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.