Chapter Six

THIS evidently continues the last chapter. Covetousness—that odious lust—is again before us. ‘Covetousness’—says Bp. Taylor—‘makes a man miserable, because riches are not means to make a man happy. And unless felicity were to be bought with money, he is a vain person, who admires heaps of gold and rich possessions. The man—like Solomon himself2—wanted nothing for his soul of all that he desired thereof. But here was the contrast—and the case was common among men.

The gifts of God abounded to overflowing. But here God gave not the power to eat thereof. Sickness, affliction, or worldly disappointment, restrained the blessing. It seems to have been a judicial infliction. He did not use the gifts of his bountiful Father for their rightful purpose. Most justly therefore is he deprived of their blessing.

“From him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.” (Matt. 25:29.) ‘Because he has not the will to serve God with it, God denies him the power to serve himself with it. His portion a stranger eateth. Some artful interested person has smoothed his way into the miser’s good graces, and melted away his substance. Thus “he heapeth up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them.” (Ps. 39:6.) Here is another show of vanity—truly an evil disease.

Blessed indeed are the gifts of God to us, when we own them to be his property! But never let us forget the responsibility which they bring with them—“Occupy till I come.” (Luke 19:13.) We all have our responsibilities. And we are happy just in the proportion that we acknowledge them. Selfishness blasts the harvest. As well might we look for it from the seed-corn laid up in the granary, instead of being cast into the ground.

Our real happiness, therefore, is the thankful improvement of God’s own gifts—acknowledging his prerogative to give the power of enjoyment, no less than the blessing to be enjoyed. As for the riches, wealth, and honour—‘though it be but an image, if it be a golden image, all people, nations, and languages, will fall down and worship it.

A mercy—a special mercy is it to be delivered from Mammon idolatry!—to be restrained in our worldly desires—and, above all things, to “lay up for ourselves treasures in heaven”—treasures, that we can never lose—that never spend, and never perish.

In the case here supposed two of nature’s fondest desires are alluded to—a quiver full of children, and the days of many years. Yet if the soul is not filled with good, nothing would be of avail for our happiness. As a proof of the ill esteem in which he is held, his life may end with obloquy—no respect paid the miser at his burial—his death unhonoured, unlamented. Sordid accumulation is a dark cloud upon his name to the last.

The Preacher decides without hesitation upon this case. Better not to have been born at all—or if born, to have died at the birth—to have gone at once from the womb to the grave. ‘Better is the fruit that drops from the tree before it is ripe, than that which is left to hang on till it is rotten.

Job in his passion thinks the condition of an untimely birth better than his when he was in adversity. (Job 3:1–16.) But Solomon here pronounces it better than the condition of the worldling in his greatest prosperity, when the world smiles upon him. ‘I say, then’—concludes the wise man—‘that an untimely birth is better than he. He cometh in with vanity,’ seeming to have been born to no purpose.

He departeth in darkness—leaving no trace or remembrance behind—his name—if indeed he can be said to have a name—is covered with darkness—he is immediately forgotten. He hath not seen the sun, nor known anything. His pleasures are momentary; yet unalloyed. He neither sees nor knows anything to connect him with a world of sorrow. It is a negation of enjoyment—a peaceful shadow of existence without guilt, disgrace, pain, or punishment.

He had rest in the womb, and now in the grave (Job 3:17)—rest more than the other, who is still, as the man of avarice, tossed about in restless misery—seeing no good—a mere blank—a cumberer of the ground. Surely it is not life, but enjoyment that gives value to existence, and makes the vital difference. Life, though a thousand years twice told, without seeing good, is only protracted misery.

The longest inhabitant of earth—as well as he that hath not seen the sun—do not all go to one place? “The small and great are there. All are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.” (Job 3:19. Chap. 3:20.) But may we not look at this picture on an higher level? All hangs upon this point—the soul—the whole man—filled with good. And what good is there that will fill the man? Only when as a sinner he finds a reconciled God in Christ—his way to God—his peace with God.

Never was a more refreshing truth, than from one who found the witness and seal of it in contact with heathen misery. ‘The sweet savour of Christ’—writes an Indian missionary—‘is the only antidote to the wretchedness of man. Put aside this high privilege—or neglect it—and then to die with all the unfulfilled responsibilities of a long life upon his head—who can calculate the issue for eternity?—Truly an untimely birth is better than he.

“Good were it for that man, if he had not been born” (Matt. 26:24.) Sinner! there is time yet to pause—to pray—to consider—“Work while it is day. For the faithful worker eternity has no cloud. Hell is closed against thee by the blood of Jesus. Heaven will be thy home—the infinite reward of grace. ‘Thy best rest’—as a pious expositor remarks—‘will be in the arms of thy Saviour.’

The labour of man is ordinarily for his mouth—for his whole body—for the support of life. Such is the ordinance of God—the curse of the fall—“In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread.” (Gen. 3:19.) If the curse be removed, the cross remains. Man can do more by his labour than satisfy his bodily wants. “He that laboureth, laboureth for himself; for his mouth craveth it of him.” (Prov. 16:26.) Yet with all our labour the appetite is not filled.

The same natural cravings return from day to day. Worldly desires are no less unsatisfied. The covetous man—the more he has, the more he wants. ‘Vain indeed’—says Bp. Taylor—‘is the hope of that man, whose soul rests on vanity. Strange delusion, to suppose that more of this world would bring increase of happiness!

This is indeed to seek where it is impossible to find, and where the insatiable appetite is continually crying “Give, give.” (Prov. 30:15.) This lust is indeed an universal disease. For what—in respect of satisfaction—hath the wise man more than the fool? In real substance—“Wisdom excelleth folly, as far as light excelleth darkness.” (Ecclesiastes 2:13.) But in outward circumstance (the only point to which Solomon is adverting)—there is no pre-eminence.

Riches, ‘lest they should be thought to be evil, are given also to the good; and that they should not be esteemed great, or the chiefest jewels, they are given also to the bad. The last clause is obscure. But a careful consideration of the statement will bring out a satisfactory meaning. As the wise man hath nothing more than the fool; so neither hath the poor—knowing to walk before the living—any advantage above his more simple neighbour.

The same fruit of their labour provides for them both. In fact, man’s external condition in natural satisfaction is far more equalized than appears on the surface. Each has his station and his work. Happy indeed are they, who labour in dependence upon him, who alone can bless their work. And thrice blessed are they, who are labouring for eternity, and who yet receive the reward of their labour as the free gift of their Divine Master. (John 6:27.)

The sight of the eyes is the reality before us. The wandering of the desire is the longing pursuit of some unattainable object—some phantom only imagined—never reached. The fruitless search only ends in vanity and vexation of spirit. Better therefore to enjoy what we have in possession, than to be roving up and down in anxious weariness.

For what can be more wretched, than when the false pictures of the world palm themselves upon us for realities, when the shadows begin to pass away, and there is no substance to supply their place! ‘The true good that a man can have in this life, is to enjoy that which he hath in peace and rest, and not to wander in the straying and unsatisfied desires after that which he hath not. The wandering desire—“Loving to wander”—is indeed our nature.

But under Divine Teaching the light is clear and strong; the eye and heart are fixed. One object fills every desire—“Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.” (Ps. 73:25.) Everything is unreal, when placed beside this glorious treasure. Our position is not so much looking up to heaven from earth, as looking down from heaven to earth.

And it is when we thus realize our rightful standing in heaven (Comp. Eph. 2:6; Philip. 3:20) we rise above the dying vanities of earth. “The way of life is above to the wise, that he may depart from hell beneath.” (Prov. 15:24.) There is no wandering here. But if we do not find our rest here, truly it is a sickening picture. Our comforts are dashed with bitterness. Our whole sky is darkened with despondency.

And yet this steady discipline of our desires is a Christian habit of no easy attainment. When the pilgrims passed through ‘Vanity Fair’—it was only the earnest cry—“Turn away mine eyes from beholding Vanity” (Ps. 119:37), that could maintain their singleness of purpose, and repress the constant wandering of the desire. And this must be our prayer every day—all the day. We cannot—we must not—forget it.

Xerxes is said to have promised a great reward to the inventor of a new pleasure. How prolific is our great enemy in his inventions! The world is the grand instrument of his bright delusions. Volumes might be written upon the subtle wiles, by which he labours to keep God out of sight—out of heart.

But in the posture of prayer and watchfulness, we lay claim to all the promises of the Gospel; and—however vehement the conflict—we come off “more than conquerors.” (Rom. 8:37.) But often it is the spark within. How fearful the conflagration from one wandering desire—one flesh pleasing indulgence! How often is our wise and loving Father constrained to make the creature a grief, because we are so disposed to make it a god!

‘Thou hast made us for thyself’—said the pious Augustine—‘and our heart is restless, until it finds rest in thee. Who shall give me to rest in thee, that thou mayest come into my heart, and inebriate it; that I may forget my own evils, and embrace thee, my only good? Behold! the ears of my heart are before thee. O Lord, open them, and “say unto my soul, I am thy salvation!’ ”

The Preacher is here reviewing the result of his long and extensive inquiry. That which hath been—the whole of what can be obtained from all sources—wisdom—pleasure—honour—riches—all—has been already named. All have opened before us, as so many shades of vanity—known to be that little word of great meaning—Man. For “verily man at his best state is altogether vanity.” (Ps. 39:5.) His original dignity only serves to set out more vividly his present degradation.

Let him be ever so high in his own eyes, or in worldly estimation, the stamp of vanity is indelible. It is known that it is man—at best but man. His religion is self-wrought. Whatever it be, it never brings him close to God. It always therefore leaves him short of peace with God. Man is its centre. What is wanting is the teaching of humility. ‘Remember’—speaks Bp. Taylor in his own eloquence—‘what thou wert before thou wert begotten. Nothing.

What wert thou in the first regions of thy dwelling, before thy birth? Uncleanness. What wert thou for many years after? Weakness. What in all thy life? A great sinner. What in all thy excellencies? A mere debtor to God—to thy parents—to the earth—to all the creatures!

A being—thus fraught with infirmity and corruption—a very worm in utter weakness and helplessness—can he contend with his Maker—infinitely mightier than he? (Isa. 45:9.) Can he implead him, and call him to account! “Nay, but, O man, who art thou that repliest against God!” (Rom. 9:20.) Learn the lesson of prostrate submission. Take thy proper place—“laying thine hand on thy mouth” (Job 40:4), and thy mouth in the dust. To contend is to add madness to folly.

To submit is thy security and thy rest.

Let us look at the point to be demonstrated. No fruit of happiness can be found in this world’s vanity. The several parts have been brought out before us, and the many things have been proved to increase, instead of removing, the vanity. Past, present, and future—all partake of the same vanity.

Nor is it the infirmity of our bodily nature—“of the earth, earthy.” (1 Cor. 15:47.) It is the result of the fall, burying us under an almost infinite number of carnal appetites—keeping us down to earth. Every day’s experience brings painful proof of this degradation. So that the godly expositor suitably reminds us—‘Humbly acknowledge thy state. Fly from the fleeting vanities of the world. Look for all goodness in Christ and in heaven.

The question, therefore, is clearly decided—What is man the better, in regard to his true happiness, for any—for all—of them? Every form of happiness is but a phantom. He is, therefore, no better—no happier—no richer—for having more opportunities than others to follow such shadows. (Ecclesiastes 1:2, 3.) A sickening prospect, if this world be our all! We may well then ask—Who knoweth what is good for a man? Hard is it to know. What we think good may be evil.

What we think evil may be substantial good. What a hazard we run in making our own choice! Lot’s well-watered meadows brought him an harvest of misery. Oh! my God, while I am “walking in a vain show,” let me be grasping the everlasting substance. Save me from the foolish exchange’—eternity for trifles.

While the future is clouded in darkness, and no man can tell me what shall be after me; let me lie passive in thy hand, and be active in thy present work, and all will be peace. Whatever be, let it be thy choice for me not mine for myself.

Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be! Lead me by thine own hand; Choose out the path for me.

I dare not choose my lot; I would not, if I might; Choose thou for me, my God, So shall I walk aright. Bonar’s Hymns, p. 258.

One way is open to us all to know what is good. Many are asking with restless inquiry—“Who will shew?” Let our prayer be—“Lord! lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us.” (Ps. 4:6.) Reconciliation and acceptance realize the blessing with perfect, never-ending satisfaction. Nothing is wanting for the present, but what he largely supplies. Eternity will be our home with him, and we “shall go no more out.” (Rev. 3:12.)