon pass content those who are to live for ever?[39] this saying, "god has put _eternity_ into their hearts," is one of the most profound in the whole book, and one of the most beautiful and suggestive. what it means is that, even if a man would confine his aims and desires within "the bounds and coasts of time," he cannot do it. the very structure of his nature forbids it. for time, with all that it inherits, sweeps by him like a torrent, so that, if he would secure any lasting good, he _must_ lay hold of that which is eternal. we may well call this world, for all so solid as it looks, "a perishing world;" for, like our own bodies, it is in a perpetual flux, perishing every moment that it may live a little longer, and must soon come to an end. but we, in our true selves, we who dwell inside the body and use its members as the workman uses his tools, how can we find a satisfying good whether in the body or in the world which is akin to it? _we_ want a good as lasting as ourselves. nothing short of that can be our chief good, or inspire us with a true content. [39] m. de lamennais--the founder of the most religious school of thinkers in modern france, from whom such men as count montalembert, père lacordaire, and maurice guérin, drew their earliest inspiration--asks, "do you know what it is that makes man the most suffering of all creatures?" and replies, "it is that _he has one foot in the finite and the other in the infinite, and that he is torn asunder_, not by four horses, as in the horrible old times, but _between two worlds_." "like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end; each changing place with that which goes before, in sequent toil all forwards do contend:" and we might as well think to build a stable habitation on the waves which break upon the pebbled shore as to find an enduring good in the sequent minutes which carry us down the stream of time. it is only because we do not understand this "work of god" in putting eternity into our hearts and therefore making it impossible for us to be content with anything less than an eternal good; it is because, plunged in the flesh and its cares and delights, we forget the grandeur of our nature, and are tempted to sell our immortal birthright for a mess of pottage which, however much we enjoy it to-day, will leave us hungry to-morrow: it is only, i say, because we fail to understand this work of god "from beginning to end," that we ever delude ourselves with the hope of finding in ought the earth yields a good in which we can rest. [sidenote: _practical maxims deduced from this view of the business-life._] (_b_) a noble philosophy this, and pregnant with practical counsels of great value. for if, as we close our study of this section of the book, we ask, "what good advice does the preacher offer that we can take and act upon?" we shall find that he gives us at least three serviceable maxims. [sidenote: _a maxim on co-operation._ ch. iv., vv. 9-16.] to all men of business conscious of their special dangers and anxious to avoid them, he says, first: replace the competition which springs from your jealous and selfish rivalry, with the co-operation which is born of sympathy and breeds goodwill. "two are better than one. union is better than isolation. conjoint labour has the greater reward." instead of seeking to take advantage of your neighbours, try to help them. instead of standing alone, associate with your fellows. instead of aiming at purely selfish ends, pursue your ends in common. indeed the wise hebrew preacher anticipates the golden rule to a remarkable extent, and, in effect, bids us love our neighbour as ourself, look on his things as well as our own, and do to all men as we would that they should do to us. [sidenote: _a maxim on worship._ ch. v., vv. 1-7.] his second maxim is: replace the formality of your worship with a reverent and steadfast sincerity. keep your foot when you go to the house of god. put obedience before sacrifice. do not hurry on your mouth to the utterance of words which transcend the desires of your heart. be not of those who "words for virtue take, as though mere wood a shrine would make."[40] [40] horace, _ep._ 6, lib. i: "virtutem verba putant, ut lucum ligna." do not come into the temple with a pre-occupied spirit, a spirit distracted with thoughts that travel different ways. realise the presence of the great king, and speak to him with the reverence due to a king. keep the vows you have made in his house after you have left it. seek and serve him with all your hearts, and ye shall find rest to your souls. [sidenote: _a maxim on trust in god._ ch. v., vv. 8-17.] and his last maxim is: replace your grasping self-sufficiency with a constant trust in the fatherly providence of god. if you see oppression or suffer wrong, if your schemes are thwarted and your enterprises fail, you need not therefore lose the quiet repose and settled peace which spring from a sense of duty discharged and the undisturbed possession of the main good of life. god is over all, and rules all the undertakings of man, giving each its season and place, and causing all to work together for the good of the loving and trustful heart. trust in him, and you shall feel, even though you cannot prove, "that every cloud that spreads above, and veileth love, itself is love." trust in him, and you shall find that "the slow sweet hours that bring us all things good, the slow sad hours that bring us all things ill and all good things from evil," as they strike on the great horologe of time, are set to a growing music by the hand of god; a music which rises and falls as we listen, but which nevertheless swells through all its saddest cadences and dying falls toward that harmonious close, that "undisturbed concent," in which all discords will be drowned. third section. _the quest of the chief good in wealth, and in the golden mean._ chaps. vi., vii., and viii., vv. 1-15. in the foregoing section coheleth has shown that the chief good is not to be found in that devotion to the affairs of business which was, and still is, characteristic of the hebrew race. this devotion is commonly inspired either by the desire to amass great wealth, for the sake of the status, influence, and means of lavish enjoyment it is assumed to confer; or by the more modest desire to secure a competence, to stand in that golden mean of comfort which is darkened by no harassing fears of future penury or need. by a logical sequence of thought, therefore, he advances from his discussion on devotion to business, to consider the leading motives by which it is inspired. the questions he now asks and answers are, in effect, (1) will wealth confer the good, the tranquil and enduring satisfaction which men seek? and if not, (2) will that moderate provision for the present and for the future to which the more prudent restrict their aim? [sidenote: _the quest in wealth._ ch. vi.] his discussion of the first of these questions, although very matterful, is comparatively brief; in part, perhaps, because in the previous section he has already dwelt on many of the drawbacks which accompany wealth; and still more, probably, because, while there are but few men in any age to whom great wealth is possible, there would be unusually few in the company of poor men for whose instruction he wrote. brief and simple as the discussion is, however, we shall misapprehend it unless we bear in mind that coheleth is arguing, not against wealth, but against mistaking wealth for the chief good. [sidenote: _the man who makes riches his chief good is haunted by fears and perplexities_: ch. vi., vv. 1-6.] let us observe, then, that throughout this sixth chapter the preacher is dealing with the _lover_ of riches, not with the rich man; that he is speaking, not against wealth, but against mistaking wealth for the chief good. the man who _trusts_ in riches is placed before us; and, that we may see him at his best, he has the riches in which he trusts. god has given him "his good things," given him them to the full. he lacks nothing that he desireth--nothing at least that wealth can command. yet, because he does not accept his abundance as the gift of god, and hold the giver better than the gift, he cannot enjoy it. but how do we know that he has suffered his riches to take an undue place in his regard? we know it by this sure token--that he cannot leave god to take care of them, and of him. he frets about them, and about what will become of them when he is gone. he has no son, perchance, to inherit them, no child, only some "stranger" whom he has adopted (ver. 2)--and almost all childless orientals adopt strangers to this day, as we have found, to our cost, in india. a profound horror at the thought of being dead to name and fame and use through lack of heirs was, and is, very prevalent in the east. even faithful abraham, when god had promised him the supreme good, broke out with the remonstrance, "what canst thou give me when i am going off childless, and have no heir but my body-servant, eliezer of damascus?" because this feeling lay close to the oriental heart, the preacher is at some pains to show what a "vanity" it is. he argues: "even if you should beget a hundred children, instead of being childless; even though you should live a thousand years, and the grave did not wait for you instead of lying close before you: yet, so long as you were not content to leave your riches in the hands of god, you would fret and perplex yourself with fears. an abortion would be better off than you, although it cometh in nothingness and goeth in darkness; for it would know a rest denied to you, and sink without apprehension into the 'place' from which all your apprehensions cannot save you (vv. 3-6). foolish man! it is not because you lack an heir that you are perturbed in spirit. if you had one, you would find some other cause for care; you would be none the less fretted and perturbed; for you would still be thinking of your riches rather than of the god who gave them, and still dread the moment in which you must part with them, in order to return to him." [sidenote: _for god has put eternity into his heart_; ch. vi., vv. 7-10.] from this plain practical argument coheleth passes to an argument of more philosophic reach. "all the labour of this man is _for his mouth_:" that is to say, his wealth, with all that it commands, appeals only to sense and appetite; it feeds "the lust of the eye, or the lust of the flesh, or the pride of life," and therefore "his _soul_ cannot be satisfied therewith" (ver. 7). _that_ craves a higher nutriment, a more enduring good. god has put eternity into it: and how can that which is immortal be contented with the lucky haps and comfortable conditions of time? unless some immortal provision be made for the immortal spirit, it will pine, and protest, and crave, till all power of happily enjoying outward good be lost. nay, if the spirit in man be craving and unfed, whatever his outward conditions, or his faculty for enjoying them, he cannot be at rest. the wise man may be able to extract from the gains of time a pleasure denied to the fool; and the poor man, his penury preventing him from indulging passion and appetite to satiety, may have a keener enjoyment of them than the magnate who has tried them to the full and has grown weary of them. in a certain sense, as compared the one with the other, the poor man may have an "advantage" over the rich, and the wise man over the fool; for "it is better to enjoy the good we have than to crave a good beyond our reach;" and this much the wise man, or even the poor man, may achieve. yet, after all, what advantage have they? the thirst of the soul is still unslaked; no sensual or sensuous enjoyment can satisfy that. all human action and enjoyment is under law to god. no one is so wise, or so strong, as to contend successfully against him or his ordinances. and it is he who has given men an immortal nature, with cravings that wander through eternity; it is he who has ordained that they shall know no rest until they rest in him (vv. 8-10). [sidenote: _and much that he gains only feeds vanity_; ch. vi., v. 11.] look once more at your means and possessions. multiply them as you will. still there are many reasons why if you seek your chief good in them, they should prove vanity and breed vexation of spirit. one is, that beyond a certain point you can neither use nor enjoy them. they add to your pomp. they enable you to fill a larger place in the world's eye. they swell and magnify the vain show in which you walk. but, after all, they add to your discomfort rather than your comfort. you have so much the more to manage, and look after, and take care of: but you yourself, instead of being better off than you were, have only taken a heavier task on your hands. and what advantage is there in that? [sidenote: _neither can he tell what it will be good for him to have_, ch. vi., v. 12.] another reason is, that it is hard, so hard as to be impossible, for you to know "what it is good" for you to have. that on which you have set your heart may prove to be an evil rather than a good when at last you get it. the fair fruit, so pleasant and desirable to the eye that, to posses it, you were content to labour and deny yourself for years, may turn to an apple of sodom in your mouth, and yield you, in place of sweet pulp and juice, only the bitter ashes of disappointment. [sidenote: _nor foresee what will become of his gains._ ch. vi., v. 12.] and a third reason is, that the more you acquire the more you must dispose of when you are called away from this life: and who can tell what shall be after him? how are you so to dispose of your gains as to be sure that they will do good and not harm, and carry comfort to the hearts of those whom you love, and not breed envy, alienation, and strife? these are the preacher's arguments against an undue love of riches, against making them so dear a good that we can neither enjoy them while we have them, nor trust them to the disposal of god when we must leave them behind us. are they not sound arguments? should we be saddened by them, or comforted? we can only be saddened by them if we love wealth, or long for it, with an inordinate desire. if we can trust in god to give us all that it will be really good for us to have in return for our honest toil, the arguments of the preacher are full of comfort and hope for us, whether we be rich or whether we be poor. * * * * * [sidenote: _the quest in the golden mean._ ch. vii., viii., vv. 1-15.] there be many that say, "who will show us any gold?" mistaking gold for their god or good. for though there can be few in any age to whom great wealth is possible, there are many who crave it and believe that to have it is to possess the supreme felicity. it is not only the rich who "_trust_ in riches." as a rule, perhaps, they trust in them less than the poor, since they have tried them, and know pretty exactly both how much, and how little, they can do. it is those who have not tried them, and to whom poverty brings many undeniable hardships, who are most sorely tempted to trust in them as the sovereign remedy for the ills of life. so that the counsels of the sixth chapter may have a wider scope than we sometimes think they have. but, whether they apply to many or to few, there can be no doubt that the counsels of the seventh and eighth chapters are applicable to the vast majority of men. for here the preacher discusses the golden mean in which most of us would like to stand. many of us dare not ask for great wealth lest it should prove a burden we could very hardly bear; but we have no scruple in adopting agur's prayer, "give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food proportioned to my need: let me have a comfortable competence in which i shall be at an equal remove from the temptations whether of extreme wealth or of extreme penury." now the endeavour to secure a competence may be, not lawful only, but most laudable; since god means us to make the best of the capacities he has given us and the opportunities he sends us. nevertheless, we may pursue this right end from a wrong motive, in a wrong spirit. both spirit and motive are wrong if we pursue our competence as if it were a good so great that we can know no content unless we attain it. for what is it that animates such a pursuit save distrust in the providence of god? left in his hands, we do not feel that we should be safe; whereas if we had our fortune in our own hands, and were secured against chances and changes by a few comfortable securities, we should feel safe enough. this feeling is, surely, very general: we are all of us in danger of slipping into this form of unquiet distrust in the fatherly providence of god. [sidenote: _the method of the man who seeks a competence._ ch. vii., vv. 1-14.] because the feeling is both general and strong, the hebrew preacher addresses himself to it at some length. his object now is to place before us a man who does not aim at great affluence, but, guided by prudence and common sense, makes it his ruling aim to stand well with his neighbours and to lay by a moderate provision for future wants. the preacher opens the discussion by stating the maxims or rules of conduct by which such an one would be apt to guide himself. one of his first aims would be to secure "a good name," since that would prepossess men in his favour, and open before him many avenues which would otherwise be closed.[41] just as one entering a crowded oriental room with some choice fragrance exhaling from person and apparel would find bright faces turned toward him, and a ready way opened for his approach, so the bearer of a good name would find many willing to meet him, and traffic with him, and heed him. as the years passed, his good name, if he kept it, would diffuse itself over a wider area with a more pungent effect, so that the day of his death would be better than the his birth--to leave a good name being so much more honourable than to inherit one (chap. vii., ver. 1). [41] "there are three crowns; of the law, the priesthood, and the kingship: but the crown of a good name is greater than them all."--talmud. but how would he go about to acquire his good name? again the answer carries us back to the east. nothing is more striking to a western traveller than the dignified gravity of the superior oriental races. in public they rarely smile, almost never laugh, and hardly ever express surprise. cool, courteous, self-possessed, they bear good news or bad, prosperous or adverse fortune, with a proud equanimity. this equal mind, expressing itself in a grave dignified bearing, is, with them, well-nigh indispensable to success in public life. and, therefore, our friend in quest of a good name betakes himself to the house of mourning rather than to the house of feasting; he holds that serious thought on the end of all men is better than the wanton foolish mirth which crackles like thorns under a kettle, making a great sputter, but soon going out; and would rather have his heart bettered by the reproof of the wise than listen to the song of fools over the wine-cup (vv. 2-6). knowing that he cannot be much with fools without sharing their folly, fearing that they may lead him into those excesses in which the wisest mind is infatuated and the kindest heart hardened and corrupted (ver. 7), he elects rather to walk with a sad countenance, among the wise, to the house of mourning and meditation, than to hurry with fools to the banquet in which wine and song and laughter drown serious reflection, and leave the heart worse than they found it. what though the wise reprove him when he errs? what though, as he listens to their reproof, his heart at times grows hot within him? the end of their reproof is better than the beginning (ver. 8); as he reflects upon it, he learns from it, profits by it, and by patient endurance of it wins a good from it which haughty resentment would have cast away. unlike the fools, therefore, whose wanton mirth turns into bitter anger at the mere sound of reproof, he will not suffer his spirit to be hurried into a hot resentment, but will compel that which injures them to do him good (ver. 9). nor will he rail even at the fools who fleet the passing hour, or account that, because they are so many and so bold, "the time is out of joint." he will show himself not only wiser than the foolish, but wiser than many of the wise; for while they--and here surely the preacher hits a very common habit of the studious life--are disposed to look fondly back on some past age as greater or happier than that in which they live, and ask, "how is it that former days were better than these?" he will conclude that the question springs rather from their querulousness than from their wisdom, and make the best of the time, and of the conditions of the time, in which it has pleased god to place him (ver. 10). but if any ask, "why has he renounced the pursuit of that wealth on which many are bent who are less capable of using it than he?" the answer comes that he has discovered wisdom to be as good as wealth, and even better. not only is wisdom as secure a defence against the ills of life as wealth, but it has this great advantage--that "it fortifies or vivifies the heart," while wealth often burdens and enfeebles it. wisdom quickens and braces the spirit for any fortune, gives it new life or new strength, inspires an inward serenity which does not lie at the mercy of outward accidents (vv. 11, 12). it teaches a man to regard all the conditions of life as ordained and shaped by god, and weans him from the vain endeavour, on which many exhaust their strength, to straighten that which god has made crooked, that which crosses and thwarts his inclinations (ver. 13); once let him see that the thing is crooked, and was meant to be crooked, and he will accept and adapt himself to it, instead of wearying himself in futile attempts to make, or to think, it straight. and there is one very good reason why god should permit many crooks in our lot, very good reason therefore why a wise man should look on them with an equal mind. for god sends the crooked as well as the straight, adversity as well as prosperity, in order that we should know that he has "made _this_ as well as _that_," and accept both from his benign hand. he interlaces his providences, and veils his providences, in order that, unable to foresee the future, we may learn to put our trust in him rather than in any earthly good (ver. 14). it therefore behoves a man whose heart has been bettered by much meditation, and by the reproofs of the wise, to take both crooked and straight, both evil and good, from the hand of god, and to trust in him whatever may befall.[42] [42] so in the hymn of cleanthes to zeus, as rendered by the dean of wells: "thou alone knowest how to change the odd to even, and to make the crooked straight; and things discordant find accord in thee. thus in one whole thou blendest ill with good, so that one law works on for evermore." [sidenote: _the perils to which it exposes him._ ch. vii., v. 15-ch. viii., v. 13.] so far, i think, we shall follow and assent to this theory of human life; our sympathies will go with the man who seeks to acquire a good name, to grow wise, to stand in the golden mean. but when he proceeds to apply his theory, to deduce practical rules from it, we can only give him a qualified assent, nay, must often altogether withhold our assent. the main conclusion he draws is, indeed, quite unobjectionable: it is, that in action, as well as in opinion, we should avoid excess, that we should keep the happy mean between intemperance and indifference. [sidenote: _he is likely to compromise conscience_: ch. vii., vv. 15-20.] but the very first moral he infers from this conclusion is open to the most serious objection. he has seen both the righteous die in his righteousness without receiving any reward from it, and the wicked live long in his wickedness to enjoy his ill-gotten gains. and from these two mysterious facts, which much exercised many of the prophets and psalmists of israel, he infers that a prudent man will neither be very righteous, since he will gain nothing by it, and may lose the friendship of those who are content with the current morality; nor very wicked, since, though he may lose little by this so long as he lives, he will very surely hasten his death (vv. 16, 17). it is the part of prudence to lay hold on both; to permit a temperate indulgence both in virtue and in vice, carrying neither to excess (ver. 18)--a doctrine still very dear to the mere man of the world. in this temperance there lies a strength greater than that of an army in a beleaguered city; for no righteous man is wholly righteous (vv. 19, 20): to aim at so lofty and ideal will be to attempt "to wind ourselves too high for mortal man below the sky;" we shall only fail if we make the attempt; we shall be grievously disappointed if we expect other men to succeed where we have failed; we shall lose faith in them, and in ourselves; we shall suffer many pangs of shame, remorse, and defeated hope: and, therefore, it is well at once to make up our minds that we are, and need be, no better than our neighbours, that we are not to blame ourselves for customary and occasional slips; that, if we are but moderate, we may lay one hand on righteousness and another on wickedness without taking much harm. a most immoral moral, though it is as popular to-day as it ever was. [sidenote: _to be indifferent to censure_: ch. vii., vv. 21, 22.] the second rule which this temperate monitor infers from his general theory is, that we are not to be overmuch troubled by what people say about us. servants are adduced as an illustration, partly, no doubt, because they are commonly acquainted with their masters' faults, and partly because they do sometimes speak about them, and even exaggerate them. "let them speak," is his counsel, "and don't be too curious to know what they say; you may be sure that they will say pretty much what you often say of your neighbours or superiors; if they depreciate you, you depreciate others, and you can hardly expect a more generous treatment than you accord." now if this moral stood alone, it would be both shrewd and wholesome. but it does not stand alone; and in its connection it means, i fear, that if we take the moderate course prescribed by worldly prudence; if we are righteous without being too righteous, and wicked without being too wicked, and our neighbours should begin to say, "he is hardly so good as he seems," or "i could tell a tale of him an if i would," we are not to be greatly moved by "any such ambiguous givings out;" we are not to be overmuch concerned that our neighbours have discovered our secret slips, since we have often discovered the like slips in them, and know very well that "there is not on earth a righteous man who doeth good and sinneth not." in short, as we are not to be too hard on ourselves for an occasional and decorous indulgence in vice, so neither are we to be very much vexed by the censures which neighbours as guilty as ourselves pass on our conduct. taken in this its connected sense, the moral is as immoral as that which preceded it. here, indeed, our prudent monitor drops a hint that he himself is not content with a theory which leads to such results. he has tried this "wisdom," but he is not satisfied with it. he desired a higher wisdom, suspecting that there must be a nobler theory of life than this; but it was too far away for him to reach, too deep for him to fathom. after all his researches that which was far off remained far off, deep remained deep: he could not attain the higher wisdom he sought (vv. 23, 24). and so he falls back on the wisdom he had tried, and draws a third moral from it which is somewhat difficult to handle. [sidenote: _to despise women_: ch. vii., vv. 25-29.] it is said of an english satirist that when any friend confessed himself in trouble and asked his advice, his first question was, "who is she?"--taking it for granted that a woman must be at the bottom of the mischief. and the hebrew cynic appears to have been of his mind. he cannot but see that the best of men sin sometimes, that even the most temperate are hurried into excesses which their prudence condemns. and when he turns to discover what it is that bewitches them, he finds no other solution of the mystery than--woman. sweet and pleasant as she seems, she is "more bitter than death," her heart is a snare, her hands are chains. he whom god loves will escape from her net after brief captivity; only the fool and the sinner are held fast in it (vv. 25, 26). nor is this a hasty conclusion. our hebrew cynic has deliberately gone out, with the lantern of his wisdom in his hand, to search for an honest man and an honest woman. he has been scrupulously careful in his search, "taking things," i.e. indications of character, "one by one;" but though he has found one honest man in a thousand, he has never lit on an honest and good woman (vv. 27, 28). was not the fault in the eyes of the seeker rather than in the faces into which he peered? perhaps it was. it would be to-day and here; but was it there and on that far-distant yesterday? the orientals would still say "no." all through the east, from the hour in which adam cast the blame of his disobedience on eve to the present hour, men have followed the example of their first father. even st. chrysostom, who should have known better, affirms that when the devil took from job all he had, he did not take his wife, "because he thought she would greatly help him to conquer that saint of god." mohammed sings in the same key with the christian father: he affirms that since the creation of the world there have been only four perfect women, though it a little redeems the cynicism of his speech to learn that, of these four perfect women, one was his wife and another his daughter; for the good man may have meant a compliment to them rather than an insult to the sex. but if there be any truth in this estimate, if in the east the women were, and are, worse than the men, it is the men who have made them what they are.[43] robbed of their natural dignity and use as helpmeets, condemned to be mere toys, trained only to minister to sense, what wonder if they have fallen below their due place and honour? of all cowardly cynicisms that surely is the meanest which, denying women any chance of being good, condemns them for being bad. our hebrew cynic seems to have had some faint sense of his unfairness; for he concludes his tirade against the sex with the admission that "god made man upright"--the word "man" here, as in genesis, standing for the whole race, male and female--and that if all women, and nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of every thousand, have become bad, it is because they have degraded themselves and one another by the evil "devices" they have sought out (ver. 29). [43] not, however, that the sentiment was confined to the east. the greek poets have many such sayings as, "a woman is a burden full of ills;" and, "where women are, all evils there are found." [sidenote: _and to be indifferent to public wrongs._ ch. viii., vv. 1-13.] the fourth and last rule inferred from this prudent moderate view of life is, that we are to submit with hopeful resignation to the wrongs which spring from human tyranny and injustice. unclouded by gusts of passion, the wise temperate oriental carries a "bright countenance" to the king's divan. though the king should rate him with "evil words," he will remember his "oath of fealty," and not rise up in resentment, still less rush out in open revolt. he knows that the word of a king is potent; that it will be of no use to show a hot mutinous temper; that by a meek endurance of wrath he may allay or avert it. he knows, too, that obedience and submission are not likely to provoke insult and contumely; and that if now and then he is exposed to an undeserved insult, any defence, and especially an angry defence, will but damage his cause (chap. viii., vv. 1-5). moreover, a man who keeps himself cool and will not permit anger to blind him may, in the worst event, foresee that a time of retribution will surely come on the king, or the satrap, who is habitually unjust; that the people will revolt from him and exact heavy penalties for the wrongs they have endured; that death, "that fell arrest without all bail," will carry him away. _he_ can see that time of retribution drawing nigh, although the tyrant, fooled by impunity, is not aware of its approach; he can also see that when it comes it will be as a war in which no furlough is granted, and whose disastrous close no craft can evade. all this execution of long-delayed justice he has seen again and again; and therefore he will not suffer his resentment to hurry him into dangerous courses, but will calmly await the action of those social laws which compel every man to reap the due reward of his deeds (vv. 5-9). nevertheless he has also seen times in which retribution did not overtake oppressors; times even when, in the person of children as wicked and tyrannical as themselves, they "came again" to renew their injustice, and to blot out the memory of the righteous from the earth (ver. 10). and such times have no more disastrous result than this, that they undermine faith and subvert morality. men see that no immediate sentence is pronounced against the wicked, that they live long in their wickedness and beget children to perpetuate it; and the faith of the good in the overruling providence of god is shaken and strained, while the vast majority of men set themselves to do the evil which flaunts its triumphs before their eyes (ver. 11). none the less the preacher is quite sure that it is the part of wisdom to trust in the laws and look for the judgments of god: he is quite sure that the triumph of the wicked will soon pass, while that of the good will endure (vv. 12, 13); and therefore, as a man of prudent and forecasting spirit, he will submit to injustice, but not inflict it, or at least not carry it to any dangerous excess. [sidenote: _the preacher condemns this theory of human life, and declares the quest to be still unattained._ ch. viii., vv. 14, 15.] this is by no means a noble or lofty view of human life; the line of conduct it prescribes is often as immoral as it is ignoble; and we may feel some natural surprise at hearing counsels so base from the lips of the inspired hebrew preacher. but we ought to know him, and his method of instruction, well enough by this time to be sure that he is at least as sensible of their baseness as we can be; that he is here speaking to us, not in his own person, but dramatically, and from the lips of the man who, that he may secure a good name and an easy position in the world, is disposed to accommodate himself to the current maxims of his time and company. if we ever had any doubt on this point, it is set at rest by the closing verses of the section before us. for in these verses the preacher lowers his mask, and tells us plainly that we cannot and must not attempt to rest in the theory he has just put before us, that to follow out its practical corollaries will lead us away from the chief good, not toward it. more than once he has already hinted to us that this "wisdom" is not the highest wisdom; and now he frankly avows that he is as unsatisfied as ever, as far as ever from ending his quest; that his last key will not unlock those mysteries of life which have baffled him from the first. he still holds, indeed, that it is better to be righteous than to be wicked, though he now sees that even the prudently righteous often have a wage like that of the wicked, and that the prudently wicked often have a wage like that of the righteous (ver. 14). this new theory of life, therefore, he confesses to be "a vanity" as great and deceptive as any of those he has hitherto tried. and as even yet it does not suit him to give us his true theory and announce his final conclusion, he falls back on the conclusion we have so often heard, that the best thing a man can do is to eat and to drink, and to carry a clear enjoying temper through all the days, and all the tasks, which god giveth him under the sun (ver. 15). how this familiar conclusion fits into his final conclusion, and is part of it, though not the whole, we shall see in our study of the next and last section of the book. ii.--if, as milton sings, "to know that which before us lies in daily life is the prime wisdom," we are surely much indebted to the hebrew preacher. _he_ does not "sit on a hill apart" discussing fate, freewill, foreknowledge absolute, or any lofty abstruse theme. he walks with us, in the common round, to the daily task, and talks to us of that which lies before and around us in our daily life. nor does he speak as one raised high above the folly and weakness by which we are constantly betrayed. he has trodden the very paths we tread. he shares our craving and has pursued our quest after "that which is good." he has been misled by the illusions by which we are beguiled. and his aim is to save us from fruitless researches and defeated hopes by placing his experience at our command. he speaks, therefore, to our real need, and speaks with a cordial sympathy which renders his counsel very welcome. we are so made that we can find no rest until we find a supreme good, a good which will satisfy all our faculties, passions, aspirations. for _this_ we search with ardour; but our ardour is not always under law to wisdom. we often assume that we have reached our chief good while it is still far off, or that we are at least looking for it in the right direction when in truth we have turned our back upon it. sometimes we seek for it in the pursuit of knowledge, sometimes in pleasure and self-indulgence, sometimes in fervent devotion to secular affairs; sometimes in love, sometimes in wealth, and sometimes in a modest yet competent provision for our future wants. and if, when we have acquired the special good we seek, we find that our hearts are still craving and restless, still hungering for a larger good, we are apt to think that if we had a little more of that which so far has disappointed us; if we were somewhat wiser, or if our pleasures were more varied; if we had a little more love or a larger estate, all would be well with us, and we should be at peace. perhaps in time we get our "little more," but still our hearts do not cry, "hold, enough!"--enough being always a little more than we have; till at last, weary and disappointed in our quest, we begin to despair of ourselves and to distrust the goodness of god. "if god be good," we ask, "why has he made us thus--always seeking yet never finding, urged on by imperious appetites which are never satisfied, impelled by hopes which for ever elude our grasp?" and because we cannot answer the question, we cry out, "vanity of vanities! all is vanity and vexation of spirit!" "ah, no," replies the kindly preacher who has himself known this despairing mood and surmounted it; "no, _all_ is not vanity. there is a chief good, a satisfying good, although you have not found it yet; and you have not found it because you have not looked for it where alone it can be found. once take the right path, follow the right clue, and you will find a good which will make all else good to you, a good which will lend a new sweetness to your wisdom and your mirth, your labour and your gain." but men are very slow to believe that they have wasted their time and strength, that they have wholly mistaken their path; they are reluctant to believe that a little more of that of which they have already acquired so much, and which they have always held to be best, will not yield them the satisfaction they seek. and therefore the wise preacher, instead of telling us at once where the true good is to be found, takes much pains to convince us that it is not to be found where we have been wont to seek it. he places before us a man of the largest wisdom, whose pleasures were exquisitely varied and combined, a man whose devotion to affairs was the most perfect and successful, a man of imperial nature and wealth, and whose heart had glowed with all the fervours of love: and this man--_himself_ under a thin disguise--so rarely gifted and of such ample conditions, confesses that he could not find the chief good in any one of the directions in which we commonly seek it, although he had travelled farther in every direction than we can hope to go. if we are of a rational temper, if we are open to argument and persuasion, if we are not resolved to buy our own experience at a heavy, perhaps a ruinous, cost, how can we but accept the wise hebrew's counsel, and cease to look for the satisfying good in quarters in which he assures us it is not to be found? we have already considered his argument as it bore on the men of his own time; we have now to make its application to our own age. as his custom is, the preacher does not develop his argument in open logical sequence; he does not write a moral essay, but paints us a dramatic picture. * * * * * [sidenote: _the quest in wealth._ ch. vi.] he depicts a man who trusts in riches, who honestly believes that wealth is the chief good, or, at lowest, the way to it. this man has laboured diligently and dexterously to acquire affluence, and he _has_ acquired it. like the rich man of the parable, he has much goods, and barns that grow fuller as they grow bigger. "god has given him riches and wealth and abundance, so that his soul"--not having learned how to look for anything higher--"lacks nothing of all that it desireth." [sidenote: _the man who makes riches his chief good is haunted by fears and perplexities._ ch. vi., vv. 1-6.] he has reached his aim, then, acquired what he holds to be good. can he not be content with it? no; for though he bids his soul make merry and be glad, it obstinately refuses to obey. it is darkened with perplexities, haunted by vague longings, fretted and stung with perpetual care. now that he has his riches, he goes in dread lest he should lose them; he is unable to decide how he may best employ them, or how to dispose of them when he must leave them behind him. god has given them to him; but he is not at all sure that god will show an equal wisdom in giving them to some one else when he is gone. and so the poor rich man sits steeped in wealth up to his chin--up to his chin, but not up to his lips, for he has no "power to enjoy" it. burdened with jealous care, he grudges that others should share what he cannot enjoy, grudges above all that, when he is dead, another should possess what has been of so little comfort to him. "if thou art rich," says shakespeare, "thou art poor; for like an ass whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee." but our rich man is not only like an ass; he is even more stupid: for the ass would not have his back bent even with golden ingots if he could help it, and is only too thankful when the burden is lifted from his back; while the rich man not only _will_ plod on beneath his heavy load, but, in his dread of being unladen at his journey's end, imposes on himself a burden heavier than all his ingots, _and will bear that_ as well as his gold. he creeps along beneath his double load, and brays quite pitifully if you so much as put out a hand to ease him. [sidenote: _much that he gains only feeds vanity._ chap. vi., v. 11.] [sidenote: _he cannot tell what it will be good for him to have_; chap. vi., v. 12.] [sidenote: _nor foresee what will become of his gains_: chap. vi., v. 12.] it is not of much use, perhaps, to argue with one so besotted; but lest we should slip into his degraded estate, the preacher points out for our instruction the source of his disquiet, and shows why it is impossible in the very nature of things that he should know content. among other sources of disquiet he notes these three. (1) that "there are many things which increase vanity:" that is to say, many of the acquisitions of the rich man only augment his outward pomp and state. beyond a certain point he cannot possibly enjoy the good things he possesses; he cannot, for instance, live in all his costly mansions at once, nor eat and drink all the sumptuous fare set on his table, nor carry his whole wardrobe on his back. he is hampered with superfluities which breed care, but yield him no comfort. and, as he grudges that others should enjoy them, all this abundance, all that goes beyond his personal gratification, so far from being an "advantage" to him, is only a burden and a torment. (2) another source of disquiet is, that no man, not even he, "can tell what is good for man in life," what will be really helpful and pleasant to him. many things which attract desire pall upon the taste. and as "the day of our vain life is brief," gone "like a shadow," he may flit away before he has had a chance of using much that he has laboriously acquired. (3) and a third source of disquiet is, that the more a man has the more he must leave: and this is a fact which cuts him two ways, with a keen double edge. for the more he has the less he likes leaving it; and the more he has the more is he puzzled how to leave it. he cannot tell "what shall be after him," and so he makes one will to-day and another to-morrow, and very likely dies intestate after all. is not that a true picture, a picture true to life? bulwer lytton tells us how one of our wealthiest peers once complained to him that he was never so happy and well-served as when he was a bachelor in chambers; that his splendid mansion was a dreary solitude to him, and the long train of domestics his masters rather than his servants. and more than once he depicts, as in _the caxtons_, a man of immense fortune and estate as so occupied in learning and discharging the heavy duties of property, so tied and hampered by the thought of what was expected of him, as to fret under a constant weight of care and to lose all the sweet uses of life. and have not we ourselves known men who have grown more penurious as they have grown richer, men unable to decide what it would be really good or even pleasant for them to do, more and more anxious as to how they should devise their abundance? "i am a poor rich man, burdened with money; but i have nothing else," was the saying of a notorious millionaire, who died while he was signing a cheque for £10,000, some twenty years ago. [sidenote: _and because god has put eternity into his heart, he cannot be content with temporal good._ ch. vi., vv. 7-10.] but the hebrew preacher is not content to paint a picture of the rich man and his perplexities--a picture as true to the life now as it was then. he also points out _how_ it is that the lover of riches came to be the man he is, and why he can never lay hold on the supreme good. "all the labour of this man is for his mouth," for the senses and whatever gratifies sense; and therefore, however prosperous he may be, "yet his soul cannot be satisfied." for the soul is not fed by that which feeds the senses. god has "put eternity" into it. it craves an eternal sustenance. it cannot rest till it gains access to "the living water," and "the meat which endureth," and the good "wine of the kingdom." a beast--if indeed beasts have no souls, which i neither deny nor admit--may be content if only he be placed in comfortable outward conditions; but a man, simply because he is a man, must have a wholesome and happy inward life before he can be content. his hunger and thirst after righteousness must be satisfied. he must know that, when flesh and heart fail him, he will be received into an eternal habitation. he must have a treasure which the moth cannot corrupt, nor the thief filch from him. we cannot escape our nature any more than we can jump off our shadow; and our very nature cries out for an immortal good. hence it is that the rich man who trusts in his riches, and not in the god who gave them to him, carries within him a hungry craving soul. hence it is that _all_ who trust in riches, and hold them to be the chief good, are restless and unsatisfied. for, as the preacher reminds us, it is very true both that the rich man may not be a fool, and that the poor man may trust in the riches he has not won. by virtue of his wisdom, the wise rich man may so vary and combine the good things of this life as to win from them a gratification denied to the sot whose sordid heart is set on gold; and the poor man, because he has so few of the enjoyments which wealth can buy, may snatch at the few that come his way with the violent delight which has violent ends. both may "enjoy the good they have" rather than "crave a good beyond their (present) reach:" but if they mistake that good for the supreme good, neither their poverty nor their wisdom will save them from the misery of a fatal mistake. for they too have souls, _are_ souls; and the soul is not to be satisfied with that which goes in at the mouth. wise or foolish, rich or poor, whosoever _trusts_ in riches is either like the ass whose back is bent with a weight of gold, or he is worse than the ass, and _longs_ to take a burden on his back of which only death can unlade him. * * * * * [sidenote: _the quest in the golden mean._ ch. vii., v. 1-ch. viii., v. 15.] 2. but now, to come closer home, to draw nearer to that prime wisdom which consists in knowing that which lies before us in our daily life, let us glance at the man who aims to stand in the golden mean; the man who does not aspire to heap up a great fortune, but is anxious to secure a modest competence. he is more on our own level; for _our_ trust in riches is, for the most part, qualified by other trusts. if we believe in gold, we also believe in wisdom and in mirth; if we labour to provide for the future, we also wish to use and enjoy the present. we think it well that we should know something of the world about us, and take some pleasure in our life. we think that to put money in our purse should not be our only aim, though it should be a leading aim. we admit that "the love of money is a root of all evil"--one of the roots from which all forms and kinds of evil may spring; and, to save ourselves from falling into that base lust, we limit our desires. we shall be content if we can put by a moderate sum, and we flatter ourselves that we desire even so much as that, not for its own sake, but for the means of knowledge, or of usefulness, or of innocent enjoyment with which it will furnish us. "nothing i should like better," says many a man, "than to retire from business as soon as i have enough to live upon, and to devote myself to this branch of study or that province of art, or to take my share of public duties, or to give myself to a cheerful domestic life." it speaks well for our time, i think, that while in a few large cities there are still many in haste to be rich and very rich, in the country and in hundreds of provincial towns there are thousands of men who know that wealth is not the chief good, and who do not care to don the livery of mammon. nevertheless, though their aim be "most sweet and commendable," it has perils of its own, imminent and deadly perils, which few of us altogether escape. and these perils are clearly set before us in the sketch of the hebrew preacher. as i reproduce that sketch, suffer me, for the sake of brevity, while carefully retaining the antique outlines, to fill in with modern details. [sidenote: _the method of the man who seeks a competence._ ch. viii., vv. 1-14.] suppose a young man to start in life with this theory, this plan, this aim, distinctly before him:--he is to be ruled by prudence and plain common sense: he will try to stand well with the world, and to make a moderate provision for future wants. this aim will beget a certain temperance of thought and action. he will permit himself no extravagances--no wandering out of bounds, and perhaps no enthusiasms, for he wants to establish "a good name," a good reputation, which shall go before him like "a sweet perfume" and dispose men's hearts toward him. and, therefore, he carries a sober face, frequents the company of older, wiser men, is grateful for any hints their experience may furnish, and takes even their "reproof" with a good grace. he walks in the beaten paths, knowing the world to be impatient of novelties. the wanton mirth and crackling laughter of fools in the house of feasting are not for him. he is not to be seduced from the plain prudent course which he has marked out for himself whether by inward provocation or outward allurements. if he is a young lawyer, he will write no poetry, attorneys holding literary men in suspicion. if he is a young doctor, homoeopathy, hydropathy, and all new-fangled schemes of medicine will disclose their charms to him in vain. if he is a young clergyman, he will be conspicuous for his orthodoxy, and for his emphatic assent to all that the leaders of opinion in the church think or may think. if he is a young manufacturer or merchant, he will be no breeder of costly patents and inventions, but will be among the first to profit by them whenever they are found to pay. whatever he may be, he will not be of those who try to make crooked things straight and rough places plain. he wants to get on; and the best way to get on is to keep the beaten path and push forward in that. and he will be patient--not throwing up the game because for a time the chances go against him, but waiting till the times mend and his chances improve, so far as he can, he will keep the middle of the stream that, when the tide which leads on to fortune sets in, he may be of the best to take it at the flood and sail easily on to his desired haven. in all this there may be no conscious insincerity, and not much perhaps that calls for censure. for all young men are not wise with the highest wisdom, nor original, nor brave with the courage which follows truth in scorn of consequence. and our young man may not be dowered with the love of loves, the hate of hates, the scorn of scorns. he may be of a nature essentially prudent and commonplace, or training and habit may have superinduced a second nature. to him a primrose may be a primrose and nothing more; his instinctive thought, as he looks at it, may be how he can reproduce its colour in some of his textures or extract a saleable perfume from its nectared cup. he may even think that primroses are a mistake, and that 'tis pity they were not pot-herbs; or he may assume that he shall have plenty of time to gather primroses by-and-bye, but that for the present he must be content to pick pot-herbs for the market. in his way, he may even be a religious man; he may admit that both prosperity and adversity are of god, that we must take patiently whatever he may send; and he may heartily desire to be on good terms with him who alone "can order all things as he please." [sidenote: _the perils to which it exposes him._ ch. vii., v. 15-ch. viii., v. 13.] [sidenote: _he is likely to compromise conscience_; ch. vii., vv. 15-20.] but here we light on his first grave peril; for he will carry his temperance into his religion, and he may subordinate even that to his desire to get on. looking on men in their religious aspect, he sees that they are divided into two classes, the righteous and the wicked. as he considers them, he concludes that on the whole the righteous have the best of it, that godliness is real gain. but he soon discovers that this first rough conclusion needs to be carefully qualified. for, as he studies men more closely, he perceives that at times the righteous die in their righteousness without being the better for it, and the wicked live on in their wickedness without being the worse for it. he perceives that while the very wicked die before their time, the very righteous, those who are always reaching forth to that which is before them and rising to new heights of insight and obedience, are "forsaken," that they are left alone in the thinly-peopled solitude to which they have climbed, losing the sympathy even of those who once walked with them. now, these are facts; and a prudent sensible man tries to accept facts, and to adjust himself to them, even when they are adverse to his wishes and conclusions. _he_ does not want to be left alone, nor to die before his time. and therefore, taking these new facts into account, he infers that it will be best to be good without being too good, and to indulge himself with an occasional lapse into some general and customary wickedness without being too wicked. nay, he is disposed to believe that "whoso feareth god," studying the facts of his providence and drawing logical inferences from them, "will lay hold of both" wickedness and righteousness, and will blend them in that proportion which the facts seem to favour. but here conscience protests, urging that to do evil can never be good. to pacify it, he adduces the notorious fact that "there is not a righteous man on earth who doeth good, and sinneth not." "conscience," he says, "you are really too strict and straitlaced, too hard on one who wants to do as well as he can. you go quite too far. how can you expect me to be better than great saints and men after god's own heart?" and so, with a wronged and pious air, he turns to lay one hand on wickedness and another on righteousness, quite content to be no better than his neighbours and to let conscience sulk herself into a sweeter mood. [sidenote: _to be indifferent to censure_; ch. vii., vv. 21, 22.] conscience being silenced, prudence steps in. and prudence says, "people will talk. they will take note of your slips, and tattle about them. unless you are very very careful, you will damage your reputation; and if you do that, how can you hope to get on?" now as the man is specially devoted to prudence, and has found her kind mistress and useful monitress in one, he is at first a little staggered to find her taking part against him. but he soon recovers himself, and replies: "dear prudence, you know as well as i do that people don't like a man to be better than themselves. of course they will talk if they catch me tripping; but i don't mean to do more than trip, and a man who trips gains ground in recovering himself, and goes all the faster for a while. besides we all trip; some fall even. and i talk of my neighbours just as they talk of me; and we all like each other the better for being birds of one feather." [sidenote: _to despise women_; ch. vii., vv. 25-29.] at this prudence smiles and stops her mouth. but being very willing to assist so quick-witted a disciple, she presently returns and says: "are you not rather a long while in securing your little competence? is there no short cut to it? why not take a wife with a small fortune of her own, or with connexions who could help you on?" now the man, not being a bad man, but one who would fain be good so far as he knows goodness, is somewhat taken aback by such a suggestion as this. he thinks prudence must be growing very worldly and mercenary. he says within himself, "surely _love_ should be sacred! a man should not prostitute _that_ in order to get on! if i marry a woman simply or mainly for her money, what worse degradation can i inflict on her or on myself? how shall i be better than those old hebrews and orientals who held women to be only a toy or a convenience? to do that, would be to make a snare and a net of her indeed, to degrade her from her true place and function, and possibly would lead me to think of her as even worse than i had made her." nevertheless, his heart being very much set on securing a competence, and an accident of the sort which he calls "providences" putting a foolish woman with a pocketful of money in his way, he takes both the counsel of prudence and a wife to match. [sidenote: _and to be indifferent to public wrongs._ ch. viii., vv. 1-13.] the world, we may be sure, thinks none the worse of him for that. once more he has proved himself a man whose eye is stedfastly bent on "the main chance," and who knows how to seize occasions as they rise. but he, who has thus profaned the inner sanctuary of his own soul, is not likely to be sensitive to the large claims of public duty. if he sees oppression, if the tyranny of a man or a class mounts to a height which calls for rebuke and opposition, _he_ is not likely to sacrifice comfort and risk either property or popularity that he may assail iniquity in her strong places. it is not such men as he who, when the times are out of joint, feel that they are born to set them right. prudence is still his guide, and prudence says, "let things alone; they will right themselves in time. the social laws will avenge themselves on the head of the oppressor, and deliver the oppressed. you can do little to hasten their action. why, to gain so little, should you risk so much?" and the man is content to sit still with folded hands when every hand that can strike a blow for right is wanted in the strife, and can even quote texts of scripture to prove that in "quietness, and confidence" in the action of divine laws, is the true strength. [sidenote: _the preacher condemns this theory, and declares the quest to be still unattained._ ch. vii., vv. 14, 15.] now i make my appeal to those who daily enter the world of business--is not this the tone of that world? are not these the very perils to which you lie open? how often have you heard men recount the slips of the righteous in order to justify themselves for not assuming to be righteous overmuch! how often have you heard them vindicate their own occasional errors by citing the errors of those who give greater heed to religion than they do, or make a louder profession of it! how often have you heard them congratulate a neighbour on his good luck in carrying off an heiress, or speak of wedded love itself as a mere help to worldly advancement! how often have you heard them sneer at the nonsensical enthusiasm which has led certain men to "throw away their chances in life" in order to devote themselves to the service of truth, or to forfeit popularity that they might lead a forlorn hope against customary wrongs, and thank god that no such maggot ever bit their brains! if during the years which have lapsed since i too "went on 'change," the general tone has not risen a whole heaven--and i have heard of no such miracle--i know that you must daily hear such things as these, and worse than these; and that not only from irreligious men of bad character, but from men who take a fair place in our christian congregations. from the time of the wise preacher to the present hour, this sort of talk has been going on, and the scheme of life from which it springs has been stoutly held. there is the more need, therefore, for you to listen to and weigh the preacher's conclusion. for his conclusion is, that this scheme of life is wholly and irredeemably wrong, that it tends to make a man a coward and a slave, that it cannot satisfy the large desires of the soul, and that it cheats him of the chief good. his conclusion is, that the man who so sets his heart on acquiring even a competence that he cannot be content without it, has no genuine trust in god, since he is willing to give in to immoral maxims and customs in order to secure that which, as he thinks, will make him largely independent of the divine providence. the preacher speaks as to wise men, to men of some experience of the world. judge you what he says. fourth section. _the quest achieved. the chief good is to be found, not in wisdom, nor in pleasure, nor in devotion to affairs and its rewards; but in a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the present life, combined with a stedfast faith in the life to come._ chap. viii., ver. 16, to chap. xii., ver. 7. at last we approach the end of our quest. the preacher has found the chief good, and will show us where to find it. but are we even yet prepared to welcome it and to lay hold of it? apparently he thinks we are not. for, though he has already warned us that it is not to be found in wealth or industry, in pleasure or wisdom, he repeats his warning in this last section of his book, as if he still suspected us of hankering after our old errors. not till he has again assured us that we shall miss our mark if we seek the supreme good in any of the directions in which it is commonly sought, does he direct us to the sole path in which we shall not seek in vain. once more, therefore, we must gird up the loins of our mind to follow him along his several lines of thought, encouraged by the assurance that the end of our journey is not now far off. [sidenote: _the chief good not to be found in wisdom_: ch. viii., v. 16-ch. ix., v. 6.] 1. the preacher commences this section by carefully defining his position and equipment as he starts on his final course. as yet he carries no lamp of revelation in his hand, although he will not venture beyond a certain point without it. for the present he will trust to reason and experience, and mark the conclusions to which these conduct when unaided by any direct light from heaven. his first conclusion is that wisdom, which of all temporal goods still stands foremost with him, is incapable of yielding a true content. much as it can do for man, it cannot solve the moral problems which task and afflict his heart, the problems which he _must_ solve before he can be at peace. he may be so bent on solving these by wisdom as to see "no sleep with his eyes by day or night;" he may rely on wisdom with a confidence so genuine as to suppose at times that by its help he has "found out all the work of god"--really solved all the mysteries of the divine providence; but nevertheless "he has not found it out;" the illusion will soon pass, and the unsolved mysteries reappear dark and sombre as of old (chap. viii., vv. 16, 17). and the proof that he has failed is, first, that he is as incompetent to foresee the future as those who are not so wise as he. with all his sagacity, he cannot tell whether he shall meet "the love or the hatred" of his fellows. his lot is as closely hidden in "the hand of god" as theirs, although he may be as much better as he is wiser than they (chap. ix., ver. 1). a second proof is that "the same fate" overtakes both the wise and the foolish, the righteous and the wicked, and he is as unable to escape it as any of his neighbours. all die; and to men ignorant of the heavenly hope of the gospel the indiscrimination of death seems the most cruel and hopeless of wrongs. the preacher, indeed, is not ignorant of that bright hope; but as yet he has not taken the lamp of revelation into his hand: he is simply speaking the thought of those who have no higher guide than reason, no brighter light than reflection. and to these, their wisdom having taught them that to do right is infinitely better than to do wrong, no fact was so monstrous and inscrutable as that their lives should run to the same disastrous close with the lives of evil and violent men, that all alike should fall into the hands of "that churl, death." as they revolved this fact, their hearts grew hot with a fierce resentment as natural as it was impotent, a resentment all the hotter because they knew how impotent it was. therefore the preacher dwells on this fact, lingers over his description of it, adding touch to touch. "one fate comes to all," he says, "to the righteous and to the wicked, to the pure and to the impure, to the religious and to the irreligious, to the profane and to the reverent." if death be a good, the maddest fool and the vilest reprobate share it with the sage and the saint. if death be an evil, it is inflicted on the good as well as on the bad. none is exempt. of all wrongs this is the greatest; of all problems this is the most insoluble. nor is there any doubt as to the nature of death. to him for whom there shines no light of hope behind the darkness of the grave, death is the supreme evil. for to the living, however deject and wretched, there is still some hope that times may mend: even though in outward condition despicable as that unclean outcast, a dog--the homeless and masterless scavenger of eastern cities--he has some advantage over the royal lion who, once couched on a throne, now lies in the dust rotting to dust. the living know at least that they must die; but the dead know not anything. the living can recall the past, and their memory harps fondly on notes which were once most sweet; but the very memory of the dead has perished, no music of the happy past can revive on their dulled sense, nor will any recall their names. the heavens are fair; the earth is beautiful and generous; the works of men are many and diverse and great; but they have "no more any portion for ever in ought that is done under the sun" (vv. 2-6). this is the preacher's description of the hapless estate of the dead. his words would go straight home to the hearts of the men for whom he wrote, with a force even beyond that which they would have for heathen races. in their captivity, they had renounced the worship of idols. they had renewed their covenant with jehovah. many of them were devoutly attached to the ordinances and commandments which they and their fathers had neglected in happier and more prosperous years. yet their lives were made bitter to them with cruel bondage, and they had as little hope in their death as the persians who embittered their lives, and probably even less. it was in this sore strait, and under the strong compulsions of this dreadful extremity, that the more studious and pious of their rabbis, like the preacher himself, drew into an expressive context the passages scattered through their sacred books which hinted at a retributive life beyond the tomb, and settled into that firm persuasion of the immortality of the soul which, as a rule, they never henceforth altogether let go. but when the preacher wrote, this settled and general conviction had not been reached. there were many among them who, as their thoughts circled round the mystery of death, could only cry, "is this _the end_? is _this_ the end?" to the great majority of them it seemed the end. and even the few, who sought an answer to the question by blending the greek and oriental with the hebrew wisdom, attained no clear answer to it. to mere human wisdom, life remained a mystery, and death a mystery still more cruel and impenetrable. only those who listened to the preachers and prophets taught of god beheld the dawn which already began to glimmer on the darkness in which men sat. [sidenote: _nor in pleasure_: ch. ix., vv. 7-12.] imagine, then, a jew brought to the bitter pass which coheleth has described. he has acquainted himself with wisdom, native and foreign; and wisdom has led him to conclusions of virtue. nor is he of those who love virtue as they love music--without practising it. believing that a righteous and religious carriage of himself will ensure happiness and equip him to encounter the problems of life, he has striven to be good and pure, to offer his sacrifices and pay his vows. but he has found that, despite his best endeavours, his life is not tranquil, that the very calamities which overtake the wicked overtake him, that that wise carriage of himself by which he thought to win love has provoked hatred, that death remains a frowning and inhospitable mystery. he hates death, and has no great love for the life which has brought him only labour and disappointment. where is he likely to turn next? wisdom having failed him, to what will he apply? at what conclusion will he arrive? will not his conclusion be that standing conclusion of the baffled and the hapless, "let us eat and drink for to-morrow we die"? will he not say, "why should i weary myself any more with studies which yield no certain science, and self-denials which meet with no reward? if a wise and pure conduct cannot secure me from the evils i dread, let me at least try to forget them and to grasp such poor delights as are still within my reach?" this, at all events, _is_ the conclusion in which the preacher lands him; and hence he takes occasion to review the pretensions of pleasure or mirth. to the baffled and hopeless devotee of wisdom he says, "go, then, eat thy bread with gladness, and drink thy wine with a merry heart. cease to trouble yourself about god and his judgments. he, as you have seen, does not mete out rewards and punishments according to our merit or demerit; and as he does not punish the wicked after their deserts, you may be sure that he has long since accepted your wise virtuous endeavours, and will keep no score against you. deck yourself in white festive garments; let no perfume be lacking to your head; add to your harem any woman who charms your eye: and, as the day of your life is brief at the best, let no hour of it slip by unenjoyed. as you have chosen mirth for your portion, be as merry as you may. whatever you can get, get; whatever you can do, do. you are on the road to the dark dismal grave where there is no work nor device; there is, therefore, the more reason why your journey should be a merry one" (vv. 7-10). thus the preacher describes the man of pleasure, and the maxims by which he rules his life. how true the description is i need not tarry to prove; 'tis a point every man can judge for himself. judge also whether the warning which the preacher subjoins be not equally true to experience (vv. 11, 12). for, after having depicted, or personated, the man who trusts in wisdom, and the man who devotes himself to pleasure, he proceeds to show that even the man who blends mirth with study, whose wisdom preserves him from the disgusts of satiety and vulgar lust, is nevertheless--to say nothing of the chief good--very far from having reached a certain good. _then_, at least, "the race was not (always) to the swift, nor the battle to the strong; neither was bread to the wise, nor riches to the intelligent, nor favour to the learned." those who had the fairest chances had not always the happiest success; nor did those who bent themselves most strongly to their ends always reach their ends. those who were wanton as birds, or heedless as fish, were often taken in the snare of calamity or swept up by the net of misfortune. at any moment a killing frost might blight all the growths of wisdom and destroy all the sweet fruits of pleasure: and if they had only these, what could they do but starve when they were gone? the good which was at the mercy of accident, which might vanish before the instant touch of disease or loss or pain, was not worthy to be, or to be compared with, the chief good, which is a good for all times, in all accidents and conditions, and renders him who has it equal to all events. [sidenote: _nor in devotion to affairs and its rewards._ ch. ix., v. 13-ch. x., v. 20.] so far, then, coheleth has been occupied in retracing the argument of the first section of the book. now he returns upon the second and third sections: he deals with the man who plunges into public affairs, who turns his wisdom to practical account, and seeks to attain a competence, if not a fortune. he lingers over this stage of his argument, probably because the jews, then as always, even in exile and under the most cruel oppression, were a remarkably energetic, practical, money-getting race, with a singular faculty of dealing with political issues or handling the market; and, as he slowly pursues it, he drops many hints of the social and political conditions of the time. two features of it he takes much to heart: first, that wisdom, even of the most practical and sagacious sort, did not win its fair recognition and reward--a very natural complaint in so wise a man; and, secondly, that his people were under tyrants so gross, self-indulgent, indolent, and unstatesman-like as the persians of his day--also a natural complaint in a man of so wise and patriotic a spirit. he opens with an anecdote in proof of the slight regard in which the most valuable and remunerative sagacity was held. he tells us of a poor man--and i have sometimes thought that this poor man may have been the author himself; for the military leaders of the jews, though among the most expert strategists of that era, were often very learned and studious men--who lived in a little city, with only a few inhabitants. a great king came up against the city, besieged it, threw up the lofty military causeway, as high as the walls, from which it was the fashion of the time to deliver the assault. by his archimedian wit the poor man hit on a stratagem which saved the city; but though his service was so signal, and the city so little that the "few men in it" must have seen him every day, "yet no one remembered that same poor man," or lent a hand to lift him from his poverty. wise as he was, his wisdom did not bring him bread, nor riches, nor favour (vv. 13-15). therefore, concludes the preacher, wisdom, great gift though it is, and better, as in this instance, than "an army to a beleaguered city" (chap, vii., ver. 19), is not of itself sufficient to secure success. a poor man's wisdom--as many an inventor has found--is despised even by those who profit by it. although his counsel, in the day of extremity, is infinitely more valuable than the loud bluster of fools, or of a ruler among fools, nevertheless the ruler, because he is foolish, may be affronted to find one of the poorest men in the place wiser than himself; he may easily cast his "merit in the eye of scorn," and so rob him both of the honour and the reward of his achievement (vv. 16, 17)--an ancient saw not without modern instances. for the fool is a greater power in the world, especially the fool who is wise in his own conceit. insignificant in himself, he may nevertheless do great harm and "destroy much good." just as a tiny fly, when it is dead, may make the sweetest ointment offensive by infusing its own evil savour, so a man, when his wit is gone, may with his little folly cause many sensible men to distrust the wisdom they should honour (chap. x., ver. 1):--who has not met such a hot-headed want-wit in, for example, the lobbies of the house of commons? to a wise man, such as coheleth, the fool, the presumptuous conceited fool, is "rank and smells to heaven," infesting sweeter natures than his own with a most pestilent corruption. he paints us a picture of him--paints it with a keen graphic scorn which, if the eyes of the fool were in his head (chap. ii., ver. 14), and "what he is pleased to call his mind" could for a moment shift from his left hand to his right (ver. 2), might make him nearly as contemptible to himself as he is to others. as we read ver. 3 the unhappy wretch stands before us. we see him coming out of his house; he goes dawdling down the street, for ever wandering from the path, attracted by the merest trifle, staring at familiar objects with eyes that have no recognition in them, knowing neither himself nor others; and, with pointed finger, chuckles after every sober citizen he meets, "there goes a fool!" yet a fool quite as foolish and malignant as this, quite as indecent even in outward behaviour, may be lifted to high place, and has ere now sat on an imperial throne.[44] the preacher had seen many of them suddenly raised to power, while nobles were depraved, and high functionaries of state reduced to an abject servitude. now if the poor wise man have to attend the durbar, or sit in the divan, of a foolish capricious despot, how should he bear himself? the preacher counsels meekness and submission. he is to sit unruffled even though the ruler should rate him, lest by resentment he should provoke some graver outrage (vv. 4-7: comp. chap. viii., ver. 3). to strengthen him in his submission, the preacher hints at cautions and consolations which, because free and open speech was very dangerous under the persian despotism, he wraps up in obscure maxims capable of a double sense--nay, as the commentators have shown, capable of a good many more senses than two--to the true sense of which "a foolish ruler" was by no means likely to penetrate, even if they fell into his hands. [44] to cite only one instance out of many--other instances may be found in the introduction--let the reader recall the emperor caligula, and refer, for example, to his reception of the alexandrian jews, as recorded by philo, _legat ad caium_, cc. 44, 45; or by merivale, in his _history of the romans_, chap. xlvii., pp. 47-50; or by milman, in his _history of the jews_, book xii., pp. 141-45. he will then know, to quote the phrase of apollonius of tyana, what "the kind of beast called a tyrant" is or may be. the first of these maxims is, "he who diggeth a pit shall fall into it" (ver. 8). and the allusion is, of course, to an eastern mode of trapping wild beasts and game. the huntsman dug a pit, covered it with twigs and sods, and strewed the surface with bait; but as he dug many such pits, and some of them were long without a tenant, he might at any inadvertent moment fall into one of them himself. the proverb is capable of at least two interpretations. it may mean that the foolish despot, plotting the ruin of his wise servant, might in his anger go too far; and, betraying his intention, provoke a retaliative anger before which he himself would fall. or it may mean that, should the wise servant seek to undermine the throne of the despot, he might be taken in his treachery and bring on himself the whole weight of the tyrant's wrath. the second maxim is, "whoso breaketh down a wall, a serpent shall bite him" (ver. 8); and here, of course, the allusion is to the fact that snakes infect the crannies of old walls (comp. amos v. 19). to set about dethroning a tyrant was like pulling down such a wall; you would break up the nest of many a reptile, many a venomous hanger-on, and might only get bit or stung for your pains. or, again, in pulling out the stones of an old wall, you might let one of them fall on your foot; and in hacking out its timbers, you might cut yourself: that is to say, even if your conspiracy did not involve you in absolute ruin, it would be only too likely to do you serious and lasting injury (ver. 9). the next adage runs (ver. 10), "if the axe be blunt, and he do not whet the edge, he must put on more strength, but wisdom should teach him to sharpen it," and is, perhaps, the most difficult passage in the book. the hebrew is read in a different way by almost every translator. as i read it, it means, in general, that it is not well to work with blunt tools when by a little labour and delay you may whet them to a keener edge. read thus, the political rule implied in it is, "do not attempt any great enterprise, any revolution or reform, till you have a well-considered scheme to go upon, and suitable instruments to carry it out with." but the special political import of it may be, "your strength is nothing to that of the tyrant; do not therefore lift a blunt axe against the trunk of despotism: wait till you have put a sharp edge upon it." or, the tyrant himself may be the blunt axe, and then the warning is, "sharpen _him_ up, repair him, use him and his caprices to serve your end; get your way by giving way to him, and by skilfully availing yourself of his varying moods." which of these may be the true meaning of this obscure disputed passage, i do not undertake to say; but the latter of the two seems to be sustained by the adage which follows: "if the serpent bite because it is not charmed, there is no advantage to the charmer." for here, i think, there can be little doubt that the foolish angry ruler is the serpent, and the wise functionary the charmer who is to extract the venom of his anger. let the foolish ruler be never so furious, the poor wise man, who is able "to cull the plots of best advantages," and to save a city, can surely devise a charm of soft submissive words which will turn away his wrath; just as the serpent-charmer of the east, by song and incantation, is at least reputed to draw serpents from their lurk, that he may pluck the venom from their teeth (ver. 11). for, as we are told in the very next verse, "the words of the wise man's mouth win him grace, while the lips of the fool destroy him." and on this hint, on this casual mention of his name, the preacher--who all this while, remember, is personating the sagacious man of the world, bent on rising to wealth, power, distinction--once more "comes down" on the fool. he speaks of him with a burning heat and contempt, as men versed in public affairs are wont to do, since they best know how much harm a voluble, impudent, self-conceited fool may do, how much good he may prevent. here, then, is the fool of public life. he is a man always prating and predicting, although his words, only foolish at the first, swell and fret into a malignant madness before he has done, and although he of all men is least able to give good counsel, to seize occasions as they rise, or to foresee what is about to come to pass. puffed up by the conceit of wisdom or of his own importance, he is for ever intermeddling with great affairs, though he has no notion how to handle them, and is incapable of even finding his way along the beaten road which leads to the capital city, of taking and keeping the plain and obvious path which the exigencies of the time require; while (ver. 3) he is forward to cry, "there goes a fool," of every man who is wiser than himself (vv. 12-15). if he would only hold his tongue, he might pass muster; beguiled by his gravity and silence, men might give him credit for sagacity, and fit his foolish deeds with profound motives; but he _will_ speak, and his words betray and "swallow him up." of course _we_ have no such fools, "full of words," to rise in their high place and wag their tongues to their own hurt; they are peculiar to antiquity or to the east. but _then_ there were so many of them, and their influence in the state was so disastrous that, as the preacher thinks of them, he breaks into an almost dithyrambic fervour, and cries, "woe to thee, o land, when thy king is a child,[45] and thy princes feast in the morning! happy art thou, o land, when thy king is noble, and thy princes eat at due hours, for strength and not for revelry!" through the sloth and riot of these foolish rulers, the whole fabric of the state was fast fading into decay--the roof rotting and the rain leaking in. to support their inopportune and profligate revelry, they imposed crushing taxes on the people, which inspired in some a revolutionary discontent, and in some the apathy of despair. the wise exile foresaw that the end of a despotism so unjust and luxurious could not be far off; that when the storm rose and the wind blew, the ancient house, unrepaired in its decay, would topple on the heads of those who sat in its halls, revelling in a wicked mirth (vv. 16-19). meantime, the sagacious servant of the state, perchance too of foreign extraction, unable to arrest the progress of decay, or not caring how soon it was consummated, would make his "market of the time;" he would carry himself warily: and, because the whole land was infested with the spies bred by despotism, he would give them no hold on him, nor so much as speak the simple truth of his foolish debauched rulers in the privacy of his own bed-chamber, or mutter his thoughts on the roof, lest some "bird of the air should carry the report" (ver. 20). [45] what coheleth means by the king being "a child" is best explained by isa. iii. 12: "as for my people, their ruler is a wilful child, and women rule over him." but if this were the condition of the time, if to rise in public life involved so many mean crafts and submissions, so many deadly imminent risks from spies and from fools clad in a little brief authority, how could any man hope to find the chief good in it? wisdom did not always win promotion; virtue was inimical to success. the anger of an incapable idiot, or the whisper of an envious rival, or the caprice of a merciless despot, might at any moment undo the work of years, and expose the most upright and sagacious of men to the worst extremities of misfortune. there was no tranquillity, no freedom, no security, no dignity in such a life as this. till this were resigned and some nobler, loftier aim found, there was no chance of reaching that great satisfying good which lifts man above all accidents, and fixes him in a happy security from which no blow of circumstance can dislodge him. * * * * * [sidenote: _but in a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the present life_, ch. xi., vv. 1-8.] what that good is, and where it may be found, the preacher now proceeds to show. but, as his manner is, he does not say in so many words, "this is the chief good of man," or "you will find it yonder;" but he places before us the man who is walking in the right path and drawing closer and closer to it. even of him the preacher does not give us any formal description; but, following what we have seen to be his favourite method, he gives us a string of maxims and counsels from which we are to infer what manner of man he is who happily achieves this great quest. and, at the very outset, we learn that this happy person is of a noble, unselfish, generous temper. unlike the man who simply wants to get on and make a fortune, he grudges no man his gains; he looks on his neighbours' interests as well as his own, and does good even to the evil and the unthankful.[46] he is one who "casts his bread upon the waters" (ch. xi., ver. 1), and who "gives a portion thereof to seven, and even to eight" (ver. 2). the familiar proverb of the first verse has long been read as an allusion to the sowing of rice and other grain from a boat, during the periodical inundation of certain eastern rivers, especially the nile. we have been taught to regard the husbandman pushing from the embanked village in his frail bark, to cast the grain he would gladly eat on the surface of the flood, as a type of christian labour and charity. he denies himself; so also must we if we would do good. he has faith in the divine laws, and trusts to receive his own again with usury, to reap a larger crop the longer he waits for it; and, in like manner, we are to trust in the divine laws which bring us a hundredfold for every act of self-denying service, and bless our "long patience" with the ampler harvest. but it is doubtful whether the hebrew _usus loquendi_ admits of this interpretation. it probably suggests another which, if unfamiliar to us, has a beauty of its own. in the east bread is commonly made in thin flat cakes, something like passover cakes; and one of these cakes flung on the stream, though it would float with the current for a time, would soon sink; and once sunk would, unlike the grain cast from the boat, yield no return. and our charity should be like that. we should do good, "hoping for nothing again." we should show kindnesses which will soon be forgotten, never be returned, and be undismayed by the thanklessness of the task. it is not so thankless as it seems. for, first, we shall "find the good of it" in the loftier, more generous temper which the habit of doing good breeds and confirms. if no one else be the better for our kindness, we shall be the better, because the more kindly, for it. the quality of charity, like that of mercy, is twice blessed; "it blesseth him that gives and him that takes." [46] one of the most elaborate proverbs in the talmud is on charity:--"iron breaks the stone, fire melts iron, water extinguishes fire, the clouds drink up the water, a storm drives away the clouds, man withstands the storm, fear unmans man, wine dispels fear, sleep drives away wine, and death sweeps all away--even sleep. but solomon the wise says, charity saves from death." and there is hardly a finer passage in shakespeare's sonnets than that (cxvi.) in which he sings the disinterestedness of love, and its superiority to all change: "love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. * * * * * * love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom." and, again, the task is not so thankless as it sometimes seems; for though many of our kind deeds may quicken no kindness in "him that takes," yet some of them will; and the more we help and succour the more likely are we to light upon at least a few who, when our need comes, will succour and console us. even the most hardened have a certain tenderness for those who help them, if only the help meet a real need, and be given with grace. and, therefore, we may be very sure that if we give a portion of our bread to seven and even to eight, especially if they know that we ourselves have stomach for it all, at least one or two of them will share with us when we need bread. but is not this, after all, only a refined selfishness? if we give because we do not know how soon we may need a gift, and in order that we may by-and-bye "find the good of it," do not even the heathen and the publicans the same? well, not many of them, i think. i have not observed that it is their habit to cast their bread on thankless waters. if they forbode calamity and loss, they provide against them, not by giving, but by hoarding; and even they themselves would hardly accept as a model of charity a man who buttoned up his pocket against every appeal, lest he should be yielding to a selfish motive, or be suspected of it. the refined selfishness of showing kindness and doing good even to the evil and the unthankful because we hope to find the good of it is by no means too common yet; we need not go in dread of it. nor is it an altogether unworthy motive. st. paul urges us to help a fallen brother on the express ground that we may need similar help some day (gal. vi. 1); and _he_ was not in the habit of appealing to base motives. nay, the very golden rule itself, which all men admire even if they do not walk by it, touches this spring of action; for among other meanings it surely has this, that we are to do to others as we would that they should do to us, in the hope that they will do to us as we have done to them. there are other higher meanings in the rule of course, as there are other and purer motives for charity; but i do not know that we are any of us of so lofty a virtue that we need fear to show kindness in order to win kindness, or to give help that we may get help when we need it. possibly, to act on this motive may be the best and nearest way of rising to such higher motives as we can reach. the first characteristic, then, of the man who is likely to achieve the quest of the chief good is the charity which prompts him to be gracious, and to show kindness, and to do good, even to the thankless and ungracious. and his second characteristic is the stedfast industry which turns all seasons to account. the man of affairs, who wants to rise, waits on occasion; he is on the watch to avail himself of the moods and caprices of men and bend them to his interest. but he who has learned to value things at their true worth, and whose heart is fixed on the acquisition of the highest good, does not want to get on so much as to do his duty under all the variable conditions of life. just as he will not withhold his hand from giving, lest some of the recipients of his charity should prove unworthy, so also he will not withdraw his hand from the labour appointed him, because this or that endeavour may be unproductive, or lest it should be thwarted by the ordinances of heaven. he knows that the laws of nature will hold on their way, often causing individual loss to promote the general good. he knows, for instance, that when the clouds are full of rain they _will_ empty themselves upon the earth, even though they put his harvest in peril; and that when the wind is fierce it will blow down trees, even though it should also scatter the seed which he is sowing. but he does not therefore wait upon the wind till it is too late to sow, nor upon the clouds till his ungathered crops rot in the fields. he is conscious that, though he knows much, he knows little of these as of other works of god: he cannot tell whether this or that tree will be blown down; almost all he can be certain of is that, when the tree is down, it will lie where it has fallen, lifting its bleeding roots in dumb protest against the wind which has brought it low. but _this_ too he knows, that it is "god who worketh all;" that _he_ is not responsible for events beyond his control: that what he is responsible for is that he do the duty of the moment whatever wind may blow, and calmly leave the issue in the hand of god. and so he is not "over exquisite to cast the fashion of uncertain evils;" diligent and undismayed, he goes on his way, giving himself heartily to the present duty, "sowing his seed morning and evening, although he cannot tell which shall prosper, this or that, or whether both shall prove good" (vv. 3-6). windy march cannot blow him from his constant purpose, though it may blow the seed out of his hand; nor a rainy august melt him to despairing tears, though it may damage his harvest. he has done his duty, discharged his responsibility: let god see to the rest; whatever pleases god will content him. this man, then, has learned one or two of the profoundest secrets of wisdom, plain as they look. he has learned that, giving, we gain; and, spending, thrive. he has also learned that a man's true care is himself; that all that pertains to the body, to the issues of labour, to the chances of fortune, is external to himself; that whatever form these may take, he may learn from them, and profit by them, and be content in them: that his true business in the world is to cultivate a strong and dutiful character which shall prepare him for any world or any fate; and that so long as he can do this, his main duty will be done, his ruling object attained. _totum in co est, ut tibi imperes._[47] [47] cicero, _tusc._, lib. ii., cap. 22. is not this true wisdom? is it not an abiding good? pleasures may bloom and fade. speculations may shift and change. riches may come and go--what else have they wings for? the body may sicken or strengthen. the favour of men may be conferred and withdrawn. there is no stability in these; and if we are dependent on them, we shall be variable and inconstant as they are. but if we make it our chief aim to do our duty whatever it may be, and to love and serve our neighbour whatever the attitude he may assume to us, we have an aim always within our reach, a duty we may always be doing, a good as enduring as ourselves, and therefore a good we may enjoy for ever. standing on this rock, from which no wave of change can sweep us, "the light will be sweet to us, and it shall be pleasant to our eyes to behold the sun," whatever the day, or the world, on which he may rise (ver. 7). but is all our life to be taken up in meeting the claims of duty and of charity? are we never to relax into mirth, never to look forward to a time in which reward will be more exactly adjusted to service? yes, we are to do both this and that. it is very true that he who makes it his ruling aim to do the present duty, and to leave the future with god, will have a happy because a useful life. he that walks this path of duty "only thirsting for the right, and learns to deaden love of self, before his journey closes, he shall find the stubborn thistle bursting into glossy purples, which outredden all voluptuous garden roses." the path may often be steep and difficult; it may be overhung with threatening rocks and strewn with "stones of offence;" but he who pursues it, still pressing on "through the long gorge" and winning his way upward, "shall find the toppling crags of duty scaled, are close upon the shining table-lands to which our god himself is sun and moon." nevertheless, if his life is to be full and complete, he must be able to pluck whatever bright flowers of joy spring beside his path, to find "laughing waters" in the crags he climbs, and to rejoice not only in "the glossy purples" of the armed and stubborn thistle, but in the delicate beauty of the ferns, the pure grace of the cyclamens, and the sweet breath of the fragrant grasses and flowers which haunt those severe heights. if he is to be a man, rather than a stoic or an anchorite, he must add to his sense of duty a keen delight in all beauty, all grace, all innocent and noble pleasure. for the sake of others, too, as well as for his own sake, he must carry with him "the merry heart which doeth good like a medicine," since, lacking that, he will neither do all the good he might, nor himself become perfect and complete. and it is proof, i think, of the good divinity, no less than of the broad humanity, of the preacher that he lays much stress on this point. he not only bids us enjoy life, but gives us cogent reasons for enjoying it. "even," he says, "if a man should live many years, he ought to enjoy them all." but why? "because there will be many dark days," days of old age and growing infirmity in which pleasures will lose their charm; days of death through which he will sleep quietly in the dark stillness of the grave, beyond the touch of any happy excitement (ver. 8). therefore the man who attains the chief good will not only do the duty of the moment; he will also enjoy the pleasure of the moment. _he_ will not toil through the long day of life till, spent and weary, he has no power to enjoy his "much goods," or no time for his soul to "make merry the glad." while he is "a young man," he will "rejoice in his youth, and let his heart cheer him," and go after the pleasures which attract youth (ver. 9). while his heart is still fresh, when pleasures are most innocent and healthful, easiest of attainment and unalloyed by anxiety and care, he will cultivate that cheerful temper which is a prime safeguard against vice, discontent, and the morose fretfulness of a selfish old age. [sidenote: _combined with a stedfast faith in the life to come._ ch. x., v. 9-ch. xii, v. 7.] but, soft; is not our man of men becoming a mere man of pleasure? no; for he recognises the claims of duty and of charity. these keep his pleasures sweet and wholesome, prevent them from usurping the whole man, and landing him in the satiety and weariness of dissipation. but lest even these safeguards should prove insufficient, he has also this: he knows that "god will bring him into judgment;" that all his works, whether of charity or duty or recreation, will be weighed in the pure and even balance of divine justice (ver. 9). _this_ is the secret of the pure heart--the heart that is kept pure amid all labours and cares and joys. but the intention of the preacher in thus adverting to the divine judgment has been gravely misconstrued, wrested even to its very opposite. we too much forget what that judgment must have seemed to the enslaved jews;--how weighty a consolation, how bright a hope! they were captive exiles, oppressed by profligate despotic lords. cleaving to the divine law with a passionate loyalty such as they had never felt in happier days, they were nevertheless exposed to the most dire and constant misfortunes. all the blessings which the law pronounced on the obedient seemed withheld from them, all its promises of good and peace to be falsified; the wicked triumphed over them, and prospered in their wickedness. now to a people whose convictions and hopes had suffered this miserable defeat, what truth would be more welcome than that of a life to come, in which all wrongs should be both righted and avenged, and all the promises in which they had hoped should receive a large fulfilment that would beggar hope? what prospect could be more cheerful and consolatory than that of a day of retribution on which their oppressors would be put to shame, and _they_ would be recompensed for their fidelity to the law of god? this hope would be sweeter to them than any pleasure; it would lend a new zest to every pleasure, and make them more zealous in good works. nay, we know, from the psalms composed during the captivity, that the judgment of god _was_ an incentive to hope and joy; that, instead of fearing it, the pious jews looked forward to it with rapture and exultation. what, for example, can be more riant and joyful than the concluding strophe of psalm xcvi.? let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof; let the field exult and all that therein is; and let all the trees of the wood sing for joy before jehovah: for he cometh, for he cometh _to judge the earth, to judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with his truth_; or than the third strophe of psalm xcviii.? let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein; let the floods clap their hands, and let the hills sing for joy together before jehovah: _for he cometh to judge the earth; with righteousness shall he judge the world, and the peoples with equity_. it is impossible to read these verses, and such verses as these, without feeling that the jews of the captivity anticipated the divine judgment, not with fear and dread, but with a hope and joy so deep and keen as that they summoned the whole round of nature to share in it and reflect it. if we remembered this, we should not so readily agree with the preachers and commentators who assume coheleth to be speaking ironically in this verse, and as though he would defy his readers to enjoy their pleasures with the thought of god and his judgment of them in their minds. we should rather understand that he was making life more cheerful to them; that he was removing the blight of despair which had fallen on it; that he was kindling in their dreary prospect a light which would shine even into their darkened present with gracious and healing rays. all wrongs would be easier to bear, all duties would be faced with better heart, all alleviating pleasures would grow more welcome, if once they were fully persuaded that there was a life beyond death, a life in which the good would be "comforted" and the evil "tormented." it is on the express ground that there is a judgment that the preacher, in the last verse of this chapter, bids them banish "care" and "sadness," or, as the words perhaps mean, "moroseness" and "trouble;" though he also adds another reason which no longer afflicts him much, viz., that "youth and manhood are vanity," soon gone, never to be recalled, and never enjoyed if the brief occasion is suffered to pass. mark how quickly the force of this great hope has reversed his position. only in ver. 8, the very instant before he discloses his hope, he urges men to enjoy the present "because all that is coming is vanity," because there were so many dark days, days of infirm querulous age and silent dreary death before them. but here, in ver. 10, the very moment he has disclosed his hope, he urges them to enjoy the present, not because _the future_ is vanity, but because _the present_ is vanity, because youth and manhood soon pass and the pleasures proper to them will be out of reach. why should they any longer be fretted with care and anxiety when the lamp of revelation shone so brightly on the future? why should they not be cheerful when so happy a prospect lay before them? why should they sit brooding over their wrongs when their wrongs were so soon to be righted, and they were to enter on so ample a recompense of reward? why should they not travel toward a future so welcome and inviting with hearts attuned to mirth and responsive to every touch of pleasure? but is the thought of judgment to be no check on our pleasures? well, it is certainly used here as an incentive to pleasure, to cheerfulness. we are to be happy _because_ we are to stand at the bar of god, because in the judgment he will adjust and compensate all the wrongs and afflictions of time. but it is not every one who can take to himself the full comfort of this argument. only he can do that who makes it his ruling aim to do his duty and help his neighbour. and no doubt even he will find the hope of judgment--for with him it is a hope rather than a fear--a valuable check, not on his pleasures, but on those base counterfeits which often pass for pleasures, and which betray men, through voluptuousness, into satiety, disgust, remorse. because he hopes to meet god, and has to give account of himself to god, he will resist the evil lusts which pollute and degrade the soul: and thus the prospect of judgment will become a safeguard and a defence. but he has a safeguard of even a more sovereign potency than this. for he not only looks forward to a future judgment, he is conscious of a present and constant judgment. god is with him wherever he goes. from "the days of his youth" he has "remembered his creator" (chap. xii., ver. 1). he has remembered _him_, and given to the poor and needy. he has remembered him and, doing all things as to him, duty has grown light. he has remembered him, and his pleasures have grown the sweeter because they were gifts from heaven, and because he has taken them, in a thankful spirit, for a temperate enjoyment. of all safeguards to a life of virtue, this is the noblest and the best. we can afford, indeed, to part with none of them, for we are strangely weak, often where we least suspect it, and need all the helps we can get: but least of all can we afford to part with this. we need to remember that every sin is punished here and now, inwardly if not outwardly, and that these inward punishments are the most severe. we need to remember that we must all appear before the judgment-seat of god, to render an account of the deeds done in the body. but above all--if love, and not fear, is to be the animating motive of our life--we need to remember that god is always with us, observing what we do; and that, not that he may spy upon us and accumulate heavy charges against us, but that he may help us to do well; not to frown upon our pleasures, but to hallow, deepen, and prolong them, and to be himself our chief good and our supreme delight. "'live while you live,' the epicure would say, 'and seize the pleasure of the present day.' 'live while you live,' the sacred preacher cries, 'and give to god each moment as it flies.' lord, in my view let both united be: i live in pleasure while i live in thee."[48] [48] _dum vivimus vivamus._--doddridge. finally, the preacher enforces this early and habitual reference of the soul to the divine presence and will by a brief allusion to the impotence and weariness of a godless old age, and by a very striking description of the terrors of the death in which it culminates. while "the dew of youth" is still fresh upon us we are to "remember our creator" and his constant judgment of us lest, forgetting him, we should waste our powers in sensual excess; lest temperate mirth should degenerate into an extravagant and wanton devotion to pleasure; lest the lust of mere physical enjoyment should outlive the power to enjoy, and, groaning under the penalties our unbridled indulgence has provoked, we should find "days of evil" rise on us in long succession, and draw out into "years" of fruitless desire, self-disgust, and despair (ver. 1). "before the evil days come," and that they may not come; before "the years arrive of which we shall say, i have no pleasure in them," and that they may not arrive, we are to bethink us of the pure and awful presence in which we daily stand. god is with us that we may not sin; with us in youth, that "the angel of his presence" may save us from the sins to which youth is prone; with us, to save us from "the noted slips of youth and liberty," that our closing years may have the cheerful serenity of a happy old age. to this admonition drawn from the miseries of godless age, the preacher appends a description of the terrors of approaching death (vv. 2-5),--a description which has suffered many strange torments at the hands of critics and commentators. it has commonly been read as an allegorical, but singularly accurate, diagnosis of "the disease men call death," as setting forth in graphic figures the gradual decay of sense after sense, faculty after faculty.[49] learned physicians have written treatises upon it, and have been lost in admiration of the force and beauty of the metaphors in which it conveys the results of their special science, although they differ in their interpretation of almost every sentence, and are driven at times to the most gross and absurd conjectures in order to sustain their several theories. i need not give any detailed account of these speculations, for the simple reason that they are based, as i believe, on an entire misconception of the sacred text. instead of being, as has been assumed, a figurative description of the dissolution of the body, it sets forth the threatening approach of death under the image of a tempest which, gathering over an eastern city during the day, breaks upon it toward evening: so, at least, i, with many more, take it. and i do not know how we can better arrive at it than by considering what would be the incidents which would strike us if we were to stroll through the narrow tortuous streets of such a city as the day was closing in. [49] it may be worth while to specify some of the gross and absurd conjectures, some also of the strange differences, into which what may be called the _medical_ reading of this passage has betrayed its advocates. ginsburg has a marvellous collection of them in his "notes" to these verses. i select and combine only a few of them. the darkening of the light, the sun, the moon, and the stars (ver. 2) is taken by one great authority (the talmud) to mean the darkening _of the forehead_, _the nose_, _the soul_, _and the teeth_; by another (the chaldee paraphrast), the obscuring of _the face_, _the eyes_, _the cheeks_, _and the apples of the eyes_; by a third (dr. smith, in his "portraiture of old age"), _for the decay of all the mental faculties_. that "the clouds return after the rain" signifies, according to ibn ezra, _the constant dimness of the eyes_; according to le clerc, _a bad influenza, accompanied with unceasing snuffling_. "the keepers of the house" (ver. 3) are _the ribs and the loins_ (talmud), _the knees_ (chaldee), and _the hands and arms_ (ibn ezra). "the men of power" are _the thighs_ (talmud) and _the arms_ (chaldee). "the grinding maids" are _the teeth_, and "the ladies who look out of the lattices" are _the eyes_, by general consent. "the door closed on the street" is _the pores of the skin_ (dr. smith), _the lips_ (ibn ezra), and _the eyes_ (henstenberg). that "the noise of the mills ceases" or "grows faint" (ver. 4) means that _the mastication of food_ becomes imperfect (dr. smith), that _the appetite_ fails (chaldee), that _the voice_ grows feeble (grotius). that "the songbirds descend to their nests" signifies that _music and songs are a bore_ to the aged man (talmud), that he is _no longer able to sing_ (chaldee), that _his ears are heavy_ (grotius). the allusion to "the almond" (ver. 5) denotes that _the haunch-bone shall come out from leanness_ (talmud), or (reynolds) it denotes _the hoary hair which comes quickly on a man_ just as the almond-tree thrusts out her blossoms before any other tree; while at least half-a-dozen scholars and physicians take it as pointing to _membrum genitale_ or _glans virilis_. that "the locust becomes a burden" means that _the ankles swell_ (chaldee), _gout in the feet_ (jerome), _a projecting stomach_ (le clerc), _the dry shrivelled frame of an old man_ (dr. smith). almost all modern commentators take the reference to "the caper-berry" as marking the fact that condiments lose their power to provoke appetite with the aged, while many of the ancients took it as marking the failure of sexual desire. the "silver cord" and "golden bowl" of ver. 6 are _the tongue and the skull_ (chaldee), _backbone and brain_ (dr. smith), _urine and bladder_ (gasper sanctius); while the "bucket" is either _the gall_ or _the right ventricle of the heart_, and "the wheel" that draws the water stands for _the air-inspiring lungs_. now of course it would not be just to condemn any interpretation simply because it is weighted with absurdities and contradictions such as these, though it surely requires a very strong reading to carry them. but when an interpretation is so obviously forced and fanciful, when it is so remarkably ingenious and leaves to ingenuity so wide and lawless a scope, we shall do well to hesitate before accepting it. and if another interpretation be offered us, as in the text, which gives a literal rendering to every phrase instead of a figurative one, which bases itself on the common household facts of eastern experience instead of on the technicalities of western science, which instead of being so indeterminate and fanciful as at times to be self-contradictory and grotesque, is coherent and impressive, we really have no alternative before us. we cannot but choose the one and reject the other. as we passed along we should find small rows of houses and shops, broken here and there by a wide stretch of blank wall, behind which were the mansions, harems, courtyards of its wealthier inhabitants. round and within the low narrow gates which gave access to these mansions, we should see armed men lounging whose duty it is to guard the premises against robbers and intruders; these are "the keepers of the house," over whom, as over the whole household, are placed superior officials--members of the family often--or "men of power." going through the gates and glancing up at the latticed windows, we might catch glimpses of the veiled faces of the ladies of the house who, not being permitted to stir abroad except on rare occasions and under jealous guardianship, are accustomed to amuse their dreary leisure, and to learn a little of what is going on around them, by "looking out of the windows." within the house, the gentlemen of the family would be enjoying the chief meal of the day, provoking appetite with delicacies such as "the locust,"[50] or condiments such as "the caper-berry,"[51] or with choice fruit such as "the almond."[52] above all the shrill cries and noises of the city you would hear a loud humming sound rising on every side, for which you would be sorely puzzled to account if you were a stranger to eastern habits. it is the sound of the cornmills which, towards evening, are at work in every house. a cornmill was indispensable to every eastern family, since there were no public mills or bakers except the king's. the heat of the climate makes it necessary that corn should be ground and bread baked every day. and as the task of grinding at the mill was very irksome, only the most menial class of women, often slaves or captives, were employed upon it. of course the noise caused by the revolution of the upper upon the nether millstone was very great when the mills were simultaneously at work in every house in the city. no sound is more familiar in the east; and, if it were suddenly stopped, the effect would be as striking as the sudden stoppage of all the wheels of traffic in an english town. so familiar was the sound, indeed, and of such good omen, that in holy writ it is used as a symbol of a happy, active, well-provided people; while the cessation of it is employed to denote want, and desolation, and despair. to an oriental ear no threat would be more doleful and pathetic than that in jeremiah (xxv. 10), "i will take from them the voice of mirth and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, _the sound of the millstones_, and the light of the candle." [50] this locust (_châgâb_) is one of the four kinds which the law of moses marked out as fit for human food. to this day several kinds of locust are held to be an agreeable and nutritious diet. there are many ways of preparing them for the table. they may be pounded with flour and water, and made into cakes. they may be smoked, boiled, roasted, stewed, and fried in butter. they may be salted with salt; and thus treated are eaten by the arabs as a great delicacy. or they may be dried in the sun, and then steeped in wine: baskets of them, prepared in this way, are to be commonly seen in eastern markets. dr. kitto, who often ate them, says that they taste like shrimps; dr. shaw says that they are quite as good as our freshwater crayfish. [51] the caper-plant grows abundantly in asia, as it does also in africa and southern europe. it commonly springs in the crevices of walls, on heaps of ruins, or on barren wastes, and forms a diffuse many-branched shrub. its flowers are large and showy: the four petals are white, but the long numerous stamens have their filaments tinged with purple, and terminate in yellow anthers. as the ovary ripens it droops and forms a pear-shaped berry, which holds in its pulp many small seeds. almost every part of the shrub has been used as a condiment by the ancients. the stalk and seed were salted, or preserved in vinegar or wine. its buds are still held to be an agreeable sauce--we eat them with boiled mutton. and the berries possess irritant properties which win them high esteem among the orientals as a provocative to appetite. [52] the fruit of the almond-tree is still reckoned one of the most delicate and delicious fruits in the east. we may fancy that we are acquainted with it, that we know "almonds" at least as well as we know "raisins." but, i believe, that the almond we eat is only the kernel of the stone in the true almond; the fruit itself is of the same order with apricots, peaches, plums. now suppose the day on which we rambled through the city had been boisterous and lowering; that heavy rain had fallen, obscuring all the lights of heaven; and as the evening drew on, the thick clouds, instead of dispersing, had "returned after the rain," so that setting sun and rising moon, and the growing light of stars, were all blotted from view (ver. 2). the tempest, long in gathering, breaks on the city; the lightnings flash through the darkness, making it more hideous; the thunder crashes and rolls above the roofs; the tearing rain beats at all lattices and floods all roads. if we cared to abide the pelting of the storm, we should have before us the very scene which the preacher depicts. "the keepers of the house," the guards and porters, would quake. "the men of power," the lords or owners of the house, or the officials who most closely attended on them, would crouch and tremble with apprehension. the maids at the mill would "stop" because one or other of the two women--two at least--whom it took to work the heavy millstone had been frightened from her task by the gleaming lightning and the pealing thunder. the ladies, looking out of their lattices, would be driven back into the darkest corners of the inner rooms of the harem. every door would be closed and barred lest robbers, availing themselves of the darkness and its terrors, should creep in (ver. 3). "the noise of the mills" would grow faint or utterly cease, because the threatening tumult had terrified many, if not all, the grinding-maids from their work. the strong-winged "swallow," lover of wind and tempest, would flit to and fro with shrieks of joy; while the delicate "song-birds" would drop, silent and alarmed, into their nests. the gentlemen of the house would soon lose all gust for their delicate cates[53] and fruits; "the almond" would be pushed aside, "the locust loathed," and even the stimulating "caper-berry provoke no appetite," fear being a singularly unwelcome and disappetising guest at a feast. in short, the whole people, stunned and confused by the awful and stupendous majesty of a tropical storm, would be affrighted at the terrors which come flaming from "the height" of heaven, to confront them on every highway (vv. 4, 5). [53] sir henry rawlinson says: "at the present day, among the _bons vivants_ of persia, it is usual to sit down for hours before dinner, drinking wine, and eating dried fruits, such as filberts, almonds, pistachio-nuts, melon-seeds, etc. a party, indeed, often sits down at seven o'clock, and the dinner is not brought in till eleven. the dessert dishes, intermingled as they are with highly seasoned delicacies, are supposed to have the effect of stimulating the appetite."--notes to rawlinson's _herodotus_, vol. i., p. 274. such and so terrible is the tempest that at times sweeps over an eastern city.[54] such and so terrible, adds the preacher, is death to the godless and sensual. they are carried away as by a storm; the wind riseth and snatcheth them out of their place. for if we ask, "why, o preacher, has your pencil laboured to depict the terrors of a tempest?" he replies, "because man goeth to his long home, and the mourners pace up and down the street" (ver. 5). he leaves us in no doubt as to the moral of the fable, the theme and motive of his picture. while painting it, while adding touch to touch, he has been thinking of "the long home"--or, as the hebrew has it, "the house of eternity;" a phrase still used by the jews as a synonym for "the grave"--which is appointed for all living, and of the mercenary professional mourners who loiter under the windows of the dying man in the hope that they may be hired to lament him. to the expiring sinner death is simply dreadful. it puts an end to all his activities and enjoyments, just as the tempest brings all the labours and recreations of the city to a pause. he has nothing before him but the grave, and none to mourn him but the harpies who already pace the street, longing for the moment when he will be gone, and who value their fee far above his life. if we would have death shorn of its terrors for us, we must "remember our creator" before death comes; we must seek by charity, by a faithful discharge of duty, by a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the life that now is, to prepare ourselves for the life which is to come. [54] it should be borne in mind that the comparative rarity of thunderstorms in syria and the adjacent lands makes them much more dreadful to the inhabitants of those countries. throughout the old testament, and especially in the psalms, we find many traces of the dread which such storms inspired--a dread almost unaccountable to our accustomed nerves. death itself, as coheleth proceeds to remind us (ver. 6), cannot be escaped. some day the cord _will_ break and the lamp fall; some day the jar or pitcher must be broken, and the wheel, shattered, fall into the well. death is the common event. it befalls not only the sinful and injurious, but also the useful and the good. our life may have been like a "golden" lamp suspended by a silver chain, fit for the palace of a king, and may have shed a welcome and cheerful light on every side and held out every promise of endurance but, none the less, the costly durable chain will be snapped at last, and the fair costly bowl be broken. or our life may have been like the "pitcher" dipped, by village maidens, into the village fountain; or, again, like "the wheel" by which water is drawn, by a thousand hands, from the city well; it may have conveyed a vital refreshment to the few or to the many around us: but, none the less, the day must come when the pitcher will be shattered on the edge of the fountain, and the time-worn wheel fall from its rotten supports. there is no escape from death. and, therefore, as we must all die, let us all live as cheerfully and helpfully as we can; let us all prepare for the better life beyond the grave, by serving our creator before "the body is cast into the earth from which it came, and the spirit returns to god who gave it" (ver. 7). * * * * * this, then, according to the hebrew preacher, is the ideal man, the man who achieves the quest of the chief good:--charitable, dutiful, cheerful, he prepares for death by a useful and happy life, for future judgment by a constant reference to the present judgment, for meeting god hereafter by walking with him here. has he not achieved the quest? can we hope to find a more solid and enduring good? what to him are the shocks of change, the blows of circumstance, the mutations of time, the fluctuations of fortune? these cannot touch the good which he holds to be chief. if they bring trouble, he can bear trouble and profit by it: if they bring prosperity, success, mirth, he can bear even these, and neither value them beyond their worth nor abuse them to his hurt; for his good, and therefore his peace and blessedness, are founded on a rock over which the changeful waves may wash, but against which they cannot prevail. let the sun shine never so hotly, let the storm beat never so furiously, the rock stands firm, and the house which he has built for himself upon the rock. whatever may befall, he can be doing his main work, enjoying his supreme satisfaction, since he can meet all changes with a dutiful and loving heart; since, through all, he may be forming a noble character and helping his neighbours to form a character as noble as his own. because he has a gracious god always with him, and because a bright future stretches before him in endless and widening vistas of hope, he can carry to all the wrongs and afflictions of time a cheerful spirit which shines through them with transfiguring rays,--a spirit before which even the thick darkness of death will grow light, and the solemnities of the judgment be turned into holiday festivity and a triumph. ah, foolish and miserable that we are who, with so noble a life, and so bright a prospect, and a good so enduring open to us--and with such helps to them in the gospel of christ as coheleth could not know--nevertheless creep about the earth the slaves of every accident, the very fools of time! the epilogue. _in which the problem of the book is conclusively solved._ chap. xii., vers. 8-14. "students," says the talmud, "are of four kinds; they are like a sponge, a funnel, a strainer, and a sieve: like a sponge that sucketh all up; like a funnel which receiveth at one end and dischargeth at the other; like a strainer which letteth the wine pass but retaineth the lees; and like a sieve which dischargeth the bran but retaineth the corn." coheleth is like the sieve. he is the good student who has sifted all the schemes and ways and aims of men, separating the wheat from the bran, teaching us to know the bran as bran, the wheat as wheat. it is a true "corn of heaven" which he offers us, and not any of the husks to obtain which reckless and prodigal man has often wasted his whole living--husks which, though they have the form and hue of wheat, have not its nutriment, and cannot therefore satisfy the keen hunger of the soul. we have now followed the sifting process to its close; much bran lies about our feet, but a little corn is in our hands, and from this little there may grow "a harvest unto life." starting in quest of that chief good in which, when once it is attained, we can rest with an unbroken and measureless content, we have learned that it is not to be found in wisdom, in pleasure, in devotion to business or public affairs, in a modest competence or in boundless wealth. we have learned that only he achieves this supreme quest who is "charitable, dutiful, cheerful;" only he who "by a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the present life prepares himself for the life which is to come." we have learned that the best incentive to this life of virtue, and its best safeguards, are a constant remembrance of our creator and of his perpetual presence with us, and a constant hope of that future judgment in which all the wrongs of time are to be redressed. and here we might think our task was ended. we might suppose that the preacher would dismiss us from the school in which he has so long held us by his sage maxims, his vivid illustrations, his gracious warnings and encouragements. but even yet he will not suffer us to depart. he has still "words to utter for god," words which it will be well for us to ponder. as in the prologue he had stated the problem he was about to take in hand, so now he subjoins an epilogue in which he re-states the solution of it at which he has arrived. his last words are, as we should expect them to be, heavily weighted with thought. so closely packed are his thoughts and allusions, indeed, as to give a disconnected and illogical tone to his words. every saying seems to stand alone, complete in itself; and hence our main difficulty in dealing with this epilogue is to trace the links of sequence which bind saying to saying and thought to thought, and so to get "the best part" of his work. every verse supplies a text for patient meditation, or a theme which needs to be illustrated by historic facts that lie beyond the general reach; and the danger is lest, while dwelling on these separate themes and texts, we should fail to collect their connected meaning, and to grasp the large conclusion to which they all conduct.[55] [55] as the main ethical, literary, and historical interest of the whole book is gathered up into this brief epilogue, i offer no apology for the comparative length of my treatment of it. coheleth commences (ver. 8) by once more striking the keynote to which all his work is set: "vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity!" we are not, however, to take these words as announcing his deliberate verdict on the sum of human endeavours and affairs; for he has now discovered the true abiding good which underlies all the vanities of earth and time. his repetition of this familiar phrase is simply a touch of art by which the poet reminds us of what the main theme of his poem has been, of the pain and weariness and disappointment which have attended his long quest. as it falls once more, and for the last time, on our ear, we cannot but remember how often, and in what connections, we have heard it before. memory and imagination are set to work. the whole course of the sacred drama passes swiftly before us, with its mournful pauses of defeated hope, as we listen to this echo of the despair with which the baffled preacher has so often returned from seeking the true good in this or that province of human life in which it was not to be found. having thus reminded us of the several stages of his quest, and of the verdict which he had been compelled to pronounce at the close of each but the last, coheleth proceeds (ver. 9) to set forth his qualifications for undertaking this sore task: "not only was the preacher a wise man, he also taught the people wisdom, and composed, collected, and arranged many proverbs" or parables, the proverb being a condensed parable and the parable an expanded proverb. his claims are that he is a sage, and a public teacher, who has both made many proverbs of his own, collected the wise sayings of other sages, and has so arranged them as to convey a connected and definite teaching to his disciples; and his motive in setting forth these claims is, no doubt, that he may the more deeply impress upon us the conclusion to which he has come, and which it has cost him so much to reach. now during the captivity there was a singular outbreak of literary activity in the hebrew race. even yet this crisis in their history is little studied and understood; but we shall only follow the preacher's meaning through vv. 9-12 as we read them in the light of this striking event. that a change of the most radical and extraordinary kind passed upon the hebrews of this period, that they were by some means drawn to a study of their sacred writings much more thorough and intense than any which went before it, we know; but of the causes of this change we are not so well informed.[56] a great, and perhaps the greatest, authority[57] on this subject writes: "one of the most mysterious and momentous periods in the history of humanity is that brief space of the exile. what were the influences brought to bear on the captives during that time, we know not. but this we know, that from a reckless, lawless, godless populace, they returned transformed into a band of puritans. the religion of zerdusht (zoroaster), though it has left its traces in judaism, fails to account for that change.... yet the change is there, palpable, unmistakable--a change which we may regard as almost miraculous. scarcely aware before of their glorious national literature, the people now began to press round these brands plucked from the fire--the scanty records of their faith and history--with a fierce and passionate love, a love stronger even than that of wife and child. these same documents, as they were gradually formed into a canon, became the immediate centre of their lives, their actions, their thoughts, their very dreams. from that time forth, with scarcely any intermission, the keenest as well as the most poetical minds of the nation remained fixed upon them." [56] in the introduction, however, i have tried to give what _is_ known of the history of this period. roughly speaking, i believe the jews owed their literary advance mainly to contact with the inquisitive and learned babylonians, and their religious advance mainly to the sorrows of the captivity and their contact with the pure faith of the primitive persians. [57] emmanuel deutsch, whose premature death is still lamented by many as an irreparable loss. the passage will be found in his celebrated article on _the talmud_ in _the quarterly_ of october 1867. "the quest of the chief good" was published at the close of that year. and at this point in it, while deutsch was still alive, but before i knew him personally, i gently complained of the loss he had unwittingly inflicted on me. i had for ten years been collecting the gnomic sayings of the talmud from any quarter open to one to whom the talmud itself was a sealed book, and had indeed printed some two score of them in the _christian spectator_ for 1866. and here came one who "out of his profuse wealth carelessly flung down most of _my_ special treasures." only half-a-dozen of the sayings i had collected now had any stamp of novelty on them to the thousands who had revelled in the wit and learning of that famous article in _the quarterly_. and of these i ventured to call special attention to four which seemed to me of special value and beauty; viz., those on the four kinds of students, on new and old flasks, on not serving god for the sake of reward, and on doing god's will as if it were our will: they will all be found in this section. but if i lost something, i also gained much by the appearance of that article, as those who read what follows will discover, although it only came into my hands as i was correcting the proofs of the final pages in my book. the more we think of this change, the more the wonder grows. good kings and inspired prophets had desired to see the nation devoted to the word of the lord, had spent their lives in vain endeavours to recall the thought and affection of their race to the sacred records in which the will of god was revealed. but what they failed to do was done when the inspiration of the almighty was withdrawn and the voice of prophecy had grown mute. in their captivity, under the strange wrongs and miseries of their exile, the jews remembered god their maker, giver of songs in the night. they betook themselves to the study of the sacred oracles. they began to acquaint themselves with all wisdom that they might define and illustrate whatever was obscure in the scriptures of their fathers. they commenced that elaborate systematic commentary of which many noble fragments are still extant. they drew new truths from the old letter, or from the collocation of scattered passages,--as, for instance, the truths of the immortality of the soul and of the resurrection of the body. they laid the hidden foundations of the synagogues and schools which afterwards covered the land. ezra and nehemiah, who, by grace of the persian conquerors, led them back from babylonia to jerusalem, are still claimed as the founders of the great synagogue, _i.e._ as the leaders of that great race of jurists, sages, authors, whose utterances are still a law in israel, and of whom the lawyers and the scribes of the new testament were the modern successors. before the captivity there was not a term for "school" in their language; there were at least a dozen in common use within two or three centuries after the accession of cyrus. education had become compulsory. its immense value in the popular estimation is marked in innumerable sayings such as these: "jerusalem was destroyed because the education of the young was neglected;" "even for the rebuilding of the temple the schools must not be interrupted;" "study is more meritorious than sacrifice;" "a scholar is greater than a prophet;" "you should revere the teacher even more than your father; the latter only brought you into this world, the former shews you the way into the next." to meet the national craving indicated in these and similar proverbs, innumerable copies of the sacred books, of commentaries, traditions, and the gnomic utterances of the wise, were written and circulated, of which, in the canon, in some of the apocryphal scriptures, in the works of philo, and in the legal and legendary sections of the talmud, many specimens have come down to us. in fine, whatever was the cause of this marvellous outburst, there can be no doubt that the whole rabbinical period was characterised by devotion to learning, a mental and literary activity, much more general and vital than it is easy for us to conceive. in such an age the words of a professed and acknowledged sage would carry great weight. if, besides being "a wise man," he was a recognised "teacher," a man whose wisdom was stamped by public and official approval, whatever fell from his lips would command public attention: for these teachers, or rabbis, were the real rulers of the time, and not the pharisees or the priests, or even the politicians. they might be, they often were, "tent-makers, sandal-makers, weavers, carpenters, tanners, bakers, cooks"; for it is among their highest claims to our respect that these learned rabbis reverenced labour, however menial or toilsome, that they held mere scholarship and piety of little worth unless conjoined with regular and healthy physical exertion. but, however toilsome their lives or humble their circumstances, these wise men were "masters of the law." it was their special function to interpret the law of moses--which, remember, was the law of the land--to explain its bearing on this case or that, if not, as many modern critics maintain, to add to its precepts and codes; and, as members of the local courts or the metropolitan sanhedrin, to administer the law they expounded. an immense power, therefore, was in their hands. to obey the law was to be at once loyal and religious, happy here and hereafter. hence the rabbis, whose business it was to apply the law to all the details of life, and whose decisions were authoritative and final, could not fail to command universal deference and respect. they were lawyers, judges, schoolmasters, heads of colleges, public orators and lecturers, statesmen and preachers, all in one or all in turn, and therefore concentrated in themselves the esteem which we distribute on many offices and many men. such a rabbi was coheleth. he was of "the wise"; he was a "master of the law." and, in addition to these claims, he was also a teacher and an author who, besides "composing," had "collected and arranged many proverbs." than this latter he could hardly have any higher claim to the regard, and even to the affection, of the hebrew public. the passionate fondness of oriental races for proverbs, fables, stories of any kind, is well known. and the jews for whom coheleth wrote took, as was natural at such a time, an extraordinary delight, extraordinary even for the east, in listening to and repeating the wise or witty sayings, the parables and poems, of their national authors. some of these are still in our hands: as we read them, we cease to wonder at the intense enjoyment with which they were welcomed by a generation not cloyed, as we are, with books. they are not only charming as works of art: they have also this charm, that they convey lofty ethical instruction. take a few of these pictorial proverbs, not included in the canonical scriptures. "the house that does not open to the poor will open to the physician." "commit a sin twice, and you will begin to think it quite allowable." "the reward of good works is like dates--sweet, but ripening late." "even when the gates of prayer are shut in heaven, the gate of tears is open." "when the righteous dies, it is the earth that loses; the lost jewel is still a jewel, but he who has lost it--well may he weep." "who is wise? he who is willing to learn from all men. who is strong? he who subdues his passions. who is rich? he that is satisfied with his lot." these are surely happy expressions of profound moral truths. but the rabbis are capable of putting a keener edge on their words; they can utter witty epigrams as incisive as those of any of our modern satirists, and yet use their wit in the service of good sense and morality. it would not be easy to match, it would be very hard to beat, such sayings as these:--"the sun will go down without _your_ help." "when the ox is _down_, many are the butchers." "the soldiers fight, and kings are the heroes." "the camel wanted horns, and they took away his ears." "the cock and the owl both wait for morning: the light brings joy to me, says the cock, but what are _you_ waiting for?" "when the pitcher falls on the stone, woe to the pitcher; when the stone falls on the pitcher, woe to the pitcher: whatever happens, woe to the pitcher." "look not at the flask, but at that which is in it: for there are new flasks full of old wine, and old flasks which have not even new wine in them:" ah, of how many of those "old flasks" have some of us had to drink, or seem to drink! when the rabbis draw out their moral at greater length, when they tell a story, their skill does not desert them. here is one of the briefest, which can hardly fail to remind us of more than one of the parables uttered by the great teacher himself. "there was once a king who bade all his servants to a great repast, but did not name the hour. some went home, and put on their best garments, and came and stood at the door of the palace. others said, 'there is time enough, the king will let us know beforehand.' but the king summoned them of a sudden; and those that came in their best garments were well received, but the foolish ones, who came in their slovenliness, were turned away in disgrace. _repent ye to-day, lest ye be summoned to-morrow._" is it any wonder that the jews, even in the sorrows of their captivity, liked to hear such proverbs and parables as these? that they had an immense and grateful admiration for the men who spent much thought and care on the composition and arrangement of these wise, beautiful sayings? should not we ourselves be thankful to hear them when the day's work was done, or even while it was doing? if, then, such an one as coheleth--a sage, a rabbi, a composer and collector of proverbs and parables--came to them and said, "my children, i have sought what you are all seeking; i have been in quest of that chief good which you still pursue; and i will tell you the story of the quest in the parables and proverbs which you are so fond of hearing:"--we can surely understand that they would be charmed to listen, that they would hang upon his words, that they would be predisposed to accept his conclusions. as they listened, and found that he was telling them their own story no less than his, that he was trying to lead them away from the vanities which they themselves felt to be vanities, toward an abiding good in which he had found rest; as they heard him enforce the duties of charity, industry, hilarity--duties which all their rabbis urged upon them, and invite them to that wise use and wise enjoyment of the present life which their own consciences approved: above all, as he unfolded before them the bright hope of a future judgment in which all wrongs would be redressed and all acts of duty receive a great recompense of reward,--would they not hail him as the wisest of their teachers, as the great rabbi who had achieved the supreme quest? assuredly few books were, or are, more popular than the book ecclesiastes. its presence and influence may be traced on every subsequent age and department of hebrew literature; it has entered into our english literature hardly less deeply. many of its verses are familiar to us as household words, _are_ household words. brief as the book is, i am disposed to think it is better known among us than any other of the old testament books except genesis, the psalter, and the prophecies of isaiah. job is an incomparably finer, as it is a much longer poem; but i doubt whether most of us could not quote at least two verses from the shorter for every one that we could repeat from the longer scripture. we can very easily understand, therefore, that the wise preacher, as he himself assures us (ver. 10), bestowed on this work much care and thought; that he had made diligent search for "words of comfort" by which he might solace and strengthen the hearts of his oppressed brethren; and that, having found words of comfort and of truth, he wrote them down with a frank sincerity and uprightness. from this description of the motives which had impelled him to publish the results of his thought and experience, and of the spirit in which he had composed his work, coheleth passes, in ver. 11, to a description of the twofold function of the teacher which is really a marvellous little poem in itself, a pastoral cut on a gem. that function is, on the one hand, _progressive_, and, on the other hand, _conservative_. at times the teacher's words are like "goads" with which the herdsmen prick on their cattle to new pastures, correcting them when they loiter or stray; at other times they are like the "spikes" which the shepherds drive into the ground when they pitch their tents on pastures where they intend to linger: "the words of _the wise_ are like goads," he says; and "the wise" was a technical term for the sages who interpreted and administered the law; while "those of _the masters of the assemblies_ are like spikes driven home," "masters of assemblies" being a technical name for the heads of the colleges and schools which, during the rabbinical period, were to be found in every town, and almost in every hamlet, of judea. the same man might, and commonly did, wear both titles; and, probably, coheleth was himself both a wise man and a master. so much as this, indeed, seems implied in the very name by which he introduces himself in the prologue. for coheleth means, as we have seen, "one who calls an assembly together and addresses them," _i.e._ precisely such a wise man as was reckoned the "master of an assembly" among the jews. what did these masters teach? everything almost--at least everything then known. it is true that their main function was to interpret and enforce the law of moses; but this function demanded all science for its adequate fulfilment. take a simple illustration. the law said, "thou shalt not kill." here, if ever, is a plain and simple statute, with no ambiguities, no qualifications, capable neither of misconstruction nor evasion. anybody may remember it, and know what it means. _may_ they? i am not so sure of that. the law says i am not to kill. what, not in self-defence! not to save honour from outrage! not in a patriotic war! not to save my homestead from the freebooter or my house from the midnight thief! not when my kinsman is slain before my eyes and in my defence! many similar cases might be mooted, and were mooted, by the jews. the master had to consider such cases as these, to study the recorded and traditional verdicts of previous judges, the glosses and comments of other masters; he had to lay down rules and to apply rules to particular and exceptional cases, just as our english judges have to define the common law or to interpret a parliamentary statute. the growing wants of the commonwealth, the increasing complexity of the relations of life as the people of israel came into contact with foreign races, or were carried into captivity in strange lands, necessitated new laws, new rules of conduct. and as there was no recognised authority to issue a decree, no parliament to pass an act, the wise masters, learned in the law of god, were compelled to lay down these rules, to extend and qualify the ancient statutes till they covered modern cases and wants. thus in this very book, coheleth gives the rules which should govern a wise and pious jew in the new relations of traffic (ch. iv., vv. 4-16), and in the service of foreign despots (ch. x., vv. 1-20). for such contingencies as these the law made no provision; and hence the rabbis, who sat in moses' chair, made provision for them by legislating in the spirit of the law. even in the application of known and definite laws there was need for care, and science, and thought. "the mosaic code," says deutsch, "has injunctions about the sabbatical journey; the distance had to be measured and calculated, and mathematics were called into play. seeds, plants, and animals had to be studied in connection with many precepts regarding them, and natural history had to be appealed to. then there were the purely hygienic paragraphs, which necessitated for their precision a knowledge of all the medical science of the time. the seasons and the feast-days were regulated by the phases of the moon; and astronomy, if only in its elements, had to be studied." as the hebrews came successively into contact with babylonians, persians, greeks, romans, the political and religious systems of these foreign races could not fail to leave some impressions on their minds, and that these impressions might not be erroneous and misleading, it became the master to acquaint himself with the results of foreign thought. nay, "not only was science, in its widest sense, required of him, but even an acquaintance with its fantastic shadows, such as astrology, magic, and the rest, in order that, both as lawgiver and judge, he might be able to enter into the popular feeling about these 'arts,'" and wisely control it. the proofs that this varied knowledge was acquired and patiently applied to the study of the law by these "masters in israel" are still with us in many learned sayings and essays of that period; and in all these the _conservative_ element or temper is sufficiently prominent. their leading aim was, obviously, to honour the law of moses; to preserve its spirit even in the new rules or codes which the changed circumstances of the time imperatively required; to fix their stakes and pitch their tents in the old fields of thought. so obvious is this aim, even in the familiar pages of the new testament, that i need not illustrate it. but, on the other hand, the signs of _progress_ are no less decisive, though we may be less familiar with them. through all this mass of learned and deferential comment on the mosaic code, there perpetually crop up sayings which savour of the gospel rather than of the law--sayings that denote a great advance in thought. "_study is better than sacrifice_," for example, must have been a very surprising proverb to the backward-looking jew. it is only one of many rabbinical sayings conceived in the same spirit: but would not the whole levitical family listen to it with the wry, clouded face of grave suspicion? so, when rabbi hillel, anticipating the golden rule, said, "_do not unto another what thou wouldest not have another do unto thee; this is the whole law, the rest is mere commentary_," the lawyers, with all who had trusted in ordinances and observances, could hardly fail to be shocked and alarmed. so, too, when rabbi antigonous said, "_be not as men who serve their master for the sake of reward, but be like men who serve not looking for reward_;" or when rabbi gamaliel said, "_do god's will as if it were thy will, that he may accomplish thy will as if it were his_," there would be many, no doubt, who would feel that these venerable rabbis were bringing in very novel, and possibly very dangerous, doctrine. nor could they fail to see what new fields of thought were being thrown open to them when coheleth affirmed the future judgment and the future life of men. such "words" as these were in very deed "goads," correcting the errors of previous thought, and urging men on to new pastures of truth and godliness. sometimes, as i have said, the progressive sage and the conservative master would be united in the same person; for there are those, though there are not too many of them, who can "stand on the old ways" and yet "look for the new." but, often, no doubt, the two would be divided and opposed, then as now. for in thought, as in politics, there are always two great parties; the one, looking back with affectionate reverence and regret on the past, and set to "keep invention in a _noted_ weed;" the other, looking forward with eager hope and desire to the future, and attached to "new-found methods and to compounds strange;" the one, bent on conserving as much as possible of the large heritage which our fathers have bequeathed us; the other, bent on leaving a larger and less encumbered inheritance to those that shall be after them. the danger of the conservative thinker is that he may hold _the debts_ on the estate as part of the estate, that he may set himself against all liquidations, all better methods of management, against improvement in every form. the danger of the progressive thinker is that, in his generous ambition to improve and enlarge the estate, he may break violently from the past, and cast away many heirlooms and hoarded treasures that would add largely to our wealth. the one is too apt to pitch his tents in familiar fields long after they are barren; the other is too apt to drive men on from old pastures to new before the old are exhausted or the new ripe. and, surely, there never was a larger or a more tolerant heart than that of the preacher who has taught us that both these classes of men and teachers, both the conservative thinker and the progressive thinker, are of god and have each a useful function to discharge; that both the shepherd who loves his tent and the herdsman who wields the goad, both the sage who urges us forward and the sage who holds us back, are servants of the one great pastor, and owe whether goad or tent-spike to him. simply to entertain the conception widens and raises our minds; to have conceived it and thrown it into this perfect form proves the sacred preacher to have been all he claims and more--not only sage, teacher, master, author, but also a true poet and a true man of god. it is to be observed, however, that our accomplished sage limits the field of mental activity on either hand (ver. 12). his children, his disciples--"my son" was the rabbi's customary term for his pupils, as "rabbi," _i.e._ "my father," was the title by which the pupil addressed his master--are to beware both of the "many books" of the making of which there was even then "no end," and of that over-addiction to study which was a "weariness to the flesh." the latter caution, the warning against "_much_ study," was a logical result of that sense of the sanitary value of physical labour by which, as we have seen, the masters in israel were profoundly impressed. they held bodily exercise to be good for the soul as well as for the body, a safeguard against the dreamy abstract moods and the vague fruitless reveries which relax rather than brace the intellectual fibre, and which tend to a moral languor all the more perilous because its approaches are masked under the semblance of mental occupation. they knew that those who attempt or affect to be "creatures too bright and good for human nature's daily food" are apt to sink below the common level rather than to rise above it. they did not want their disciples to resemble many of the young men who lounged through the philosophical schools of greece and rome, and who, though always ready to discuss the "first true, first perfect, first fair," did nothing to raise the tone of common life whether by their example or their words; young men, as epictetus bitterly remarked of some of his disciples, whose philosophy lay in their cloaks and their beards rather than in any wise conduct of their daily lives or any endeavour to better the world. it was their aim to develop the whole man--body, soul, and spirit; to train up useful citizens as well as accomplished scholars, to spread the love and pursuit of wisdom through the whole nation rather than to produce a separate and learned class. and, in the prosecution of this aim, they enjoined neither the exercises of the ancient palæstra, nor athletic sports like those in vogue at our english seats of learning, which are often a mere waste of good muscle, but useful and productive toils. with ruskin, they believed, not in "the gospel of the cricket-bat" or of the gymnasium, but in the gospel of the plough and the spade, the saw and the axe, the hammer and the trowel; and saved their disciples from the weariness of overtaxed brains by requiring them to become skilled artisans, and to labour heartily in their vocations. nor is the caution against "many books," at which some critics have taken grave offence, the illiberal sentiment it has often been pronounced. for, no doubt, coheleth, like other wise hebrews, was fully prepared to study whatever science would throw light on the divine law, or teach men how to live. mathematics, astronomy, natural history, medicine, casuistry, the ethical and religious systems of the east and the west,--some knowledge of all these various branches of learning was necessary, as has been shown, to those who had to interpret and administer the statutes of the mosaic code, and to supplement them with rules appropriate to the new conditions of the time. in these and kindred studies the rabbis were "masters"; and what they knew they taught. that which distinguished them from other men of equal learning was that they did not "love knowledge for its own sake" merely, but for its bearing on practice, on conduct. like socrates, they were not content with a purely intellectual culture, but sought a wisdom that would mingle with the blood of men and mend their ways, a wisdom that would hold their baser passions in check, infuse new energy into the higher moods and aptitudes of the soul, and make duty their supreme aim and delight. to secure this great end, they knew no method so likely to prove effectual as an earnest, or even an exclusive, study of the sacred scriptures in which they thought they had "eternal life," _i.e._ the true life of man, the life which is independent of the chances and changes of time. whatever studies would illuminate and illustrate these scriptures they pursued and encouraged; whatever might divert attention from them, they discouraged and condemned. many of them, as we learn from the talmud, refused to write down the discourses they delivered in school or synagogue lest, by making books of their own, they should withdraw attention from the inspired writings. it was better they thought to read the scriptures than any commentary on the scriptures, and hence they confined themselves to oral instruction: even their profoundest and most characteristic sayings would have perished if "fond tradition" had not "babbled" of them for many an age to come. if the sentiment which dictated this course was in part a mistaken sentiment, it sprang from a noble motive. for no ordinance could be more self-denying to a learned and literary class than one which forbade them to put on record the results of their researches, the conclusions of their wisdom, and thus to win name and fame and use in after generations. but was their course, after all, one which calls for censure? has the world ever produced a literature so noble, so pure, so lofty and heroic in its animating spirit, as that of the hebrew historians and poets? "the world is forwarded by having its attention fixed on the best things," says matthew arnold in his preface to his selection of wordsworth's poems, and proceeds to define the best things as those works of the great masters of song which have won the approval "of the whole group of civilised nations." but even those whom the civilised world has acclaimed as its highest and best have confessed that in the bible, viewed simply as literature, their noblest work is far excelled: and what sane man will deny that "faust," for example, would cut a sorry figure if compared with "job," which our own greatest living poet has pronounced "the finest poem whether of ancient or of modern times," or wordsworth himself if placed side by side with isaiah? who can doubt, then, that the world would have been "forwarded" if its attention had been fixed on this "best"? who can doubt that it would be infinitely sweeter and better than it is if these ancient scriptures had been studied before and above all other writings, if they had been brooded over and wrought into the minds of men till "the life" in them had been assimilated and reproduced? the man who has had a classical or scientific education, and profited by it, must be an ingrate indeed, unless he be the slave of some dominant crotchet, if he do not hold in grateful reverence the great masters at whose feet he has sat; but the man who has really found "life" in the scriptures must be worse than an ingrate if he does not feel that a merely mental culture is a small good when compared with the treasures of an eternal life, if he does not admit that the main object of all education should be to conduct men through a course of intellectual training which shall culminate in a moral and spiritual discipline. to be wise is much; but how much more is it to be good! better be a child _in_ the kingdom of heaven than a philosopher or a poet hanging vaguely about its outskirts. if any of us still suspect the preacher's words of illiberality, and say, "there was no need to oppose the one book to the many, and to depreciate these in order to magnify that," we have only to consider the historical circumstances in which he wrote in order to acquit him of the charge. for generations the holy scriptures had been neglected by the jews; copies had grown scarce, and were hidden away in obscure nooks in which they were hard to find; some of the inspired writings had been lost, and have not been recovered to this day. the people were ignorant of their own history, and law, and hope. suddenly they were awaked from the slumber of indifference, to find themselves in a night of ignorance. during the miseries of the captivity a longing for the divine word was quickened within them. they were eager to acquaint themselves with the revelation which they had neglected and forgotten. and their teachers, the few men who knew and loved the word, set themselves to deepen and to satisfy the craving. they multiplied copies of the scriptures, circulated them, explained them in the schools, exhorted from them in the synagogues. and, till the people were familiar with the scriptures, the wiser rabbis would not write books of their own, and looked with a jealous eye on the "many books" bred by the literary activity of the time. it was the very feeling which preceded and accompanied the english reformation. _then_ the newly-discovered bible threw all other books into the shade. the people thirsted for the pure word of god; and the leaders of the reformation were very well content that they should read nothing else till they had read _that_; that they should leave all other fountains to drink of "the river of life." the translation and circulation of the scriptures was the one work, almost the exclusive work, to which they bent their energies. like the jewish rabbis, tyndale and his fellow-labourers did not care to write books themselves, nor wish the people to read the books they were compelled to write in self-defence. there is a remarkable passage in fryth's _scripture doctrine of the sacrament_, in which, replying to sir thomas more, the reformer says: "this hath been offered you, is offered, and shall be offered. grant that the word of god, i mean the text of scripture, may go abroad in our english tongue ... and my brother tyndale and i have done, and will promise you to write no more. if you will not grant this condition, then will we be doing while we have breath, and show in few words that the scripture doth in many, and so at the least save some." the hebrew reformers of the school of coheleth were animated by precisely the same lofty and generous spirit. they were content to be nothing, that the word of god might be all in all. "the bible, and the bible only," they conceived to be the want of their age and race; and hence they were content to forego the honours of authorship, and the study of many branches of learning which under other conditions they would have been glad to pursue, and besought their disciples to concentrate all their thoughts on the one book which was able to make them wise unto salvation. learned themselves, and often profoundly learned, it was no contempt for learning which actuated them, but a devout godliness and the fervours of a most self-denying piety. so far the epilogue may seem a mere digression, not without interest and value indeed, but having no vital connection with the main theme of the poem. it tells us that the preacher was a sage, a recognised official teacher, the master of an assembly, a doctor of laws, an author who had expended much labour on many proverbs, a conservative shepherd pitching his tent on familiar fields of thought, a progressive herdsman goading men on to new pastures--_not_ solomon therefore, by the way, for who would have described _him_ in such terms as these? if we are glad to know so much of him, we cannot but ask, what has all this to do with the quest of the chief good? it has this to do with it. coheleth has achieved the quest; he has solved his problem, and has given us his solution of it. he is about to repeat that solution. to give emphasis and force to the repetition, that he may carry his readers more fully with him, he dwells on his claims to their respect, their confidence, their affection. he is all that they most admire; he carries the very authority to which they most willingly defer. if they know this--and, scattered as they were through many cities and provinces, how should they know it unless he told them?--they cannot refuse him a hearing; they will be predisposed to accept his conclusion; they will be sure not to reject it without consideration. it is out of any personal conceit, therefore, nor any pride of learning, nor even that he may grant himself the relief of lifting his mask from his face for a moment, that he recounts his titles to their regard. he is simply gathering force from the willing respect and deference of his readers in order that he may plant his final conclusion more strongly and more deeply in their hearts. and what is the conclusion which he is at such pains to enforce? "_the conclusion of the matter is this; that god taketh cognizance of all things: fear him, therefore, and keep his commandments, for this it behoveth every man to do; since god will bring every deed to the judgment appointed for every secret thing, whether it be good or whether it be bad_" (vv. 13, 14). now that this "conclusion" is simply a repetition, in part expanded and in part condensed, of that with which the preacher closes the previous section, is obvious. _there_ he incites men to a life of virtue with two leading motives: first, by the fact of the present constant judgment of god; and, secondly, by the prospect of a future, a more searching and decisive, judgment. _here_ he appeals to precisely the same motives, though now, instead of implying a present judgment under the injunction "remember thy creator," he broadly affirms that "god takes note of all things;" and, instead of simply reminding the young that god will bring "the ways of their heart" into judgment, he defines that future judgment at once more largely and more exactly as "appointed for every secret thing" and extending to "every deed," both good and bad. in dealing with the motives of a virtuous life, therefore, he goes a little beyond his former lines of thought, gives them a wider scope, makes them more sharp and definite. on the other hand, in speaking of the forms which the virtuous or ideal life assumes, he is very curt and brief. all he has to say on that point now is, "fear god and keep his commandments;" whereas, in his previous treatment of it, he had much to say, bidding us for instance, "cast our bread upon the waters," and "give a portion to seven, and even to eight;" bidding us "sow our seed morning and evening," though "the clouds" should be "full of rain," and whatever "the course of the wind;" bidding us "rejoice" in all our labours, and carry to all our self-denials the merry heart that physics pain. as we studied the meaning of the beautiful metaphors of chapter xi., sought to gather up their several meanings into an orderly connection, and to express them in a more literal logical form--to translate them, in short, from the eastern to the western mode--we found that the main virtues enjoined by the preacher were charity, industry, cheerfulness; the charity which does good hoping for nothing again, the industry which bends itself to the present duty in scorn of omen or consequence; and the cheerfulness which springs from a consciousness of the divine presence, from the conviction that, however men may misjudge us, god knows us altogether and will do us justice. this was our summary of the preacher's argument, of his solution of the supreme moral problem of human life. here, in the epilogue, he gives us his own summary in the words, "fear god, and keep his commandments." if we compare these two summaries, there seems at first rather difference than resemblance between them: the one appears, if more indefinite, much more comprehensive, than the other. yet there is one point of resemblance which soon strikes us. for we know by this time that on the preacher's lips "fear god" does not mean "be afraid of god;" that it indicates and demands just that reverent sense of the divine presence, that strong inward conviction of the constant judgment he passes on all our ways and motives and thoughts, which coheleth has already affirmed to be a prime safeguard of virtue. it is the phrase "and keep his commandments" that sounds so much larger than anything we have heard from him before, so much more comprehensive. for the commandments of god are many and very broad. he reveals his will in the natural universe and the laws which govern it; laws which, as we are part of the universe, we need to know and to obey. he reveals his will in the social and political forces which govern the history and development of the various races of mankind, which therefore meet and affect us at every turn. he reveals his will in the ethical intuitions and codes which govern the formation of character, which enter into and give shape to all in us that is most spiritual, profound, and enduring. to keep all the commandments revealed in these immense fields of divine activity with an intelligent and invariable obedience is simply impossible to us; it is the perfection which flows round our imperfection, and towards which it is our one great task to be ever reaching forth. is it as inciting us to this impossible perfection that the preacher bids us "fear god and keep his commandments"? yes and no. it is not as having this large perfect ideal distinctly before his mind that he utters the injunction, although in the course of this book he has glanced at every element of it; nor even as having so much of it in his mind as is expressed in the law that came by moses, although that too includes precepts for the physical and the political as well as for the moral and religious provinces of human life. what he meant by bidding us "keep the commandments" was, i apprehend, that we should take the counsels he has already given us, and follow after charity, industry, cheerfulness. every other phrase in this final "conclusion" is, as we have seen, a repetition of the truths announced at the close of the previous section, and therefore we may fairly assume this phrase to contain a truth--the truth of duty--which he there illustrates. throughout the whole book there is not a single technical allusion, no allusion to the temple, to the feasts, to the sacrifices, rites, ceremonies of the law; and therefore we can hardly take this reference to the "commandments" as an allusion to the mosaic table. by the rules of fair interpretation we are bound to take these commandments as previously defined by the preacher himself, to understand him as once more enforcing the virtues which, for him, comprised the whole duty of man. do we thus limit and degrade the moral ideal, or represent him as degrading and limiting it? by no means: for to love our neighbour, to discharge the present duty whatever rain may fall and whatever storm may blow, to carry a bright hopeful spirit through all our toils and charities; to do this in the fear of god, as in his presence, because he is judging and will judge us--this, surely, includes all that is essential even in the loftiest ideal of moral duty and perfection. for how are we to be cheerful and dutiful and kind except as we obey the commandments of god in whatever form they may have been revealed? the diseases which result from a violation of sanitary laws, as also the ignorance or the wilfulness or the impotence which lead us to violate social or ethical laws, of necessity and by natural consequence impair our cheerfulness, our strength for laborious duties, our neighbourly serviceableness and good-will. to live the life which the preacher enjoins, on the inspiration of the motives which he supplies, is therefore, in the largest and broadest sense, to keep the commandments of god. what advantage, then, is there in saying, "be kind, be dutiful, be cheerful," over saying, "obey the laws of god"? there is this great practical advantage that, while in the last resort the one rule of life is as comprehensive as the other, and just as difficult, it is more definite, more portable, and does not sound so difficult. it is the very advantage which our lord's memorable summary, "thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart, and thy neighbour as thyself," has over the law and the prophets. bid a man keep the whole mosaic code as interpreted by the prophets of a thousand years, and you set him a task so heavy, so hopeless, that he may well decline it; only to understand the bearing and harmony of the mosaic statutes, and to gather the sense in which the prophets--to say nothing of the rabbis--interpreted them, is the labour of a lifetime, a labour for which even the whole life of a trained scholar is insufficient. but bid him "love god and man," and you give him a principle which his own conscience at once accepts and confirms, a golden rule or principle which if he be of a good heart and a willing mind, he will be able to apply to the details and problems of life as they arise. in like manner if you say: "the true ideal of life is to be reached only by the man who comprehends and obeys all the laws of god revealed in the physical universe, in the history of humanity, in the moral intuitions and discoveries of the race," you set men a task so stupendous as that no man ever has or will be able to accomplish it. say, on the other hand, "do the duty of every hour as it passes, without fretting about future issues; help your neighbour to do his duty or to bear his burden, even though he may never have helped you; be blithe and cheerful even when your work is hard and your neighbour is ungrateful or unkind," and you speak straight to a man's heart, to his sense of what is right and good; you summon every noble and generous instinct of his nature to his aid. he can begin to practise this rule of life without preliminary and exhausting study of its meaning; and if he finds it _work_, as assuredly he will, he will be encouraged to make it _his_ rule. he will soon discover, indeed, that it means more than he thought, that it is not so easy to apply to the complexities of human affairs, that it is very much harder to keep than he supposed: but its depth and difficulty will open on him gradually, as he is able to bear them. if his heart now and then faint, if hand and foot falter, still god is with him, with him to help and reward as well as to judge; and _that_ conviction once in his mind is there for ever, a constant spur to thought, to obedience, to patience. in nothing, indeed, does the wisdom of the hebrew sages show its superiority over that of the other sages of antiquity more decisively than in its adaptation to the practical needs of men busied in the common affairs of life, and with no learning and no leisure for the study of large intricate problems. it comes straight down into the beaten ways of men. if you read confucius, for example, and still more if you read plato, you cannot fail to be struck with their immense grasp of thought, or their profound learning, or even their moral enthusiasm; as you read, you will often meet with wise rules of life expressed in beautiful forms. and yet your main feeling will be that they give you, and men like you, if at least you be of the common build, as most of us are, little help; that unless you had their rare endowments, or could give yourself largely and long to the study of their works, you could hardly hope to learn what they have to teach, or order your life by their plan. and that this feeling is just is proved by the histories of china and greece, different as they are. in china only students, only literati, are so much as supposed to understand the confucian system of thought and ethics; the great bulk of the people have to be content with a few rules and forms and rites which are imposed on them by authority. in ancient greece, the wisdom to which her great masters attained was only taught in the schools to men addicted to philosophical studies; even the natural and moral truths on which the popular mythology was based were hidden in "mysteries" open only to the initiated few; while the great mass of the people were amused with fables which they misapprehended, and with rites which they soon degraded into licentious orgies. no man cared for _their_ souls; their errors were not corrected, their license was not rebuked. their wise men made no effort to lift them to a height from which they might see that the whole of morality lay in the love of god and man, in charity, diligent devotion to duty, cheerfulness. but it was far otherwise with the hebrews and their sages. men such as the preacher confined themselves to no school or class, but carried their wisdom to the synagogue, to the market-place, to the popular assemblies. they invented no "mysteries," but brought down the mysteries of heaven to the understanding of the simple. instead of engaging in lofty abstract speculations in which only the learned could follow them, they compressed the loftiest wisdom into plain moral rules which the unlettered could apprehend, and urged them to obedience by motives and promises which went home to the popular heart. and they had their reward. the truths they taught became familiar to all sorts and conditions of hebrew men; they became a factor, and the most influential factor, in the national life. fishermen, carpenters, tent-makers, sandal-makers, shepherds, husbandmen, grew studious of the divine will and learned the secrets of righteousness and peace. during the wonderful revival of literary and religious activity which followed the exile in babylon--a revival mainly owing to these sages--every child was compelled to attend a common school in which the sacred scriptures were taught by the ablest and most learned rabbis; in which, as we learn from the talmud, the duty of leading a religious life in all outward conditions, even to the poorest, was impressed upon them, and the virtues of charity, industry, and cheerfulness were enforced as the very soul of religion. here, for example, is a legend from the talmud, and it is only one of many, which illustrates and confirms all that has just been said.--"a sage, while walking in a crowded market-place suddenly encountered the prophet elijah, and asked him who, out of that vast multitude, would be saved. whereupon the prophet first pointed out a weird-looking creature, a turnkey, 'because he was merciful to his prisoners,' and next two common-looking tradesmen who were walking through the crowd, pleasantly chatting together. the sage instantly rushed after them, and asked them what were their saving works. but they, much puzzled, replied: 'we are but poor working-men who live by our trade. all that can be said for us is that we are always cheerful and good-natured. when we meet anybody who seems sad, we join him, and we talk to him and cheer him up, that he may forget his grief. and if we know of two people who have quarrelled, we talk to them, and persuade them till we have made them friends again. this is our whole life.'" it is impossible that such a legend should have sprung up on any but hebrew soil. had confucius been asked to point out the man whom heaven most approved, he would probably have replied, "the superior man is catholic, not sectarian; he is observant of the rules of propriety and decorum; and he does not do to others what he would not have done to himself:"[58] and he would certainly have looked for him in some state official distinguished by his wise administration. had any of the greek sages been asked the same question, they would have found their perfect man in the philosopher who, raised above the common passions and aims of men, gave himself to the pursuit of an abstract and speculative wisdom. only a hebrew would have looked for him in that low estate in which the one truly perfect man dwelt among us. and yet how that hebrew legend charms and touches and satisfies us! what a hope for humanity there is in the thought that the poor weird-looking jailer who was merciful to his prisoners, and the kindly, industrious, cheerful working-men, living by their craft, and incapable of regarding their diligence and good-nature as "saving works," stood higher than priest or rabbi, ruler or philosopher! how welcome and ennobling is the conviction that there are last who yet are first--last with men, first with god; that turnkeys and artisans, publicans and sinners even, may draw nearer to heaven than sophist or flamen, sage or prince! who so poor but that he has a little "bread" to cast on the thankless unreturning waters? who so faint of heart but that he may sow a little "seed" even when the winds rave and the sky is full of clouds? who so solitary and forlorn but that he may say a word of comfort to a weeping neighbour, or seek to make "two people who have quarrelled friends again"? and this is all that the preacher, all that god through the preacher, asks of us. [58] this partial anticipation of the golden rule will be found in the confucian _analects_, book xv., chap. xxiii. "tsze-kung asked, saying, 'is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all one's life?' the master said, 'is not _reciprocity_ such a word? what you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.'" the same rule is given in another form in book v., chap. i of the _analects_. the other phrases put into the sage's mouth are quoted from dr. legge's translation of this work. _all_--yet even this is much; even for this we shall need the pressure of constant and weighty motives: for it is not only occasional acts which are required of us, but settled tempers and habits of goodwill, industry, and cheerfulness; and to love all men, to rejoice alway, to do our duty in all weathers and all moods, is very hard work to our feeble, selfish, and easily-dejected natures. does the preacher supply us with such motives as we need? he offers us two motives; one in the present judgment, another in the future judgment of god. "god is with you," he says, "taking cognizance of all you do; and you will soon be with god, to give him an account of every secret and every deed." but that is an appeal to fear--is it not? it is, rather, an appeal to love and hope. he has no thought of frightening us into obedience--for the obedience of fear is not worth having, is _not_ obedience in the true sense; but he _is_ trying to win and allure us to obedience. for whatever terrors god's judgment or the future world may have for us, it is very certain that these terrors were in large measure unknown to the jews. the talmud knows nothing of "hell," nothing of an everlasting torture. even the "sheol" of the old testament is simply the "under-world" in which the jews believed the spirits of both good men and bad to be gathered after death. and, to the jews for whom coheleth wrote, the judgment of god, whether here or hereafter, would have singular and powerful attractions. they were in captivity to merciless and capricious despots who took no pains to understand their character or to deal with them according to their works, who had no sense of justice, no kindness, no ruth for slaves. for men thus oppressed and hopeless there would be an infinite comfort in the thought that god, the great ruler and disposer, knew them altogether, saw all their struggles to maintain his worship and to acquaint themselves with his will, took note of every wrong they suffered, "was afflicted in all their afflictions," and would one day call both them and their oppressors to the bar at which all wrongs are at once righted and avenged. would it affright _them_ to hear that "god taketh cognizance of all things," and has "appointed a judgment for every secret and every deed"? would not this be, rather, their strongest consolation, their brightest hope? would they not do their duty with better heart if they knew that god saw how hard it was to do? would they not show a more constant kindness to their neighbours, if they knew that god would openly reward every alms done in secret? would they not carry a blither and more patient spirit to all their labours and afflictions if they knew that a day of recompenses was at hand? the preacher thought they would; and hence he bids them "rejoice," bids them "banish care and sadness," _because_ god will bring them into judgment, and incites them to "keep the commandments" _because_ god's eye is upon them, and because, in the judgment, he will not forget the work of their obedience, the labour of their love. this, to some of us, may be a novel view whether of the present or of the future judgment of god. for the most part, i fear, we speak of the divine judgments as terrible and well-nigh unendurable. we would escape them even here, if we could; but, above all, we dread them when we shall stand before the bar at which the secrets of all hearts will be disclosed. now we need not, and we must not, lose ought of the awe and reverence for him who is our god and father which, so far from impairing, deepens our love. but we need to remember that fear is base, that it is the enemy of love; that so long as we anticipate the divine judgments only or mainly with dread, we are far from the love which gives value and charm to obedience; and that, if we are to be good and at peace, we must "shut out fear with all the strength of hope." what is it that we fear? suffering! but why should we fear that, if it will make us perfect? death! but why should we fear that, if it will take us home to our father? god's anger! but god is not angry with us if we love him and try to do his will; he loves us even when we sin against him, and shows his love in making the way of sin so hard to us that we are constrained to leave it. ought we, then, to dread, ought we not rather to desire, the judgments by which we are corrected, purified, saved? "but the future judgment--that is so dreadful!" _is_ it? god knows us as we are already: is it so very much worse that we should know ourselves, and that our neighbours should know us? if among our "secrets" there be many things evil, are there not at least some that are good? do we not find ourselves perpetually thwarted or hindered in our endeavours to give form and scope to our purest emotions, our tenderest sympathies, our loftiest resolves? do we not perpetually complain that, when we would do good, even if evil is not present to overcome the good, it is present to mar it, to make our goodness poor, scanty, ungraceful? well, these obstructed purposes and intentions and resolves, all the good in us that has been frustrated or deformed, or limited, by our social conditions, by our lack of power, culture, expression, by the clogging flesh or the flagging brain,--all these are among "the secret things" which god will bring to light; and we may be sure that he will not think less of these, his own work in us, than of the manifold sins by which we have marred his work. we are in some danger of regarding "the judgment" as a revelation of our trespasses only, instead of every deed, and every secret, whether good or bad. once conceive of it aright, as the revelation of the whole man, as the unveiling of _all_ that is in us, and mere honesty might lead us to desire rather than to dread it. one of the finest and most devout spirits of modern france[59] has said: "it seems to me intolerable to appear to men other than we appear to god. my worst torture at this moment is the over-estimate which generous friends form of me. we are told that at the last judgment the secret of all consciences will be laid bare to the universe: _would that mine were so this day, and that every passer-by could read me as i am!_" to seem what we are, to be known for what we are, to be treated as we are, this is the judgment of god. and, though this judgment must bring even the best of us much shame and much sorrow, who that sincerely loves god and truth will not rejoice to have done at last with all masks and veils, to wear his natural colours, and to take his true place, even though it be the lowest? [59] maurice de guérin in his _journal_. "in the corrupted currents of this world offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, and oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself buys out the law: but 'tis not so above; _there_ is no shuffling, there the action lies in its true nature, and we ourselves compell'd even to the teeth and forehead of our faults to give in evidence." to have got out of "the corrupted currents" of which audacious and strong injustice so often avails itself to our hurt; to be quit of all the shuffling equivocations by which we often pervert the true character of our actions, and persuade ourselves that we are other and better than we are; to be compelled to look our faults straight and fairly in the face; to have all the latent goodness of our natures developed, and their fettered and obstructed virtue liberated from every bond; to see our every "secret" good as well as bad, and our every "deed" good as well as bad, exposed in their true colours: is there no hope, no comfort for us, in such a prospect as this? it is a prospect full of comfort, full of hope, if at least we have any real trust in the grace and goodness of god; and if, through his grace, we have set ourselves to do our duty, to love our neighbour, and to bear the changes and burdens of life with a patient cheerful heart. now that we have once more heard the preacher's final conclusion, we shall have no difficulty in fitting into its place, or valuing at its worth, the partial and provisional conclusion to which he rises at the close of the previous sections of the book. in the first section he describes his quest of the chief good in wisdom and in mirth; he declares that, though both wisdom and mirth are good, neither of them is the supreme good of life, nor both combined; and, in despair of reaching any higher mark, he closes with the admission (ch. ii., vv. 24-26) that even for the man who is both wise and good "there is nothing better than to eat and to drink, and to let his soul take pleasure in all his labour." in the second section he pursues his quest in devotion to business and to public affairs, only to find his former conclusion confirmed (ch. v., vv. 18-20): "behold, that which i have said holds good; it _is_ well for a man to eat and to drink, and to enjoy all the good of his labour through the brief day of his life; this is his portion; and he should take his portion and rejoice in his labour, remembering that the days of his life are not many, and that god meant him to work for the enjoyment of his heart." in the third section, his quest in wealth and in the golden mean conducts him by another road to the same bright resting-place which, however, for all so bright as it looks, he seems to enter every time with a more rueful and dejected gait (ch. viii., ver. 15): more and more sadly he "commends mirth, because there is nothing better for man than to eat and to drink and to rejoice, and because _this_ will go with him to his work through the days of his life which god giveth him under the sun." to my mind there is a strange pathos in the mournful tones in which the preacher commends mirth, in the plaintive minors of a voice from which we should naturally expect the clear ringing majors of joy. as we listen to these recurring notes, we feel that he has been baffled in his quest; that, starting every day in a fresh direction and travelling till he is weary and spent, he finds himself night after night at the very spot he had left in the morning, and can only alleviate the unwelcome surprise of finding himself no farther and no higher by muttering, "as well here perhaps as elsewhere!" no votary of mirth and jollity surely ever wore so woebegone a countenance, or sang their praises with more trembling and uncertain lips. what can be more hopeless than his "_there is nothing better_, so you must even be content with this," or than the way in which he harps on the brevity of life! you feel that the man has been passionately seeking for something better, for a good which would be a good not only through the brief hours of time but for ever; that it is with a heart saddened by the sense of wasted endeavour and cravings unsatisfied that he falls back on pleasures as brief as his day, as wearisome as his toils. yet all the while he feels, and makes you feel, that there is a certain measure of truth in his conclusion; that mirth is a great good, though not the greatest; that if he could but find that "something better" of which he is in quest, he would learn the secret of a deeper mirth than that which springs from eating and drinking and sensuous delights, a mirth which would not set with the setting sun of his brief day. this feeling is justified by the issue. now that the preacher has completed his circle of thought, we can see that it _is_ well for a man to rejoice and take pleasure in his labours, that god did mean him to work for the enjoyment of his heart, that there is a mirth purer and more enduring than that which springs from knowledge, or from the gratification of the senses, or from success in affairs, or from the possession of much goods,--a mirth for this life which expands and deepens into an everlasting joy. throughout his quest he has held fast to the conviction that "it is a comely fashion to be glad," though he could allege no better reason for his conviction than the transitoriness of life and the impossibility of reaching any higher good. before he could justify this conviction, he must achieve his quest. it is only when he has learned to regard our life- "as a harp, a gracious instrument on whose fair strings we learn those airs we shall be set to play when mortal hours are ended," that his plaintive minors pass into the frank, jocund tones appropriate to a sincere and well-grounded mirth. _now_ he can cease to "trouble heaven with his bootless cries" on the indiscrimination of death and the vanity of life. he can now say to his soul, "what hast thou to do with sorrow or the injuries of to-morrow?" for he has discovered that no morrow can any more injure him, no sorrow rob him of his true joy. god is with him, observing all the postures and moods of his soul, and adapting all his circumstances to the correction of what is evil in him or the cultivation of what is good. there is no dark impassable gulf between this world and the next; life does not cease at death, but grows more intense and full; death is but a second birth into a second and better life, a life of ampler and happier conditions, and yet a life which is the continuation and consummation of that we now live in the flesh. all that he has to do, therefore, is to "fear god and keep his commandments," leaving the issues of his labour in the hands which bend all things to a final goal of good. what though the clouds drop rain or the winds blew bitterly, what though his diligence a charity meet no present recognition or reward? all that is no business of his. he has only to do the duty of the passing hour, and to help his neighbours do their duty. so long as he can do this, why should he not be bright and gay? in this lies his chief good: why should he not enjoy _that_, even though other and lesser goods be taken from him for a time--be lent to the lord that they may hereafter be repaid with usury? he is no longer "a pipe for fortune's finger to sound what stop she please:" he has a tune of his own, "a cheerful tune," to play, and _will_ play it, let fortune be in what mood she please. he is not "passion's slave," but the servant and friend of god; and because god is with him and for him, and because he will soon be with god, he is "as one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing," and can take "fortune's buffets and rewards with equal thanks." his cheerful content does not lie at the mercy of accident; the winds and waves of vicissitude cannot prevail against it: for it has two broad and solid foundations; one on earth, and the other in heaven. on the one hand, it springs from a faithful discharge of personal duty and the neighbourly charity which hopeth all things and endureth all things; on the other hand, it springs from the conviction that god takes note of all things, and will bring every secret and every deed into a judgment perfectly just and perfectly kind. the fair structure which rises on these sure foundations is not to be shaken by ought that does not sap the foundations on which it rests. convince him that god is not with him, or that god does not so care for him as to judge and correct him; or convict him of gross and constant failures in duty and in charity; and then, indeed, you touch, you endanger, his peace. but no external loss, no breath of change, no cloud in the sky of his fortunes, no loss, no infirmity that does not impede him in the discharge of duty, can do more than cast a passing shadow on his heart. whatever happens, into whatever new conditions or new worlds he may pass, his chief good and therefore his supreme joy is with him. "this man is freed from servile bands of hope to rise or fear to fall: lord of himself, though not of lands, and, having nothing, yet hath all." now, too, without fear or favour, without any prejudice for or against his conclusion because we find it in holy writ, we may ask ourselves, has the preacher satisfactorily solved the problem which he took in hand? has he really achieved his quest and attained the chief good? one thing is quite clear; he has not lost himself in speculations foreign to our experience and remote from it; he has dealt with the common facts of life such as they were in his time, such as they remain in ours: for now, as then, men are restless and craving, and seek the satisfactions of rest in science or in pleasure, in successful public careers or in the fortunate conduct of affairs, by securing wealth or by laying up a modest provision for present and future wants. now, as then, "the common problem, yours, mine, everyone's, is not to fancy what were fair in life providing it could be,--but, finding first what may be, then find how to make it fair up to our means--a very different thing." that the preacher should have attacked this common problem, and should have handled it with the practical good sense which characterises his poem, is a point, and a large point, in his favour. nor is the conclusion at which he arrives, in its substance, peculiar to him, or even to the scriptures. he says: the perfect man, the ideal man, is he who addresses himself to the present duty untroubled by adverse clouds and currents, who so loves his neighbour that he can do good even to the evil and the unthankful, and who carries a brave cheerful temper to the unrewarded toils and sacrifices of his life, because god is with him, taking note of all he does, and because there is a future life for which this course of duty, charity, and magnanimity, is the best preparative. he affirms that the man who has risen to the discovery and practice of this ideal has attained the chief good, that he has found a duty from which no accident can divert him, a pure and tranquil joy which will sustain him under all change and loss. and, on his behalf, i am bold to assert that, allowing for inevitable differences of conception and utterance, his conclusion is the conclusion of all the great teachers of morality. take any of the ancient systems of morality and religion--hindu, egyptian, persian, chinese, greek, or latin; select those elements of it in virtue of which it has lived and ruled over myriads of men; reduce those elements to their simplest forms, express them in the plainest words; and, as i believe, you will find that in every case they are only different and modified versions of the final conclusion of the preacher. "do your duty patiently; be kind and helpful one to another; shew a cheerful content with your lot; heaven is with you and will judge you:"--these brief maxims seem to be the ethical epitome of all the creeds and systems that have had their day, as also of those which have not ceased to be. it is very true that the motive to obedience which coheleth draws from the future life of man has been of a varying force and influence, rising perhaps to its greatest clearness among the egyptians and the persians, sinking to its dimmest among the greeks and the romans, although we cannot say it did not shine even upon these; for, though the secret of their "mysteries" has been kept with a rare fidelity, yet the general impression of antiquity concerning them was that, besides disclosing to the initiated the natural and moral truths on which the popular mythology was based, they "opened to man a comforting prospect of a future state." i am not careful to show how the word of inspiration surpasses all other "scriptures" in the precision with which it enunciates the elementary truths of all morality, in its freedom from admixture with baser matter, in its application of those truths to all sorts and conditions of men, and the power of the motives by which it enforces them. that is no part of my present duty. the one point to which i ask attention is this: with what an enormous weight of authority, drawn from all creeds and systems, from the whole ethical experience of humanity, the conclusion of the preacher is clothed; how we stand rebuked by the wisdom of all past ages if, after duly testing it, we have not adopted his solution of the master-problem of life, and are not working it out. out of every land, in all the different languages of the divided earth, from the lips of all the ancient sages whom we reverence for their excellence or for their wisdom, no less than from the mouths of prophet and psalmist, preacher and apostle, there come to us voices which with one consent bid us "fear god and keep his commandments;"--a sacred chorus which paces down the long-drawn aisles of time, chanting the praise of the man who does his duty even though he lose by it, who loves his neighbour even though he win no love in return, who breasts the blows of circumstance with a tranquil heart, who by a wise use and a wise enjoyment of the life that now is qualifies himself for the better life to be. * * * * * this, then, is the hebrew solution of "the common problem." it is also the christian solution. for when "the fellow of the lord of hosts," instead of "clutching at his equality with god," humbled himself and took on him the form of a servant, the very ideal of perfect manhood became incarnate in this "man from heaven." does the hebrew preacher, backed by the consentient voices of the great sages of antiquity, demand that the ideal man, moved thereto by his sense of a constant divine presence and the hope of god's future judgment, should cast the bread of his charity on the thankless waters of neighbourly ingratitude, give himself with all diligence to the discharge of duty whatever clouds may darken his sky, whatever unkindly wind may nip his harvest, and maintain a calm and cheerful temper in all weathers, and through all the changing scenes and seasons of life? his demand is met, and surpassed, by the man christ jesus. _he_ loved all men with a love which the many waters of their hostility and unthankfulness could not quench. always about his father's business, when he laid aside the glory he had with the father before the world was, he put off the robes of a king to don the weeds of the husbandman, and went forth to sow in all weathers, beside all waters, undaunted by any wind of opposition or any threatening cloud. in all the shock of hostile circumstance, in the abiding agony and passion of a life "short in years indeed, but in sorrows above all measure long," he carried himself with a cheerful patience and serenity which never wavered, for the joy set before him enduring, and even despising, the bitter cross. in fine, the very virtues inculcated by the preacher were the very substance of "the highest, holiest manhood." and if we ask, what were the motives which inspired this life of consummate and unparalleled excellence? we find among them the very motives suggested by coheleth. the strong son of man and of god was never alone, because the father was with him, as truly with him while he was on earth as when he was in the heaven from which he "came down." he never bated heart nor hope because he knew that he would soon be with god once more, to be judged of him and recompensed according to the deeds done in the body of his humiliation. men might misjudge him, but the judge of all the earth would do him right. men might award him only a crown of thorns; but god would touch the thorns and, at his quickening touch, they would flower into a garland of immortal beauty and honour. nor did the lord jesus help us in our quest of the chief good only by becoming a pattern of all virtue and excellence. the work of his redemption is a still more sovereign help. by the sacrifice of the cross he took away the sins which had rendered the pursuit of excellence a wellnigh hopeless task. by the impartation of his spirit, no less than by the inspiration of his example, he seeks to win us to the love of our neighbour, to fidelity in the discharge of our daily duty, and to that cheerful and constant trust in the providence of god by which we are redeemed from the bondage of care and fear. he, the immanuel, by taking our flesh and dwelling among us, has _proved_ that "god is with us," that he will in very deed dwell with men upon the earth. he, the victor over death, by his resurrection from the grave, has _proved_ the truth of a future life and a future judgment with arguments of a force and quality unknown to our hebrew fathers. so that now as of old, now even more demonstrably than of old, the conclusion of the whole matter is that we "fear god and keep his commandments." this is still the one solution of "the common problem" and "the whole duty of man." he who accepts this solution and discharges this duty has achieved the supreme quest; to him it has been given to find the chief good. _printed by hazell, watson, & viney, ld., london and aylesbury._ * * * * * transcriber's note: minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently normalized. archaic and variable spellings and hyphenation have been retained 