Chapter Four

A SINFUL world is a world of selfishness. Men—instead of feeling themselves to be members of one great body—each bound to each other in mutual helpfulness—live only to “seek their own” (Eph. 4:16, with Phil. 2:21) at whatever cost to their fellow-creatures. Solomon had already taken one view of this sad spectacle.

He had seen with his father “the vilest men exalted—the throne of iniquity framing mischief by a law.” (Ecclesiastes 3:16, 17, with Ps. 12:8; 94:20, 21.) He now returns and considers. He takes a wider survey. He sees oppression in every corner—not only in the courts of justice—but in every sphere—not only for the sake of godliness—but all the oppression that was done under the sun. Behold!—he cries—the tears of such as be oppressed.

The power also on the side of the oppressor darkens the picture. It is like Israel in “the iron furnace”—dragging along a heavy chain of life in a wearisome existence. (Exod. 2:23, 24; Deut. 4:20.) Twice does he allude to the deep and poignant aggravation—no comforter—no one to afford relief to soul or body. The tyranny of the oppressor here reaches his summit of cruelty. This keen trial has often been the lot of the Lord’s suffering people.

“I looked on my right hand”—said a true child of tribulation—“but there was no man that would know me; refuge failed me; no man cared for my soul.” (Ps. 142:4. Comp. 2 Tim. 4:16.) Nay, was not this beaten track consecrated by the footsteps of the Son of God? “Reproach hath broken my heart; I am full of heaviness; I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for Comforters, but I found none.” (Ps. 69:20.) Sympathy with sorrow is indeed a precious privilege.

“Remember them that be in bonds” (under oppression) “as being bound with them.” (Heb. 13:3.) If we cannot tread in the footsteps of a Howard, might not much more be done? Might not there be a more active, self-denying alleviation of suffering? Might not prayer and effort be in more lively exercise to bring the sufferers to an interest in the endearing sympathy of “The Man of sorrows”—so tenderly—even in his glorified state “touched with the feeling” of his people’s sorrow?

And yet how very little do we realize the sorrow of others; either because they are at a distance from us, or because we have ourselves no intelligent and experimental acquaintance with the particular pages of the history of sorrow! As to the sorrow here expressed, Mr. Cecil mentions that he often ‘had a sleepless night from having seen an instance of cruelty in the day. Our tender-hearted poet thus gives vent to his indignant grief:—

Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more! My ear is pain’d, My heart is sick with every day’s report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill’d. Task, Book iv.

So keen were Solomon’s sensibilities, that, looking at the comparison merely in the light of temporal evil, he considered death, or even non-existence, preferable, as a refuge from this suffering lot. The patriarch, in his crushing sorrow, looked to the grave as his hope of rest. “There”—said holy Job—“the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary be at rest.

There the prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor.” (Job 3:17, 18.) Look onward to the great end. Behold the tears of such as were oppressed—then to be “wiped away”—when “the rebuke” of the oppressor “shall be taken away from off all the earth. (Isa. 25:8.) Meanwhile let us be careful to cherish our sensibilities—not in barren sentimentalism, but in practical exercise. Our Great Pattern not only gave his tears but his blood, for the misery of man.

Not only did he weep for sorrow as the fruit of sin, but he “laid down his life” for it. (1 John 3:16.)

How vividly Solomon draws the picture of selfishness in all its features! A man pursues a right work. Yet his neighbour envies his rectitude. His own character suffers by comparison with him. Hence the revolt. Thus, whichever side of the world we look, it presents the same face of vanity—the same result—vexation of spirit.

‘A man that hath no virtue in himself’—observes our great English philosopher—‘ever envieth virtue in others; for men’s minds will either feed upon their own good, or upon others’ evil. And who wanteth the one will prey upon the other; and whoso is out of hope to attain to another’s virtue, will seek to come at even hand by depressing another’s fortune. This is the “evil eye,” offended with the clear shining light.

The better the work, the more is the man hated by those who have no heart to imitate him. Thus even godliness becomes a source of evil. If our godliness “condemn the world,” we must expect to be hated by the world. Unbending integrity was the only charge brought against Aristides.

And in an infinitely higher perfection of example, the only explanation of unprovoked and murderous cruelty, was—that, irritated by his popularity, “they had delivered him for envy.” (Mark 15:10.) This is truly a fiendish passion—hating good for goodness’ sake. It is like “the star Wormwood,” poisoning the fountains around. (Rev. 8:10, 11.) It works often under a subtle but plausible cover. God’s work must be done. But we must be the doers of it.

The thought is intolerable, that another and more honourable than ourselves should have the praise. We must throw something into the balance to depreciate his fair name, and to preserve the glory of our dearest idol—self. ‘How contrary a state’—as Bp. Taylor beautifully observes—‘to the felicities and actions of heaven, where every star increases the light of the other, and the multitude of guests at the supper of the Lamb makes the eternal meal more festival!

Hard indeed is it to work with singleness for our Master’s name—‘labouring’—as Dr. Arnold nobly expressed it on his death-bed—‘to do God’s will; yet not anxious that it should be done by me, rather than by others. Good old Fuller’s prayers are much to the point—‘Dispossess me, Lord, of this bad spirit, and turn my envy into holy emulation. Let me labour to exceed those in pains, who excel me in parts.

Let me feed, and foster, and nourish, and cherish the graces in others, honouring their persons, praising their parts, and glorifying thy name, who hath given such gifts unto them. The true power of the Gospel can alone root out this hateful principle. If there be a living union with Christ, will not his honour be our joy, by whomsoever it be advanced?

If there be a true communion with the body, the prosperity of one member will be the joy of the whole. (1 Cor. 12:26; Eph. 4:16.) ‘One finger envieth not another, that weareth a gold ring, as taking it for an ornament of the whole hand—yea, of the whole body. Ah! Christian—have not you often detected this lust in yourself—yea—even after the Lord has had mercy upon you? Then surely sorrow and shame will be your lot.

And many a quickening desire will be stirred up for the world, where it shall never be known more. For “into that place shall not in any wise enter anything that defileth.” (Rev. 21:27.)

Another picture of vanity! The wise man looks from one scene to another—oppression—envy—now idleness. What a vast fertility of excuses does the great enemy suggest! In the business of daily life how many stumbling-blocks does he put in the way! The sluggard—wasting his precious time and opportunity—mistaking idleness for quietness—heaping misery upon himself—bears the stamp of a fool. And well does he deserve his name.

He folds his hands together (Prov. 6:9, 10; 24:30–33) with heartless indifference, as if he would rather eat his very flesh from his bones, than put forth any troublesome exertion. And yet an excuse was ready at hand. Above him he saw the tyranny of the oppressor. Many on his own level grudged their neighbour his happiness. And therefore for himself he deems a little with ease to be far better than much with toil and trouble. Nothing is to be gained without travail.

And yet the fruit of successful travail becomes the object of envy. Far better therefore he thinks an handful with quietness, than both hands filled with the heavy tax of vexation of spirit. The fool thus ‘does nothing, because others do ill. And certainly no one has so little enjoyment of life, as he who is doing nothing in life. As Dr. Barrow asks, when rebuking his idle gentleman—‘What title can he have to happiness? What capacity thereof? What reward can he claim?

What comfort can he feel? To what temptations he is exposed! What guilt will he incur! Idleness indeed places a man out of God’s order. It should therefore have no place in God’s fair creation. Work is at once the substance and the privilege of our service.

A thousand witnesses will rise up against the sluggard’s excuse—“There is a lion without; I shall be slain in the streets.” (Prov. 22:13.) In our general calling and our daily course—‘the strictest imprisonment is far more tolerable, than being under restraint by a lazy humour from profitable employment. This enchaineth a man hand and foot with more than iron fetters. This is beyond any imprisonment.

It is the very entombment of a man, quite in effect sequestering him from the world, or debarring him from any valuable concerns therein. But this folding of the hands together—what a deadly hindrance is it in the ways of God! A life of ease can never be a life of happiness, or the pathway to heaven. Trifling indulgences greatly enervate the soul.

‘A despicable indulgence in lying in bed’—writes the heavenly Martyn in his early course—‘gave me such a view of the softness of my character, that I resolved upon my knees to live a life of more self-denial. The tone and vigour of my mind rose rapidly. All those duties, from which I usually shrink, seemed recreations.

Taking a high standard of example, what say we to the quickening example of Him, who, after a Sabbath of ceaseless labour, “in the morning rising up a great while before day, went out, and departed into a solitary place, and there prayed?” (Mark 1:35.) To cultivate habits of self-denial—to mind our work more than our pleasure, is of incalculable moment. Blessed, indeed, is the toil in such a service for such a Master! The crown and the kingdom brighten all.

In the most fainting discouragement the effort to take one forward step—or even to resist one backward step—when made under the sense of the infinite preciousness of the favour of God, and the constraining love of Christ—will never be made in vain. Power will be given and felt to cut the way through every difficulty, and to live in all the high enjoyment of our privileged service.

Solomon’s mind was in constant exercise. We find him returning from one side to another, only to fasten upon some new illustration of this world’s vanity. The slothful fool sits with his folded hands—preferring quietness at any cost. Contrasted with him, we have the covetous fool—full of active energy. He has chosen money for his God. The miser—how well does he deserve his name! the wretched slave of Mammon, grown old as a toiling, scraping, griping drudge!

He cannot plead in excuse the necessary claims of a large family. He is alone, and there is not a second; yea—he hath neither child nor brother. Yet so long as he can add one farthing to his hoard, he cannot bear the thought of giving up. There is no end of his labour. Labour indeed it is, without rest or satisfaction, however he may heap up his treasure. His eye is not satisfied with riches. Still he craves for more. The less need, the more raking.

‘He hath enough for his back, his calling, the decency of his state and condition; but he hath not enough for his eye. All is sacrificed—even to the bereaving his soul of common good. And for whom all this labour?

“He heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them.” (Ps. 39:6.) Illustrations from real life are not wanting: The Great Marlborough—scraping together a fortune of a million and a half—would walk through the rain at night to save sixpence! bereaving himself of good—for whom? for a family, whom he had always regarded as his enemies. But it is not only the miser.

Here also is the man that spends his money upon himself, and upon his own selfish gratifications, forgetting its true use and responsibility. When once we acknowledge the bond—“Ye are not your own” (1 Cor. 6:19)—readily shall we add—Neither is our silver or our gold our own, but God’s; worthless—worse than worthless; as a selfish possession; an acceptable gift, when consecrated to the service of God and his Church.

The man of covetousness would keep his money within his last grasp. No other satisfaction can he realize. But all this is vanity, and a sore travail. Never has he soberly calculated profit and loss. Comfort, peace, usefulness, and—what is infinitely more important—the interests of the immortal soul—all is sacrificed to this mean and sordid lust. A perishing sinner—his shadowy portion snatched from him; and his state for eternity irremediable misery—such is the picture!

His call is sudden in the midst of all his purposes of aggrandizement. He has “received his good things. All is now infinite and unchangeable ruin. “So is he”—adds our Divine Instructor—“that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich towards God.” (Luke 12:18–21; 16:25.) ‘Envy thou not the fool’s paradise here, that has hell at the end of it. Now mark the contrast—The child of God in poverty, yet in possession of the Gospel treasure.

“As having nothing, and yet possessing all things” (2 Cor. 6:10)—enriched and honoured for both worlds—partaker with his Lord of the kingdom. Reader—be sure that this is thy joy—thy portion—first in thine eye and in thy heart.

We have seen the misery of solitary selfishness. ‘The man is so absorbed in covetousness, that he sacrificeth all his interest with his fellow-creatures. Contrast with this dark picture the pleasures and advantages of social bonds.

Bacon quotes from Aristotle, that ‘whosoever delighteth in solitude is either a wild beast or a god’—that is (as Abp. Whately explains it)—‘to man—such as man is—friendship is indispensable to happiness; and that one, who has no need, and feels no need of it, must be either much above human nature, or much below it. In a variety of instances we shall readily admit Solomon’s judgment—Two are better than one—‘more happy jointly, than either of them could be separately.

The pleasure and advantage of holy love will be an abundant recompense for all the work and labour of love. They have a good reward for their labour. For have they not richer enjoyment of the common good in the mutual effort to promote it? Many instances in common life illustrate this aphorism. In a casual fall ready help is a Providential mercy. Woe to him that is alone when he falleth.

Solitude may be death. (Gen. 4:8; 2 Sam. 14:6.) As if two lie together, heat is communicated. (1 Kings 1:2.) In cases of assault, one might prevail, when by additional strength we might successfully withstand him (2 Sam. 10:11; Jer. 41:13, 14); like a cord, which when untwisted, is weak; but when bound together threefold (like the fabled bundle of rods) is not quickly broken.

We forget however the deep and weighty substance of Scripture, if we confine these illustrations to their literal application. The most sober principle of interpretation will admit a reference to all that glowing contact of united hearts, where each has a part and responsibility in helping and comforting the other. To begin at the beginning—with that ordinance, where God declared his own mind—“It is not good for man to be alone.” (Gen. 2:18.

Comp. Ps. 48:6.) If it was “not good” in Paradise, much less is it in a wilderness world. What claim, then, has a monastic or a celibate life to higher perfection? When two are brought together by the Lord’s Providence (Gen. 2:22)—and specially when each is fitted to each other by his grace—“dwelling together as heirs of the grace of life” (1 Pet. 3:7), in abiding union of hearts—having one faith—one hope—one aim—who can doubt the fact—Two are better than one?

Love sweetens toil, soothes the sting of trouble, and gives a Christian zest of enjoyment to every course of daily life. The mutual exercises of sympathy give energy to prayer, and furnish large materials for confidence and praise. Our Lord himself, who “knew what was in man,” ordered his Church upon this wise determination.

When he “sent forth” his first ministers, “as sheep or lambs in the midst of wolves”—weak and unprotected—“two and two” was the arrangement. (Matt. 10:16. Luke, 10:1–3.) Was not this upon the forethought, that if they should fall, the one should help up his fellow? The Primitive Church—so far as circumstances permitted—acted under Divine direction upon this rule of mutual helpfulness. We need scarcely remark, how clearly the principle of membership is here involved.

The live coal left alone soon loses its vital heat. But heap the coals around it, and we have a genial atmosphere. The most lively professor left alone is in danger of waxing cold in selfishness. But the precious ‘communion of saints’ warms the Christian from the very centre.

All is sound, when “the members of the body” (to use the Apostle’s favourite illustration) “have the same care one for another.” (1 Cor. 12:25.) Thus “from the” Divine “Head, the whole body, fitly joined together, and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body to the edifying of itself in love.” (Eph. 4:15, 16.) This principle also rebukes the religious solitaire—that isolated being, who belongs to no Church, because no Church is perfect enough for him.

‘Take a ladder’—was Constantine’s advice to such a one—‘and climb up to heaven by thyself. Surely it is better to belong to an imperfect (not heretical) Church, than none; better to “continue steadfastly in the Apostles’ doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of bread, and in prayers” (Acts, 2:42); not only “first giving up our own selves to the Lord,” but “unto” the whole body of the Church “by the will of God.” (2 Cor. 8:5.) There can be no real membership with the body, except by the communication of mutual helpfulness “according to the measure of every part.” (Eph. 4:16, ut supra.) The solitaire just described is in continual danger when he falleth, for he hath not another to help him.

The soldier falters alone; but, in fellowship with his comrades, he advances with confidence. All the kindly offices of friendship—especially when cemented in the Christian bond—apply to this point. The united prayer of “any two, who shall agree touching anything they shall ask,” is sealed with acceptance. (Matt. 18:19.) Mutual faithfulness (Gal. 2:11–14; 6:1), consideration, inspection, and godly provocation (Heb. 10:24)—all enter into the sphere of Christian responsibility, and minister to the glory of our common Lord.

Each of us has something to impart, to prevent discouragement—to receive, to teach us humility. The receiver is united to the giver by gratitude—the giver to the receiver by tender compassion. In this sympathizing union of kindred spirits, “ointment and perfume rejoice the heart; so doth the sweetness of a man’s friend by hearty counsel. Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend.” (Prov. 27:9, 17.) The inferior may be the helper.

The great Apostle acknowledged instrumental support through his own son in the faith. (2 Cor. 7:6; Tit. 1:4.) Jonathan, no less than David, “strengthened” his brother’s “hands in God.” (1 Sam. 23:16. Here the two were better than one; when each was employed in lifting up his fellow.

Lord Bacon quotes the old proverb—‘A friend is another himself’—and then beautifully adds—‘No receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it. Oh! let us ponder well the deep responsibility of our social obligations. Are we discharging them as unto the Lord—for the honour of his name, and for the edifying and increase of his Church?

Did we but pray for each other as we ought, what a brotherhood would the family of man be! The time is short. Opportunities are passing away. Happy those, who have been fellow-helpers upon earth! They shall rejoice before their gracious Lord with joy unspeakable—uninterrupted—without abatement—without end.

Riches were the last instance of vanity. Here Solomon affixes the stamp upon honour—man’s highest condition. This is not indeed the ordinary course. God’s people are often left in a low condition, while the ungodly maintain a royal elevation.

But such cases do occur; and probably he had some example before his eyes of an old and foolish king beyond the border, raised to the throne without any fitness to reign, and showing his folly pre-eminently by unwillingness to be admonished. For the man, who has no counsel from his own store, and refuses to receive it from another’s, has an undoubted claim to the character of a fool.

Indeed old and foolish—feebleness of mind and obstinacy linked together throw a cloud over the splendour of an earthly crown. For ‘place and dignity can never make a man so happy, as his folly will make him miserable. The contrast is minutely drawn—between the king and the poor—the old man and the child—the foolish and the wise. The balance is given in favour of the child, though poor. ‘Such pearls are not to be slighted, though in the dust.

For we are taught to despise not either youth (1 Tim. 4:12) or poverty. (Jam. 2:1–6.) Real worth is determined, not by outward show, but by solid usefulness. Royalty itself may sink in estimation, when set against attainments brought out of the lowest walks of life. From many a ragged school or wretched hovel may be dug out the richest stores of moral and intellectual wealth, compared with which the monarch’s crown is the very tinsel of vanity.

‘The king, becoming poor by his own extravagance, stalks his little hour of magnificence, and then descends, the ghost of departed greatness, into the land of condemnation. This comparison is confirmed by the different event happening to each. The child may for a while be in inglorious poverty. But may it not be the Divine purpose to bring, as it were another Joseph out of prison, or a Daniel out of captivity (Dan. 1:6; 6:1), and to raise him to an honourable elevation?

Wisdom may be the fruit of the prison discipline, and supply to the child what he wants in years (1 Kings 3:6–12); while the old and foolish king—born to an empire—born in his kingdom as his rightful inheritance—a beggar dies in obscurity; (2 Kings 23:31–34; 24:12; 25:7; Lam. 4:20.) ‘The wisdom of the one may advance him to a sceptre; the folly of the other, as recorded experience testifies, may wrest the sceptre from his hand.

‘If he, who from a dungeon shall through his wisdom be advanced to a throne, be preferred to him, who, born in his kingdom, is reduced to poverty by his folly; how honourable and happy will they be, who by faith in the Son of God are advanced from the bondage of sin and Satan to the glorious “kingdom that cannot be moved!” ’ Joyous is the prospect of the resurrection morning—when their prison garments being changed for the glorious image of their Lord—out of prison they shall come forth to reign—sharers of his throne for ever.

The Preacher now turns to the people. He finds the same vanity and vexation as elsewhere. He takes an extensive survey, considering all the living which walk under the sun. Generation after generation pass before his mind’s eye. All is the same character. The hereditary disease is fondness for change. Here is the king with the heir apparent—the second—next to his throne, that shall stand up in his stead. The homage of all ranks is soon transferred to him.

There is no end to the fickle multitude. “Surely men of low degree are vanity, and men of high degree are a lie; to lay in the balance they are altogether lighter than vanity.” (Ps. 62:9.) Such was the testimony of the Preacher’s father, abundantly confirmed by his own sad experience.

Though he had been eminently the father of his people, how easily did the second child “steal their hearts from him!” (2 Sam. 15:6, 12, 13.) Wayward Adonijah in his last days brought out the same proofs of this popular inconstancy. (1 Kings 2:15, with 1:6, 25.) Perhaps Solomon himself might have been mortified by some marks of the neglect of the setting, and worshipping of the rising, sun.

This appeared to the preacher to be the universal rule; human nature in every age alike. There was no end of all the people. The giddy and inconstant multitude go on from generation to generation. Solomon had seen it himself. So had others before him. So it would go on to the end. They would abandon the present idol, as those had done, who had been before them. The heir that is now worshipped with servility will have his turn of mortification.

They that come after shall not rejoice in him. “Cease ye from man,” therefore, “whose breath is in his nostrils”—is the much-needed exhortation—“for wherein is he to be accounted of?” (Isa. 2:22.) The smile of to-day may be changed for the frown of to-morrow. (Mark 11:8; 15:8, 14.) The love of change is a dominant principle of selfishness—insensible to our present blessings, and craving for some imaginary good.

‘The man is rarely found, who is not more taken up with the prospect of future hopes, than with the enjoyment of his present possession. This constant anxiety is an humbling trial to Royalty. The crown of the brightest jewels is often a crown of thorns. But after all—think of our Great Sovereign—is not he entitled to our undecaying, supreme, and devoted love? His willing people will shew no fickleness here. He deserves all. He claims all. He gives all.

Never, therefore, let him have less than all. Will not every service bring an hundredfold reward in peace—joy—salvation—heaven?