CRITICAL NOTES.--+1. Wise woman,+ or "woman's wisdom." +2. He that
walketh,+ etc., or, "He walketh in his uprightness who feareth
Jehovah, and perverse in his ways is he that despiseth Him"
_(Delitzsch.)_ +3. Rod,+ or "sceptre." Zöckler reads, "In the mouth of
a fool is a rod _for_ his pride." Stuart, "Haughtiness is a rod,"
etc. +5.+ Miller here translates, "He who witnesses things correctly,
does not lie; but of a deceived witness the very breath is lies" (See
his comments on the verse). +6.+ Rather, "The scorner has sought
wisdom," etc. +7.+ Stuart translates the latter clause, "_for_ thou
hast not discerned," etc.; Miller, "_and_ thou shalt not know," etc.
+8. Deceit,+ or "deception." +9.+ Many translators read this verse,
"The sacrifice," or "the sin-offering, makes a sport of," or "mocks
fools." So Zöckler, Elster, Ewald, Stuart, Wordsworth, etc. Miller
translates, "Sin makes a mock at fools." +Among,+ or "to."
+10.+ Zöckler reads the latter clause, "Let no stranger," etc. Miller
renders the whole verse, "A knowing heart is a bitterness to itself;
but with its joy it does not hold intercourse as an enemy."
+11. Tabernacle,+ "tent." +13. The heart is sorrowful,+ or "will be"
(perchance). +14. Filled with,+ _i.e.,_ "satisfied with." Stuart
translates the latter clause, "Away from him is the good man,"
_i.e.,_ he will keep aloof from the backslider. +16. Rageth,+ "is
presumptuous," or "haughty." +21. Poor,+ or "suffering"
_(Delitzsch)._ +24.+ Or, "It is a crown to the wise when they are
rich, but the folly of fools remains folly" _(Delitzsch)._
+28.+ Miller translates, "In a _great_ people." +30. A sound heart,+
"a quiet heart." +Envy,+ "passion," "perturbation." +32. Driven
forth,+ or "thrust lower" _(Miller)._ Delitzsch translates, "When
misfortune befals him, the wicked is overthrown, but the righteous
hath hope even in his death." +34.+ The Hebrew word for _reproach_
means also "mercy." Hence Gejer and Miller translate "Mercy for
nations is the sin-offering," the word _sin_ being often used to
express the sin-offering. +35.+ Miller reads, "The kindness of a king
is a wise servant, but his wrath becomes one that bringeth shame"
(See his comments).
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 1.
THE HOUSE BUILDER AND THE HOUSE DESTROYER.
+I. A woman's special sphere of work--her house.+ In this word is
included all that in any way relates to the home life. Woman's
relation to it is three-fold. 1. _The house--properly so-called--the
interior of the building, is under her especial care._ It is her
temple of service, she is its priestess. As the female priestess in
the Roman temple and the Hebrew priest in the temple of God were
responsible for the internal order of their temples, so is every
woman responsible for the order, the cleanliness, and comfort of the
house of which she is the social priestess. It is _her_ house, and in
it she is expected to perform duties to which she is not called in
any other house. Her oversight and presence, if not her actual
labour, are indispensable to the proper arrangement of everything in
it. 2. _The affairs or business of the house is her special care._ It
is for her to preside over the domestic economy of the house--over
that which we call _housekeeping._ All transactions of this nature
seem naturally to fall within her jurisdiction, and it looks odd and
out of place to see them in other hands. 3. _She is specially related
to the life of the house._ If she is a mother, she, above all others,
has the charge of the children, her opportunities for influencing
them are greater than those possessed by the father. Her life is
always before them. Her words are treasured up and repeated by them.
If she is a mistress, the servants are under her special jurisdiction
and guidance.
+II. The wise woman is a social architect.+ She "builds her house."
1. _Building implies a plan._ No man sets about building a house
without first having a plan, which is well considered in proportion
to the wisdom of the builder. No argument-builder, with any wisdom,
enters into an argument without first considering what he is going to
do, and how he is going to do it, in order, if possible, to arrive at
an unanswerable conclusion. So, to build a house in the sense of the
text, there must be a plan of action. Every wise woman has an end in
view in the government of her household. She has plans in relation to
each department. She knows what she purposes to do before she begins
to do anything. 2. _Building implies personal exertion on the part of
the architect._ All his work is not done when he has drawn the plan
and issued his orders. He must see that they are executed. He must,
if needful, show how they are to be carried out. In times of
emergency the general of an army must--like Napoleon at the Bridge of
Lodi--engage himself in a hand-to-hand fight with the enemy. So will
a wise woman. She does not always say, "Go," but sometimes, "Come."
She does not say, "_That_ is the way," when "_This_ is the way" is
necessary. She never contents herself with saying, "Do this," without
assuring herself that _it is_ done. 3. _Building implies a union of
diverse materials to form a complete whole._ Many and diverse
materials are brought together to build a house. It would be
impossible to erect a building of usefulness and beauty of one
material alone. So a wise woman brings together many different
elements, and blends them in due proportion, in order to make the
home-life true, and beautiful, and good. Her wisdom is shown in
developing the abilities and capacities of each member of the
household, so that each may contribute to the strength and comfort of
the whole. Upon the female head of the house, more than upon anyone
else, depends the unity, peace, and concord of this temple of living
stones.
+III. An unwise woman, who is at the head of a house, caricatures her
position by her conduct.+ Her position implies that she is a
builder-up. Her conduct has the effect of pulling down. A clown upon
a kingly throne is not more out of place than a foolish woman who
bears the name of mistress, wife, and mother. The reins are in her
hands, but she does not know how to guide the chariot; the materials
are in her possession but she has no skill to use them. She is not
only no centre of unity, she is a source of discord; she not only
cannot build the house herself but she makes it impossible for
anybody else to do anything towards it. She is not only no "crown to
her husband," but she is "rottenness to his bones" (chap. xii. 4).
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
A good wife is heaven's last best gift to a man; his angel of mercy;
minister of graces innumerable; his gem of many virtues; his casket
of jewels; her voice, his sweetest music; her smiles, his brightest
day; her kiss, the guardian of his innocence; her arms, the pale of
his safety; the balm of his health, the balsam of his life; her
industry, his surest wealth; her economy, his safest steward; her
lips, his faithful counsellors; her bosom, the softest pillow of his
cares; and her prayers, the ablest advocates of heaven's blessings on
his head.--_Jeremy Taylor._
The following is a translation of a Welsh Triad:--A good wife is
modest, void of deceit, and obedient; pure of conscience, gracious of
tongue, and true to her husband; her heart not proud, her manners
affable, and her bosom full of compassion for the poor, labouring to
be tidy, skilful of hand, and fond of praying to God; her
conversation amiable, her dress decent, and her house orderly; quick
of hand, quick of eye, and quick of understanding; her face
benignant, her head intelligent, and provident, neighbourly, gentle,
and of a liberal way of thinking; able in directing, providing what
is wanting, and a good mother to her children; loving her husband,
loving peace, and God.--_New Handbook of Illustration._
_"House"_ means _all interests._ "Has built" is preterite. If all
interests are prosperous at present, it has been the work of the
past. The second clause wisely returns to the future, which we
commonly translate as the present, because the act is steadily
running on, and includes both the present and the future. _Wisdom in
woman_ has built _her house,_ beginning a long time ago; but
_"folly"_ in woman is an affair of the present. If it had been at
work long, it would have had no house to pull down. As entering upon
the work of the wise, ungodly mothers tear down the house which
generations of the righteous have been slowly building. The grand
comment, however, is that this womanly wisdom or wise woman, like the
woman of grace (chap. ix. 16), or woman of folly (chap. ix. 13) has
an allegoric meaning. Women do much toward building up. But the text
means more, that _"wisdom,"_ as personified, is the only builder of a
_"house,"_ and _"folly,"_ as impenitence, all that can pull it
down.--_Miller._
Only the characteristic wisdom of _woman_ (not that of the man) is
able to "build itself a house," _i.e.,_ to make possible a household
in the true sense of the word; for the woman alone has the capacity
circumspectly to look through the multitude of individual household
wants, and carefully to satisfy them; and also because the various
activities of the members of a family can be combined in a harmonious
unity only by the influence, partly regulative, and partly fostering,
of a feminine character, gently but steadily efficient. But where
there is wanting to the mistress of a house this wisdom attainable
only by her, and appropriate only to her, then that is irrecoverably
lost which first binds in a moral fellowship those connected by
relationship of blood--that which makes the house, from a mere place
of abode, to be the spiritual nursery of individuals organically
associated.--_Elster._
The fullest recognition that has as yet met us of the importance of
woman, for good or evil, in all human society.--_Plumptre._
With calm, clear eyes, deep insight, ready sympathy; active, without
bustle; alert, without over-anxious vigilance; ignorant perchance of
æsthetic rules, yet with subtle touches transforming into a fine
picture the home-spun canvas, and with soft fairy music blending into
harmony the noises of the day; apathetic about stocks and shares, and
far-off millions; but with a keen appreciation of new sovereigns and
no disdain for sixpences; a mere formalist, if professing interest in
city improvements and parochial reforms, but as touching torn
curtains and threadbare carpets much exercised in spirit; sure that
the commotions of Europe will all come right, but shedding bitter
tears at any outburst of juvenile waywardness, and praying earnestly,
"Oh, that Ishmael may live before thee!" with small belief in the
transcendental philosophy, and allowing that much may be said on both
sides, but in the interpretation of the Ten Commandments positive,
unreasoning, absolute; in theology hopelessly confounding the
theology of the schools, and in an innocent way adopting half the
heresies, but drinking direct from the fountain that living water
which others prefer, chalybeate, through the iron pipe, or ærated
from the filtering pond, and in a style which Calvin or Grotius might
equally envy teaching the little ones the love of the Saviour; the
angel of the house moulds a family for heaven, and by dint of holy
example, and gentle control, her early and most efficacious ministry
goes farther than any other to lay the foundations of future
excellence, and train up sons and daughters for the Lord
Almighty.--_Dr. Jas. Hamilton._
St. Ambrose noteth that when God asked Abraham, "Where is thy wife,
Sarah?"--He was not ignorant where Sarah was; but that He asked the
question that by Abraham's answer, "Behold, in the tent," He might
teach women where they ought to be--namely, in the house, and not so
much in the house as in the affairs of the house, making ready
provision to entertain God as Sarah was.--_Jermin._
The modest virgin, the prudent wife, or the careful matron, are much
more serviceable in life than petticoated philosophers, blustering
heroines, or virago queens. She who makes her husband and her
children happy, who reclaims the one from vice and trains the other
to virtue, is a much greater character than ladies described in
romance, whose whole occupation is to murder mankind with shafts from
their quiver or their eyes.--_Goldsmith._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 2.
FEARING AND DESPISING THE LORD.
+I. A wholesome fear.+ "The fear of the Lord." When we fear to grieve
or offend a person because of his or her goodness the fear does not
spring from dread of their power, but from our high estimate of their
character. It may exist where there is no power to injure. Strong men
have sometimes had this fear for little children. There is also a
fear which may spring from a conception of both goodness and power.
It is the feeling which a child has for a good parent. There is a
consciousness of the parent's goodness, and also a consciousness of
his power to enforce his authority. In proportion as these elements
are combined in relation to human creatures the fear which men have
for them is wholesome--is salutary. Benevolence alone tends to weaken
the fear--to lessen the reverence. Power alone is likely to produce
hatred as well as fear. But when benevolence is linked with power it
looks doubly attractive. The fear which a good man has for God arises
from a conception of both the Infinite power and Infinite love of the
Divine Father. If the first were wanting it would lack reverence; if
the latter it would be a fear that "hath torment."
+II. The proof that a man possesses this wholesome fear.+ "He walks
_uprightly._" Fear is a feeling of the mind. It can only be proved to
exist when it brings forth action. Uprightness of life is an
unanswerable proof that a man speaks truly when he says that he fears
the Lord. God asks for no greater (Gen. xvii. 1, 2). This
demonstration does not consist in a single act of integrity, but in a
constant succession of acts, in a habit of life. It is a _walk._ (On
"walking uprightly," see on chap. x. 9, 10, page 153.)
+III. The character of a perverse man--of a man whose walk is not
upright.+ He is a "despiser of God." His life proves it, even if his
words deny it. We despise that to which we do not attach a due value.
All men who perversely refuse to accept God's plan of salvation
_despise_ both the "riches of His goodness and forbearance and
long-suffering," which are intended to "lead them to repentance"
(Rom. ii. 4), and also that "power of His anger," of which no man can
form an estimate (Psalm xc. 11).
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
+I. Grace and sin in their true colours.+ Grace reigning is a
reverence of God. Sin reigning is no less a contempt of God; in
_this,_ more than in anything, sin appears exceeding sinful, that it
despises God, whom angels adore. +II. Grace and sin in their true
light.+ By this we know a man that has grace, and the fear of God,
reigning in him, he makes conscience of his actions, is faithful to
God and man. But on the contrary, he that wilfully follows his own
way, is a wicked man, however he pretend to devotion.--_Henry._
A man walking over a field has a certain _level_ course (if there be
such) that he naturally follows. If he walk not _level,_ or if he
turn constantly out of his way, men think him either drunk or mad. It
is this reasonable instinct of our nature that our text embodies. We
do not say _uprightness,_ but _"levelness,"_ for it agrees with the
idea of walking. Such meaning is, that folly is self-condemned; that
if a man would put one foot before another, or mentally move as he
himself thinks level and right, he would practically _"fear"_ God;
but that he drops out of his own "way," and walks brokenly, and with
change of gait. It is careless to define _fear_ as anything beside
_fear_ itself. A holy _fear,_ however, is not terror; and yet a being
afraid more really and more tremblingly often than the sinner. It is
remarkable that when men have escaped wrath they begin most healthily
to _fear_ it, and when men are faithless even to their own ways, they
despise the most the law of the Almighty. This text, like many
another, is pregnant. Pregnant texts are ambidextrous, and the
alternative meanings, though distinct, are mutually embracing.
Another sense is grammatical and equivalent in thought. It would read
_"His"_ levelness, and _His_ ways, referring to Jehovah. It is only
substituting capitals. It would mean, _"He that walks in God's level
track fears Him; but he that is turned out of God's way,"_ that is,
he that has got out of the line for which he was made, instead of
_fearing,_ as he might, chooses that horrid moment for despising God.
He would rank this higher than an ambiguity; for God's ways and man's
ways, when they are _levelness_ and suited to our step, are the same
blessed track, for we are created in the image of God.--_Miller._
He that walketh so that the sincerity of his heart maketh the
uprightness to be _his,_ for a feigned uprightness is of the devil,
not a man's own. God is feared where goodness is embraced. And, as
St. Basil speaketh, the despising of the laws is the reproach of the
lawmaker.--_Jermin._
Here is consolation to faithful men, though not void of infirmities,
against the temptations of Satan, the calumniations of wicked men,
and the fears of their own hearts. None are so much accused of
contempt against God as those which are most religious. The devil
seeketh to persuade them there is nothing in them but fraud. Sinful
men, when they can charge against them no misdemeanours or lewdness
of life, exclaim that they are hypocrites, and many doubts arise in
their own souls by reason of the manifold imperfections of their
lives. But are they desirous impartially to keep every commandment,
if their power were answerable to their will? Do they endeavour to
please God, though they cannot do it perfectly? Then they are upright
in their ways, and walk in the law of the Lord; then God testifieth
of them here, that they are of the number of them that fear Him, and
elsewhere He testifieth that all those that fear Him they are
blessed.--_Dod._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 3.
SPEECH A ROD.
+I. Speech is a rod because it is emblematic of power.+ A rod is an
emblem of position and authority. It represents more than it is.
Speech is a sign of man's superiority to animal creation. Words in
themselves are not much, but they are mighty because of what they
represent, viz., the soul of man. The sceptre of a king may not in
itself be of much value, but it is of worth because of what it
signifies.
+II. Speech will be man's destruction or salvation according to his
character.+ The mouth of the fool represents the soul of the fool. We
have before noted the unwisdom and danger of him who is too proud to
receive instruction (see chap. xi. 1, page 192; xiii. 18, etc.). His
proud boasting speech will by-and-by become the cause of his
chastisement--a rod for his own back. And the godly wise speech of
the wise will be the means of his preservation and honour (See on
chap. xii. 5-8, page 255, vers. 17-19, page 274).
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
The fool's rod of pride is his _tongue,_ wherewith he assails and
strikes others. But it recoils on himself. The instrument of
punishment is called a rod, not a sword, to denote the contumely with
which the proud shall be visited.--_Fausset._
The _rod in the mouth_ is often sharper than the rod in the hand
(Jer. xviii. 18). Sometimes it strikes against God (Exod. v. 2; Psa.
xii. 3, 4; 2 Kings xix. 10); sometimes it is "the rod of His anger
against His people" (Isa. x. 5) permitted (Rev. xiii. 5) yet
restrained (Psalm cxxv. 3). Always in the end it is _the rod_ for the
_fool_ himself (Psa. lxiv. 8).--_Bridges._
The _"mouth"_ is the great word in the Proverbs for our whole earthly
agency. The word translated _"rod"_ is the favourite emblem of
sovereignty. A fool's life-work or energy is his sovereignty, by
which he would carve his way. But it is a _"sceptre of pride."_ His
kingship is a notion of pride. But the _"lips of the wise"_ do really
win, and do really govern. They have a true sceptre which shall
really guard them.--_Miller._
The lips of the wise preserve them. 1. _From doing wrong to others,_
in their loving mildness. 2. _From suffering wrong from others,_ by a
wary heedfulness. 3. _From the rod of God's anger,_ in a humble
craving pardon for their errors. The former part of this verse St.
Gregory applieth unto arrogant preachers, who desire more sharply to
reprove their afflicted hearers, than sweetly to comfort them, for
they study more how they may condemn evil things by blaming of them,
than how they may commend good things by praising them. They always
desire those things which, by fierce chiding, they may beat
upon.--_Jermin._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 4.
THE CLEAN CRIB.
+I. An empty and clean crib does not fulfil the end for which it was
made.+ It was made for use; it was made to hold food for the ox, who
earns, by his labour, the means of keeping it full. When God first
created this world, and saw it lie before him in all its unsullied
beauty, He said that it _was very good._ But, beautiful as it was, it
was not to remain simply beautiful--it was to fulfil a higher
purpose: it was to be a dwelling-place for man. And God gave it into
the hands of men to build cities in it, to dig quarries in it, to mar
in many respects its first beauty and order, but to make it of more
real worth as man's dwelling, as his market, as his workshop. If man
had never been compelled by hunger to put forth his hand and blacken
its surface, and spoil some of its lovely landscapes, it would not
have become what it now is, his training-school for a higher life. It
would have been in perfect order and beauty, but it would not have
fulfilled the purpose for which it was created. So with a large
manufactory. No doubt it looks cleaner and fresher on the day that it
comes from the hands of the builder than it does when its chimneys
are pouring forth smoke and its floors are covered with grimy
machinery, but if its owner were to build it simply to keep it clean
by keeping it empty, he would be looked upon as a madman. So with the
crib. So long as there are no oxen to use it, it can be kept empty
and clean, but there is no use in having a crib unless it is put to
its use.
+II. If men want wealth they must not mind the labour and trouble of
getting it.+ This seems to be the idea of the proverb. A clean crib
can be kept, if there are no oxen to use it; but without oxen, in
Solomon's days (when wealth was chiefly gained by agriculture) there
would be no increase. Many men would like to be rich, but they do not
like the means by which alone they can obtain it. They would like to
handle the golden coins, but they do not like to soil their fingers
with honest toil to get it. They would like to gather in a harvest in
the sunny autumn, but they do not like to plough and sow in the days
of winter. They would like the increase which the ox would bring, but
they do not like the trouble of cleaning his crib and caring for his
wants. But this is not possible. The toil and the increase go
together; the labour must come before the wealth, whether in relation
to the body, the soul, or the spirit.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
In its liberal meaning a household proverb, "Labour has its rough
unpleasant side, yet it ends in profit." But here, as elsewhere,
there may be a meaning below the surface. The life of contemplation
may seem purer, "cleaner," than the life of action. The outer
business of the world brings its cares and disturbances, but also
"much increase." There will be a sure reward of that activity in good
works for him who goes, as with "the strength of the ox," to the task
to which God calls him.--_Plumptre._
The literal sense of this verse seems to commend the care and pains
of tillage. Or else we may take the words as shewing how the want of
any needful instrument denieth the success of that which is desired,
though other things be ready. But the words are more useful when
taken by way of application. Wherefore, in God's tillage, for "we are
God's husbandry" (1 Cor. iii. 9), the oxen are His ministers--they
are, as Jerome speaketh, oxen that bear the yoke of the Lord after
whose steps he that soweth seed is blessed; yea, God Himself is
pleased to be joined in yoke with them, for they are labourers with
God in His husbandry. They plough up the fallow ground by preaching
and pressing repentance, they bring the corn into the barn by
bringing home wandering sinners into the bosom of the Church; they
tread out the grains from the chaff and straw by subduing the
corruptions of nature, and separating it from the graces of God's
Spirit. Now, where these oxen are wanting, there the room will be
empty, swept and _clean_ for him to enter in, who quickly will fill
it with the filth of the corruption of death. But, by the pains of
the minister, much increase there is of corn in the field of the
Lord--much increase is there of the seed of grace in the hearts of
the people, and of the fruits of godliness in their lives.--_Jermin._
The ox is the most profitable of all the beasts used in husbandry.
Except merely for _speed,_ he is almost in every respect superior to
the horse. He is longer-lived, scarcely liable to disease, steady,
lives, fattens, and maintains his strength on what a horse will not
eat, and when he is worn out in labour his flesh is good for food,
his horns useful, and his hide almost invaluable.--_A. Clarke._
For Homiletics on verse 5 see on chapter xii. 17, 19, page 274; also
on verse 25 of this chapter.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
The man not _walking in His levelness_ (see verse 2) shows by his
staggering that he does not _"witness things correctly."_ (See
Critical Notes for Miller's translation of this verse.) The grand
truth is here broached that the man who _lies_ does not see
correctly. This is a universal doctrine. Moreover, _lies_ stand for
all sin. All sin, therefore, flows from being deceived. _A deep moral
blindness is the source and measure of all possible transgression._
Several proverbs depend for their significance upon this meaning, a
_"deceived"_ rather than a _deceiving "witness."--Miller._
He that for conscience sake doth speak the truth in common and small
matters, he will also speak the truth in things of greater
importance; and he that is not ashamed of a lie in his private
dealing, he will also without shame bear false witness before a
judge. Here, then, we be taught in the least things to ensure our
tongues to speak the truth, so shall we be preserved from
false-witness bearing, for the Lord would not have us daily with
sin. . . . If we would not have Him punish our lesser frailties with
greater sins--if we would not have Him punish our secret sins with
open and notorious offences, then let us be afraid to tell a lie in
the very lightest and most secret causes.--_Greenham._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 6.
SEEKING, BUT NOT FINDING.
+I. A contradictory character--a scorner in quest of wisdom.+ It
would be strange to hear a man ask advice of a physician whose
opinion he held in contempt, or to ask guidance of a traveller whose
judgment and ability he despised. It would be obvious that the advice
given or the rules laid down would not be followed. So a scorner,
while he seeks wisdom, scorns the only method of becoming wise. He
asks advice of those whom he despises, he inquires the way to wisdom,
while he holds the road to it in utter contempt. The antithesis of
the verse implies that he does not find wisdom because he lacks
understanding--because he finds it above his comprehension. Two
children may be equally ignorant of knowledge, but if one has the
desire and the will to acquire it, and the other has not, what was
hard to both at first will only continue hard to him who despises
knowledge. So the scorner fails to find wisdom because he does not
value it enough to make an effort to acquire it. The spirit in which
he seeks is an effectual barrier against his finding.
+II. A man of teachable spirit is the only one who will ever find
wisdom.+ The man of understanding knows its value, and therefore
scorns neither it nor the means of attaining it. Therefore, to him
"knowledge" becomes "easy." A clever man and a dull one may be pupils
of the same master, but if the clever one thinks that he needs no
instruction and the dull one feels his need, what was above the
comprehension of both at first will become easy to the teachable
scholar, while it will remain out of the reach of the self-sufficient
one. Even a dull but willing pupil will learn faster than one who has
intellectual ability, but lacks the docile spirit. A seeker of wisdom
in any department of knowledge must become in relation to it as a
child before his teacher; he must acknowledge his ignorance, and be
willing to submit to the conditions of acquiring knowledge. The same
spirit is indispensable for the attainment of moral wisdom. Those who
would _learn_ of Christ must take his _yoke;_ those who would know of
the doctrine, whether it be of God, must be willing to do His will
(Matt. xi. 29; John vii. 17).
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
The Greeks sought after wisdom, but Christ crucified was foolishness
to them. They were already too wise to admit of the preaching of the
cross, and scorned a tent-maker who would inform them of new
doctrines which had never entered into their own minds, and who would
prove them by other methods than their favourite ones--eloquence and
reasoning.--_Lawson._
There are two descriptions of scorners. There are "scorners" of
_truth,_ from _pride of intellect;_ and there are "scorners" of
_authority,_ from the _pride of self-will._ They are nearly allied,
and they are frequently united. It is the former that is chiefly
meant here, seeing the subject is _knowledge_ rather than
_duty.--Wardlaw._
A page of Hebrew, what is it to a child? It is absolutely nothing.
But the whole was easy to the Hebrew eye. _"A scorner has sought
wisdom."_ Notice the past sense. Every scorner _has done_ it. Take
any impenitent man. We may be sure some day or other he has sought
spiritual intelligence. But he has done it selfishly. Moreover, he
has done it fitfully and feebly. He has groped. He has made a sort of
blind man's pass for knowledge, and has come back with the averment
that there is no such thing. Light is _simple, "easy;"_ literally,
_light_ as opposed to _heavy;_ light is obvious; nothing can be more
so; but then, as the inspired man advises us, it is only _"easy"_ to
the _"discerning,"_ or _"understanding,"_ man.--_Miller._
It is not by a one-sided action of the thinking power, but only by
undivided consecration of the whole nature to God, which therefore
involves, above all other things, a right relation of the spiritual
nature to Him, that true knowledge in Divine things can be attained.
The wise man, however, who has found the true beginning of wisdom, in
bowing his inmost will before the Divine, not as something to be
mastered by the understanding, but as something to be simply sought
as a grace by the renunciation of the very self; he can easily on
this ground, which God's own power makes productive, attain a rich
development of the understanding.--_Elster._
Wisdom estrangeth herself from the scorner, as a gentlewoman hideth
herself from a suitor whom she fancieth not. . . . As a loving
spouse, when he cometh to the door, whom she affecteth, will show
herself to him, and run to meet him, so the grace of God's spirit
offereth itself, and draweth near unto the humble and
modest.--_Muffet._
By knowledge we may understand, not the knowledge of the letter
floating in the brain, and flowing even at the tongue's end (which,
indeed, is not worth the name of knowledge); but the true
understanding of the word taught by the Spirit, which entereth into
the heart, and worketh on the affections, frameth to obedience, and
assureth of everlasting life. This, indeed, is healthful knowledge,
which the scorners, though they seek, shall never obtain. And
hereunto doth our Saviour give witness, when He saith: _"Many shall
seek to enter in, and cannot."--Greenham._
The finding of wisdom is that which needeth help from others. More
eyes than the eyes of one are requisite unto it. And, therefore, a
_scorner,_ who seeketh it with scorning of another's help; yea, who
scorneth not only the help of man, but of God also, how can he ever
find it? If it be offered to him by another, he will not accept it,
and if he seek it never so much in his own ways he shall not obtain
it. It is, says Clemens Alexandrinus, to draw out threads and to spin
nothing; and, therefore, whensoever he shall stand in need of it, he
shall not find it, for wisdom and a scorner shall never meet. But _to
him that understandeth_ his own defects and infirmities, to him that
understandeth how to make use of other men's abilities, and that in
the seeking of wisdom, the assistance of God is chiefly to be sought,
to him it is a short course to come to it; to him it is an easy
matter to obtain it.--_Jermin._
It is the constant profession of those who read the Bible that they
are seeking truth. Their likeness is taken here from life. They seek
wisdom, but do not find it. They want the first qualification of a
philosopher, a humble and teachable spirit. There is a race of men
among us at the present day who scorn bitterly against faith's meek
submission to God's revealed will. The divinity, they say, is in
every man; which means that every man is a god unto himself. It is,
in its essence, a reproduction of the oldest rebellion. A creature
discontented with the place which his Maker has given him strives to
make himself a god. If men really were independent beings, it would
be right to assert and proclaim their independence; but as matters
really stand, this desperate kicking against authority becomes the
exposure of weakness, and the punishment of pride. We are not our own
cause and our own end; we are not our own lords. We are in the hands
of our Maker, and under the law of our Judge. Our only safety lies in
the submission to the rightful authority and obedience to the true
law. The problem for man is, not to reject all masters, but accept
the rightful one. . . . In these days, when the pendulum is often
seen swinging from scepticism over to superstition, and from
superstition back to scepticism again, we would do well to remember
that there is truth between these extremes, and that in truth alone
lies safety for all the interests of men. . . . I see two men near
each other prostrate on the ground and bleeding, while one man stands
between them, with serenest aspect looking to the skies. Who and what
are these? The two prostrate forms are superstition and unbelief.
Superstition bowed down to worship his idol, and cut his flesh with
stones to atone for his soul's sin. Unbelief scorned to be confined,
like an inferior creature, to the earth, and was ever leaping up in
the hope of standing on the stars. Exhausted by his efforts he fell,
and the fall bruised him, so that he lay as low as the neighbour whom
he despised. He who stands between them neither bowed himself to the
ground, nor attempted to scale the heavens. He neither degraded
himself beneath a man's place, nor attempted to raise himself above
it. He abode on earth, but he stood erect there. He did not proudly
profess to be, but meekly sought to find God. This man understands
his place, and feels his need; to him, therefore, knowledge is easy.
To him that hath shall be given. He has the beginning of wisdom, and
he will reach in good time its glad consummation. "Blessed are the
poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom."--_Arnot._
There are _four_ things that particularly unfit a man for such a task
(the finding of wisdom), viz., a very _proud,_ or a very _suspicious_
temper, _false wit_ or _sensuality._ The two last generally belong to
the man whom we call a scorner, the first are essential to him and
inseparable from him. . . . _Pride_ makes a man see sufficient in his
own eyes for all manner of speculations and inquiries, and hence it
comes that he, not being duly qualified for every search, is fain to
take up with light and superficial accounts of things, and then, what
he wants in true knowledge, to make up in downright assurance. By
consequence it gives him just enough understanding to raise an
objection, but not enough to lay it; which, as it is the most
despicable, so it is also the most dangerous state of mind a man can
be in. He that is but half a philosopher is in danger of being an
atheist; a half physician is apt to turn empiric. In all matters of
speculation or practice, he that knows but little of them, and is
very confident of his own strength, is more out of the way of true
knowledge than if he knows nothing at all. And in this character
there is always a strange and unreasonable _suspicion,_ by which he
doubts everything he hears, and distrusts every man he converses
with. He is so afraid of having his understanding imposed upon in
matters of faith that he stands aloof from all propositions of that
kind, whether true or false. Which is, as if a man should refuse to
receive any money because there is a great deal of counterfeit; or
resolve not to make friendship with any man, because many are not to
be trusted. A third part of a scorner's character is a _false wit,_ a
way of ridiculing arguments instead of confuting them, and a _fourth_
is _sensuality._ That this, too, does for the most part accompany a
contempt of religion, I appeal to the observation and experience of
every man.--_Bp. Atterbury._
He seeks it as a coward seeks his adversary, with a hope that he
shall not find him; or as a man seeks his false coin, which he hath
no joy to look upon. "What is truth?" said Pilate in a jeer to
Christ, but stayed not the answer. "How can this man give us his
flesh to eat?" said the carnal Capernaites (John vi. 52), and away
then went--who, if they had stayed out the sermon, might have been
satisfied on the point. . . . He that comes to the fountain to fill
his pitcher must first wash it, and then put the mouth of it
downwards to take up water. So he that would have heavenly knowledge
must first quit his heart of corrupt affections and high conceits,
and then humble himself at God's feet, "everyone to receive His
words" (Deut. xxxiii. 3).--_Trapp._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF THE PARAGRAPH.--Verses_ 7-9.
THE FOOL AND THE PRUDENT MAN.
+I. How to know a fool.+ The dead carcase that is above ground is its
own evidence. No one needs to inquire what it is, or where it is. The
pestilential atmosphere which surrounds it tells its own tale. So a
fool is a self-evidencing person. His words proclaim his character.
He says nothing that is worth saying. Nothing that can enlighten a
man's mind or better his nature is to be found in his conversation.
"The lips of knowledge" are not with him. But there is not simply the
absence of wisdom. He is not a negative character. No man's soul can
remain like an empty house; if wisdom is absent sin comes in and
takes up the abode. The _fool_ is also a _knave._ "The folly of fools
is deceit," and in this also he will sooner or later be his own
evidence. Like particles of poisonous matter, his _deceit,_ as well
as his ignorance, will make its presence known. His words will sooner
or later betray his untruthful character. He will also be known by
his _profanity._ "Fools make a mock at sin." The most perfect beings
in God's universe regard sin as a serious matter, knowing, as they
do, the bitter fruits which spring from one sinful action. God
Himself treats sin as a terrible and awful reality. Yet men are to be
found who make light of it, and others so depraved as to laugh at
that which God regards with abhorrence, and visits with retribution.
+II. How to treat a fool.+ "Go from the presence of a foolish man."
There are three reasons why we go from the neighbourhood of a
polluted and polluting carcase. First, its odour is offensive to us.
Secondly, to linger near may generate disease in our bodies. Thirdly,
being diseased ourselves, we may become an occasion of injury to
others. So a man void of moral wisdom ought to be an offensive
presence to every man. Our moral instincts ought to be strong enough
without any outside voice to say, "Go from him." The "folly of a
fool," being deceit, he is an incarnation of the devil; our own
self-love should prompt us to quit his society. The man that mocks at
sin is a generator of moral disease, we cannot be in his company
without moral injury, and if we catch the pestilence ourselves we
shall in turn infect others with the disease.
+III. What constitutes a prudent or morally wise man.+ He
"understands his way." A fool cannot be said to have a _way_ or
method of life any more than the leaf which is driven before the
wind, or the timber that is floating down the rapid. Like them, he is
the victim of circumstances; he is driven hither and thither by the
currents of inclination or passion. He has no "way" to understand. He
is as a cloud driven before the hurricane. He floats like a
rudderless vessel upon the sea of life. But a prudent man has a
_"way,"_ or method of life (see Homiletics on chap. xiii. 14), and
the great business of his life is to "understand" it--to find the
best means of bringing his life into conformity with that rule of
righteousness which is his standard of life; to gather from the voice
of God in revelation, in conscience, and in Providence what course he
is to pursue, what at all times is the right thing to do, and what is
the right way of doing it. This is the life-study of the man who is
morally prudent, and the highest aim that a man can propose to
himself is to attain to a right understanding of his way. (On the
latter clause of verse 9 see Homiletics on chap. xiii. 14.)
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
Verse 7. The path of sin is much more easily avoided than
relinquished. We can far more easily keep out of the course of the
stream than stem the torrent.--_Bridges._
Thou mayest tarry with a foolish man while he holdeth his peace, and
while he is willing and patient to hear thee. For he may get
knowledge by hearing, and thou mayest have comfort by speaking. But
it is time to be gone when by his lips thou perceivest knowledge to
be gone from them.--_Jermin._
In nature, some creatures are strong and bold, having both instincts
and instruments for combat: other creatures are feeble but fleet. It
is the intention of their Maker that they should seek safety, not in
fighting, but in fleeing. It would be a fatal mistake if the hare, in
a fit of bravery, should turn and face her pursuers. In the moral
conflict of human life it is of great importance to judge rightly
when we should fight and when we should flee. The weak might escape
if they knew their own weakness, and kept out of harm's way. That
courage is not a virtue which carries the feeble into the lion's
jaws. I have known of some who ventured too far with the benevolent
purpose of bringing a victim out, and were themselves sucked in and
swallowed up. To go in among the foolish for the rescue of the
sinking may be necessary, but it is dangerous work, and demands
robust workmen. . . . The specific instruction recorded in Scripture
for such a case is, "save with fear, pulling them out of the fire;
hating even the garment spotted with the flesh" (Jude 23). He who
would volunteer for this work must fear lest the victim perish ere he
get him dragged out, and fear lest himself be scorched by the
flame.--_Arnot._
Verse 8. We are not to infer, because _"wisdom"_ eludes the scorner,
that it is, therefore, something mystic. It fits earth so closely,
that it actually carves our _"way."_ Nay, more closely still, it is
actually path-finding itself. She takes a man from her very gate, and
tells him all that he must do. She not only discerns paths, but that
is all of her; she does nothing else. "The wisdom of the subtle is
the making discernible of his way," while, on the other hand, "the
folly of the stupid is _(its own)_ delusion." All of us having a way,
and all of us following it with the great energy of our lives, "The
excellency and knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that
have it." Wisdom grasps its end; folly never. Wisdom is the great
pathfinder; folly a "delusion."--_Miller._
Every man has a _final destination_ before him. The way of all is the
way to the grave, and to eternity. But in that eternity are _two_
widely different states. To the opposite states there are _two_
ways--"the narrow," and "the broad." Oh the infinite value of true
wisdom here,--the wisdom that understands both ways, and rightly
chooses between! _The folly of fools is deceit_ may mean that the
folly of fools proves to them deceit. Their confidence in it, and
their expectations from it, are sheer delusion. Or the sense may be,
"deceit is the folly of fools." "New stratagems," says Lord Bacon,
"must be devised, the old failing and growing useless; and as soon as
ever a man hath got the name of a cunning crafty companion, he hath
deprived himself utterly of the principal instrument for the
management of his affairs,--which is _trust._" Policy, therefore, on
this as on other accounts, is _"the folly of fools."--Wardlaw._
When men are acquainted with everything but what they ought to know,
they are only notable fools. If we had hearts large as the sands upon
the sea-shore, and filled with a world of things, whilst we remained
ignorant of the way of attaining true happiness, we should resemble
that philosopher who was busied gazing at the moon till he fell into
the ditch. . . . They are fools who know other people's business
better than their own. Some people, if you will take their own word
for it, could reign better than the king and preach better than the
minister. They know, in short, how to manage in every condition but
their own.--_Lawson._
Religion is an orderly thing, as wise as it is warm. Whatever be the
excitement of an irregular course, more good is done by steady
consistency. To break the ranks in disorder, to be eager to
_understand_ our neighbour's way (John xxi. 21, 22), obscures the
light upon our own. The true _wisdom is to understand_ what belongs
to us personally and relatively (1 Kings iii. 6-9; Eccles. viii. 5).
"As God hath distributed to every man, so let him walk, and abide
with God" (1 Cor. viii. 17). Let the eye do the work of the eye, and
the hand of the hand. If Moses prayed in the mount, and Joshua fought
in the valley (Exod. xvii. 10, 11), it was not because one was
deficient in courage, and the other in prayer; but because each had
his appointed work, and _understood his own way.--Bridges._
Every one that goeth on in the right way doth not _understand_ his
way. Hence it is that many so often wander out of it, hence that so
easily they are drawn from it. But he that is prudent looketh into
his way, considereth the dangers of it, provideth himself against the
enemies that he shall or may meet with, and being well assured of the
righteousness of the way, he goeth on with confidence and safety. And
this is _the wisdom of the prudent,_ this proves him to be
wise. . . . Again, the folly of fools, though it be folly in
themselves, it is deceit to the devil, who maketh them to think that
to be the right way, wherein they are clean out of the way.--_Jermin._
Verse 9. The word here used signifieth both the fault and the guilt
of it, whereby the offender is liable unto wrath and punishment. For
they being firmly joined together, the Hebrew joineth them in the
same word. Notwithstanding fools not finding the scourge of sin tied
immediately unto the act committed, as if they were mocked when they
are told of punishment to come, they make a mock at it. The favour,
therefore, which the righteous show them is quickly to make them feel
the rod of justice. For while they punish the offence they show great
love to the offender, not only in stopping the course of his sinning,
which is the stopping the increase of his misery, but it may be also
working his amendment, which is the salvation of his soul.--_Jermin._
The idea of sacrificial offering is that of expiation (see Critical
Notes for the renderings of the word translated sin): it is a
penitential work, it falls under the prevailing point of view of an
ecclesiastical punishment, a _satisfaction_ in a church-disciplinary
sense. The forgiveness of sin is conditioned by this, (1) that the
sinner either abundantly makes good by restitution the injury
inflicted on another, or in some other way bears temporal punishment
for it, and (2) that he willingly presents the sacrifice of rams or
of sheep, the value of which the priest has to determine in its
relation to the offence. Fools fall from one offence to another,
which they have to atone for by the presentation of sacrificial
offerings; the sacrificial offering mocketh them, for it equally
derides them on account of the self-inflicted loss, and on account of
the errors with which they must make good the effects of their
frivolity and madness; while on the contrary, among men of upright
character, a relation of mutual favour prevails, which does not
permit that the one give to the other an indemnity, and apply the
trespass-offering.--_Delitzsch._
_"Sin makes a mock at fools; but between upright beings there is
favour."_ Not makes sport, as a fool might, of engaging in his sins.
A fool may _make sport_ of sin, but hardly could be said to make a
mock at it. "Sin makes a mock at fools," but between "upright
beings," or "among the righteous," we cannot conceive of any mockery.
The upright God, and the upright saint; the upright saint and the
upright Saviour; grace and judgment; faith, and the scenes of the
last day; between these there must be _goodwill, i.e.,_ mutual
delight and favour. So 1 John iv. 17, 18, "Herein does the love gain
its end between us (that is, between God and us; see ver. 16), that
we may have boldness in the day of judgment; _because as He is, so
are we in this world,_" etc.--_Miller._
Among the righteous is favour; that is to say, the practice of virtue
and uttering of gracious speeches, joined with such goodwill and
sweet joy as their meeting is like the precious ointment that was
poured on the head of Aaron.--_Muffet._
The conduct of the man who makes a mock at sin
involves--1. _Impiety._ To mock at sin is to despise God's holiness,
set at nought God's authority, to abuse God's goodness, to disregard
and slight God's glory. 2. _Cruelty._ The scoffer may pretend to
humanity, but there breathes not on earth a more iron-hearted
monster. He may profess to feel for the miseries of mankind; for the
ravages of disease and death over their bodies; of fire, and flood,
and storm over their means of life and comfort; of melancholy, and
idiocy, and madness over their minds. But he makes a mock at the
prolific _cause_ of all. There is not an ill that man is called upon
to suffer that does not owe its origin to sin. Like the "star called
wormwood" in the Apocalyptic vision, it has fallen on very "fountain
and river" of human joy, turning all their waters into bitterness. It
is the sting of conscience. It is the venom and barb of the darts of
the King of Terrors. It is the very life of the "worm that dieth
not." Oh! the miserably-mistaken flattery that can speak of the
kind-heartedness of the man who laughs at that which is the
embryo-germ of all the sufferings of time, and all the woes of
eternity. 3. _Infatuation._ Sin is the evil that is ruining the
sinner himself--the disease that is preying upon his own vitals--the
secret consuming fire that is wasting his eternal all. Yet the
deluded victim of its power makes a jest of it!--_Wardlaw._
Some men are so like their father, the devil, that they will tempt
men to sin that they may laugh at them.--_Lawson._
To complete the antithesis, the sense must be supplied, fools make a
mock at sin (and so incur the wrath of God); but (the righteous
regard sin as a serious offence), and therefore among the righteous
there is the favour of God.--_Fausset._
_The fools' sport--sin._ 1. _Sin,_ which is so contrary to goodness
that it is abhorred of those sparks and cinders which the rust of sin
hath not quite eaten out of our nature as the creation left it.
2. _Sin,_ which sensibly brings on present judgments, or if not, is
the more fearful. The less it receives here, the more is behind.
3. _Sin,_ that shall at last be laid heavy on the conscience: the
lighter the burden was at first, it shall be at last the more
ponderous. The wicked conscience may for awhile lie asleep, but this
calm is the greatest storm. 4. _Sin,_ which provokes God to anger.
5. _Sin,_ which was punished even in heaven. 6. _Sin,_ which God so
loathed that he could not save men because of it, except by the death
of His own Son. Oh, think if ever man felt sorrow like Him, or if He
felt any sorrow except for sin. Did the pressure of it lie so heavy
upon the Son of God, and doth a son of man make light of it? Thou
mocked at thy oppressions, oaths, frauds; for these He groaned. Thou
scornest His gospel preached; He wept for thy scorn. Thou knowest
not, O fool, the price of sin; thou must do, if thy Saviour did not
for thee. If He suffered not this for thee, thou must suffer it for
thyself.--_T. Adams._
They dance with the devil all day, and yet think to sup with Christ.
Their sweet meat must have sour sauce, but among the righteous,
though they sin of infirmity, yet forasmuch as they are sensible of
and sorrowful for their failings, and see them to confession, God
will never see them to their confusion.--_Trapp._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 10.
SECRETS OF THE HEART.
+I. Opposite dwellers in the same spirit.+ "Bitterness" and "joy."
The world without us is a type of the world within us. In the world
of matter the bitter cold, the desolations of winter, alternates with
the brightness and joyous fruitfulness of summer. On the same globe
we have at the same time the vine-clad regions of southern latitudes,
and the dreary shores of arctic regions. Bitterness in the human
spirit is a fact of human consciousness, and so is joy. There are few
hearts that have not been at different times possessed by both. There
are few in which there does not dwell at the same time a root of
gladness and a root of sadness.
+II. A possession which its possessor may keep a profound secret.+ It
is within the power of a human soul to keep his sorrow or his joy to
himself if he so pleases, and under certain conditions this is a
desirable thing to do. A man or woman often finds himself or herself
surrounded by those who are entire strangers to the circumstances, or
the persons, or the experiences which have given birth to the sorrow
or the joy. To speak of it to such would be worse than useless. It is
a comfort in such circumstances to be able to lock the secret within
one's own breast. There is a consolation in sorrow, and a sense of
increase of joy in not being compelled to lay open our feelings to
the inspection of the unsympathetic. There are also sorrows of such a
nature as to be entirely beyond the power of the tenderest human love
to alleviate. To conceal such from all human ken is a kindness to
those who love us. We should inflict sorrow upon them without
lightening our own burden; and if we are unselfish, we are glad that
it is possible in such a case to keep our bitterness within our own
breast.
+III. There is One who possesses the secret even more truly than the
human possessor, and who should always be invited to intermeddle with
our sorrow or our joy.+ 1. _We should invite God to intermeddle,
because we can do so in the strictest secrecy of the soul._ It may be
impossible sometimes to put into words our joy or our sorrow, and
therefore no human being, even the nearest and dearest, _can always_
"intermeddle" with our deep emotions. But the _thought_ is _speech_
to God. He "knoweth what is in the mind of the spirit." 2. _Because
God's "intermeddling" will bring softening to our bitterness and
refinement to our joy._ He "knew the sorrows" of Israel in their
bitter bondage (Exod. iii. 7). He sent His Son to "bind up the
broken-hearted" (Isa. lxi. 1). That Son Himself has known a
bitterness that is unknowable by any creature. And as He can lighten
sorrow so He can refine and increase joy.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
Within the range of human experience there is, perhaps, no expression
of the ultimate solitude of each man's soul at all times, and not
merely (as in Pascal's _Je mourrai seul_) at the hour of death, so
striking in its truth and depth as this. Something there is in every
sorrow, and in every joy, which no one else can share. Beyond that
range it is well to remember that there is a Divine sympathy, uniting
perfect knowledge and perfect love.--_Plumptre._
The first half of this proverb treats of life experiences which are
too complex a nature to be capable of being fully represented to
others, and, as we are wont to say, of so delicate a nature that we
shrink from uncovering them and making them known to others, and
which, on this account, must be kept shut up in our own hearts,
because no man is so near to us, or has so fully gained our
confidence, that we have the desire and the courage to pour out our
hearts to him from the very depths. If we were to interpret the
second clause as _prohibitive_ (see Critical Notes), then this would
stand in opposition, certainly not intended, to the exhortation (Rom.
xii. 15), "Rejoice with them that do rejoice," and to the saying,
"Distributed joy is doubled joy, distributed sorrow is half sorrow;"
and an admonition to leave man alone with his joy, instead of urging
him to distribute it, does not run parallel with the first clause.
Therefore we interpret the future as _potentialis._--_Delitzsch._
Not to let a man be private in his house is a great injury, but not
to let a man be private in his heart is a wrong inexcusable. And yet
this is the strange presumption of some. They know the _heart_ of
another; they know what troubles it and what pains it. Perhaps by
some discoveries thou mayest have some conjectures; but let not a
small conjecture make thee a great offender. Wrong not another with
unjust surmising. Every key a man meets with is not the right key to
this lock; every likelihood thou apprehendest is not a sure sign to
make thee know the heart of another.--_Jermin._
_"A knowing heart is a bitterness to itself; but with its joy it does
not hold intercourse as an enemy."_ We venture upon this translation.
We find no spiritual sense in the one heretofore given. . . . A heart
spiritually enlightened is a bitterness to itself on the principle
which Christ meant when He said, He "came not to send peace, but a
sword" (Matt. x. 34); but with its joy, weak as it may be, and small
and easily clouded, "it does not," as the impenitent do, "hold
intercourse as with an enemy." His _joy_ is like his _bitterness,_ a
friend; and all will work in opposite direction to the joy of the
wicked.--_Miller._
Eli could not enter into the "bitterness of soul" of Hannah (1 Sam.
i. 10, 13, 16): nor Gehazi into that of the Shunamite woman (2 Kings
iv. 27). Michal, though the wife of David, was "a stranger to his
joy" at the bringing up of the ark to Zion (1 Sam. xviii. 13, 20,
with 2 Sam. vi. 12-16).--_Fausset._
The two extreme experiences of a human heart, which comprehend all
others between them, are "bitterness" and "joy." The solitude of a
human being in either extremity is a solemnising thought. Whether you
are glad or grieved, you must be alone. The bitterness and the
joyfulness are both your own. It is only in a modified sense, and in
a limited measure, that you can share them with another, so as to
have less of them yourself. . . . Sympathy between two human beings
is, after all, little more than a figure of speech. A physical burden
can be divided equally between two. If you, unburdened, overtake a
weary pilgrim on the way, toiling beneath a load of a hundred pounds
weight, you may volunteer to bear fifty of them for the remaining
part of the journey, and so lighten his load by half. But a light
heart, however willing it may be, cannot so relieve a heavy one. The
cares that press upon the spirit are as real as the load that lies on
the back, and as burdensome; but they are not so tangible and
divisible. . . . There are, indeed, some very intimate unions in
human society, as organized by God. . . . The closest of them all,
the two "no longer twain, but one flesh," is a union of unspeakable
value for such sympathy as is compatible with distinct personality at
all. . . . The wife of your bosom can, indeed, intermeddle with your
joys and sorrows, as no stranger can do, and yet there are depths of
both in your breast which even she has no line to fathom. When you
step into the waters of life's last sorrow, even she must stand back
and remain behind. Each must go forward alone. The Indian _suttee_
seems nature's struggle against that fixed necessity of man's
condition. But is a vain oblation. Although the wife burn on the
husband's funeral pile, the frantic deed does not lighten the
solitude of the dark valley. One human being cannot be merged in
another. Man must accept the separate personality that belongs to his
nature.--_Arnot._
It is true, observes a philosophic essayist, that we have all much in
common; but what we have most in common is this, that we are all
isolated. Man is more than a combination of passions common to his
kind. Beyond them and behind them, an inner life, whose current we
think we know within us, flows on in solitary stillness. Friendship
itself is declared to have nothing in common with this dark
sensibility, so repellent and so forbidding, much less may a stranger
penetrate to those untrodden shores. We may apply Wordsworth's
lines,--
To friendship let him turn
For succour; but perhaps he sits alone
On stormy waters, tossed in a little boat
That holds but him, and can contain no more.
--_Jacox._
By this thought the worth and the significance of each separate human
personality is made conspicuous, not one of which is the example of a
species, but each has its own peculiarity, which no one of countless
individuals possesses.--_Elster._
Who but a _parent_ can fully know the "bitterness" of his grief who
"mourneth for an only son"--of him who is "in bitterness for his
first-born." Who but a parent can sympathise with the royal mourner's
anguish over a son that has died in rebellion against his father and
his God! Who but a _widow_ can realise the exquisite bitterness of a
widow's agony when bereft of the loved partner of her joys and
sorrows! Who but a _pastor_ can know, in all its intensity, the
bitterness of soul experienced in seeing those on whom he counted as
genuine fruits of his ministry, and on whom he looked with delighted
interest, as his anticipated "joy and crown" in "the day of the
Lord," falling away--going back and walking no more with
Jesus.--_Wardlaw._
The principal thought of verse 11 has been treated before. See on
chapter ii. 21, 22, etc.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
The wicked build houses on the earth; the earth is their home, where
they desire to be, and they imagine to settle themselves in it. The
upright do set up tabernacles only, seeking another country, and as
knowing the uncertainty upon which the world standeth. For though the
habitation of the wicked be a _house,_ and rooted in the earth, yet
it shall not only be _shaken,_ but _overthrown,_ and though the
abiding of the upright be but a _tabernacle_ pinned to the earth, yet
shall it stand so safely that it shall _flourish_ like a rooted tree.
Wherefore, when in the Revelation we read "Woe to the inhabitants of
the earth" (chap. viii. 13), St. Jerome understands it of the wicked
only. For a godly man is not an inhabiter of the earth, but a
stranger and a sojourner. And his tabernacle doth so flourish, that
it reacheth to heaven, for he hath his dwelling in heaven to whom the
whole world is an inn.--_Jermin._
The "house of the wicked" may be a most prosperous one, and may seem
to be full of peace; but it is doomed. It must become "desolate,"
literally _astonished;_ which is the eastern way of describing great
downfalls. "But the tent of the upright" (another intensive clause)
his slenderest possessions; like a sprout; like some poor tender
plant, shall _bloom forth._ Such is the meaning of
_"flourish."--Miller._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 12.
WHAT SEEMS TO BE, AND WHAT IS.
+I. Human nature needs more light than is found in the human
conscience.+ The way which "seems right unto a man" may be "the way
of death." A mariner who has insufficient light to observe correctly
the needle in the compass, may think he is steering for the haven
when he is taking the vessel straight upon the rocks. He may be very
sincere in his conviction that he is going right, but his thinking so
will not make it so. He needs more light than he has. So the light of
conscience is not enough to guide a man with certainty in the true
and right way. If conscientious sincerity was an infallible guide
Paul would not have "delivered to prison" men and women for being
followers of Jesus of Nazareth (Acts. xxii. 4). The way that in his
ignorance seemed right to him, was felt by him to be a "way of death"
when his conscience was enlightened. Conscience may be deadened by
sin, or warped by prejudice or self-interest; it is not a reliable
and certain guide. If it were, it was needless for the Son of God to
visit the earth and make known the will of His Father--the revelation
of God's will in the books of the Old and New Testaments is a
superfluity. The existence of the Bible is explained by the fact
which is found to be true by all God-taught men, that "the way of man
is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps"
(Jer. x. 23). God, by speaking unto men in "sundry times and in
divers manners," and especially "in these last days by His Son" (Heb.
i. 1) declares plainly that man needs something outside of himself to
guide him into that path of righteousness which alone is a way of
life. The history of the world confirms this truth. Observation of
every-day life tells the same tale.
+II. The need of human nature has been fully met.+ All that the
mariner needs in order to keep the vessel's head right is light to
see the compass. God in Christ is a sufficient light to man. Paul
says: _"God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath
shined in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory
of God in the face of Jesus Christ"_ (2 Cor. iv. 6). Christ Himself
tells us that it is those only who "follow Him" who have the "light
of life" (John viii. 12). That the way thus revealed is fully adapted
to meet man's need is proved by the results which follow from walking
in it. The progress which a sick man makes towards health is the most
convincing proof of the efficacy of his physician's treatment. The
light which is shed upon men by the revelation of God, and especially
by the Gospel, has been proven by its result upon individuals and
upon nations, to be all-powerful to turn men from "darkness to light,
and from the power of Satan unto God" (Acts xxvi. 18). The way of sin
is the way of death--death morally, socially, and physically. The way
of holiness is the only way of spiritual life to the soul and to the
community, and ensures victory over the penalty of bodily death.
_ILLUSTRATION._
THE LAST WORDS OF HILDEBRAND.--One of the greatest of the sons of
earth (if we measure greatness either by posthumous fame or
posthumous influence) lay on his death bed. Prelates, princes,
priests, devoted adherents and attendants stood around. Anxious to
catch the last accents of that once oracular voice, the mourners were
bending over him, when, struggling in the very grasp of death, he
collected, for one last effort, his failing powers, and breathed out
his spirit with the indignant exclamation, "I have loved
righteousness and hated iniquity, and therefore I die in
exile." . . . That he went into the unseen world consciously and
deliberately with a lie in his right hand, is a supposition utterly
inadmissible. Passionate earnestness and intense conviction were
stamped upon all his words and works. . . . He had climbed the
slippery steps of intrigue to the Papal throne, and to set that
throne above all thrones of the earth, and to cause everyone, "both
small and great, rich and poor, free and bond," to bow down in the
dust before it, was thenceforward his sole aim and object. . . . It
was for this that he enforced that celibacy of the clergy which has
ever since been the law of the Church. He found thousands of married
priests ministering at her altars in innocence of heart, thinking no
sin, and fearing no dishonour. . . . He commanded them to put away
their wives on pain of excommunication, which meant deprivation of
all rights, spiritual, social, and human. . . . One cry of
indignation, one prolonged and bitter wail of agony, arose throughout
Europe, from the Apennines to the Baltic Sea. . . . Wives were torn
from their husbands, children from their fathers. Popular fanaticism
allied itself with Papal tyranny. . . . There was no pity for worse
than widowed wives, and worse than orphaned children flung out upon
the cold world to starve. The Pontiff trod his stern, remorseless way
over broken hearts. . . . But he had a dangerous antagonist to
encounter. . . . The Holy Roman Empire and the Holy Roman Church were
together to dominate the world. But which of them was to dominate the
other? Hildebrand's long contest with Henry IV. may be said to have
decided the question. But with what weapons was it fought? We see the
gallant Saxons tempted by bribes and promises to revolt, and then, in
their hour of distress, treacherously abandoned by him who was at
once their ally and "spiritual father," and to whom they addressed in
vain those noble and pathetic remonstrances which, even to this day,
cannot be read without emotion. Thus Hildebrand "loved
righteousness.". . . But the Pontiff, so stern to his antagonists,
could be mild to his allies. Keen swords in strong hands were
necessary to support his power, the heaviest swords in Europe were
borne by Norman knights. Robert, the conqueror of Sicily, William,
the conqueror of England, were the representative men of this fierce
and fiery race. . . . They were bloody, avaricious and unscrupulous.
No more cruel conquerors ever turned a fruitful land into a waste,
howling wilderness. No more remorseless oppressors ever trod down the
poor with a heel of iron. . . . But their crimes were unrebuked by
Hildebrand. . . . William was "addressed in the blandest accents of
esteem and tenderness," while Robert, the tyrant of Sicily, "was
embraced and honoured as the faithful ally of Rome." Thus Hildebrand
"hated iniquity." That "way" in which he walked all his life long
with a consistency of purpose and intensity of energy that moves our
admiration, seemed "right unto himself," nay, it seemed to be
pre-eminently the way of righteousness, but what shall we say of "the
end thereof."--_Etchings from History,_ by Miss Alcock. See _Sunday
at Home,_ February 15th, 1879.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
Souls perish always with surprise. . . . But yet the _seeing_ here
noted must be taken _cum grano._ Deep in the lost heart of the
knowledge of its _"end,"_ rather its "afterpart." The way lasts for
ever, and its _afterward_ "is the ways of death!" Deep in the lost
man's heart he knows all this, and this makes a dark ground for his
gaieties. (See next verse.)--_Miller._
There are some ways which can hardly "seem right" to any man--the
ways, namely, of open and flagrant wickedness. But there are many
ways, which, under the biassing influence of pride and corruption,
"_seem_ right," and yet their _"end"_ is _"death."_ +I. The way of
the sober, well-behaved worldling.+ He thinks of the law as if it had
been only one table, the first being entirely overlooked. He passes
among his circle for a man of good character, and flatters himself,
in proportion as he is flattered by others, that all is right. . . .
But his way is not the way of life, for God is not in it. +II. The
way of the formalist.+ He follows, strictly and punctually, the round
of religious observance. . . . But his heart has not been given to
God. The world still has it. He compromises the retention of its
affections for the things of sense by giving God the pitiful and
worthless offering of outward homage. But it will not do. Those
services cannot _terminate in life,_ which _have no life in them._
+III. The way of the speculative religionist.+ From education, or as
a matter of curiosity, he has made himself an adept in religious
controversy. He holds by the creed of orthodoxy, and imagines that
this kind of knowledge is religion. But speculative opinion is not
saving knowledge--is not the faith which "worketh by love" and
"overcomes the world."--_Wardlaw._
Good intentions are not a justification for wrong doing (2 Sam.
vi. 6). Judges xvii. 6 gives an awful illustration of the end of
"every man doing that which is right in his own eyes." (Cf. the
prohibition of this, Deut. xii. 8.)--_Fausset._
This may be his _easily besetting sin,_ the _sin of his
constitution,_ the _sin of his trade._ Or it may be _his own false
views of religion:_ he may have an _imperfect repentance,_ a _false
faith,_ a _very false creed._ Many of the Papists, when they were
burning the saints of God in the flames of Smithfield, thought they
were doing God service.--_A. Clarke._
The self-delusion of one ends in death by the sentence of the judge,
that of another in self-murder; of one in loathsome disease, of
another in slow decay under the agony of conscience, or in sorrow
over a henceforth dishonoured and distracted life.--_Delitzsch._
Sin comes clothed with a show of reason (Exodus i. 10); and lust will
so blear the understanding, that he shall think there is great sense
in sinning. "Adam was not deceived" (1 Tim. ii. 14), that is, he was
not so much deceived by his judgment--though also by that too--as by
his affection to his wife, which at length blinded his judgment. The
heart first deceives us with colours; and when we are once a-doting
after sin, then we join and deceive our hearts (James i. 26), using
fallacious and specious sophism, to make ourselves think that lawful
to-day which we held unlawful yesterday. . . . But it falls out with
us as with him that, lying upon a steep rock, and dreaming of good
matters befallen him, starts suddenly for joy, and breaks his neck at
the bottom. As he that makes a bridge of his own shadow cannot but
fall into the water, so neither can he escape the pit of hell who
lays his own presumption in the place of God's promise.--_Trapp._
Some say, surely God will not punish a man hereafter who
conscientiously walks up to his convictions, although these
convictions be in point of fact mistaken. They err, knowing neither
the inspired Word of God nor natural laws. Do men imagine that God,
who has established this world in such exquisite order, and rules it
by regular laws, will abdicate, and leave the better world in
anarchy? This world is blessed by an undeviating connection between
cause and effect; will the next be abandoned to random impulses, or
left to chaos? . . . It is not even conceivable that the direction of
a man's course could not determine his landing-place. . . . Perhaps
the secret reason why an expectation so contrary to all analogy is
yet so fondly entertained, is a tacit disbelief in the reality of
things spiritual and eternal. We see clearly the laws by which
effects follow causes in time; but the matters upon which these laws
operate are substantial realities. If there were a firm conviction
that the world to come is a substance, and not merely a name, the
expectation would naturally be generated, that the same principles
which regulate the Divine administration of the world now, will
stretch into the unseen, and rule it all. . . . Truth shines like
light from heaven; but the mind and conscience within the man
constitute the reflector that receives it. Thence we must read off
the impression, as the astronomer reads the image from the reflector
at the bottom of his tube. When that tablet is dimmed by the breath
of evil spirits dwelling within, the truth is distorted and turned
into a lie.--_Arnot._
There is no way which doth not seem right in his eyes who liketh to
go in it. For man is led in all things by a seeming good; and such is
the foulness of doing amiss, that it must put on the painted colours
of doing right, or else it cannot draw the eyes of man's mind unto
it. But it is the not seeing the end which causeth the seeming
rightness of the way, and it is _to man_ that it seems so, who is so
apt to be deceived. He that hath a long fight, and in the beginning
can see the end, he maketh the shortest journey and speedeth the best
in it. If the beginning be a due consideration of the end, the end
will be a beginning of true joy and comfort. It is not so in the way
which seemeth to be right. For being but _a way,_ it is passed and
ended, and then begin _the ways of death,_ which are said to be many,
because there is an endless going on in them.--_Jermin._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 13.
TRUE AND FALSE MIRTH.
This proverb, as it stands in our English version, cannot be taken as
universally true. The first clause is rendered by some
translators--"Even in laughter the heart _may be_ sorrowful" (see
Critical Notes), and experience and Bible teaching both necessitate
our giving a limitation to the second clause also.
+I. Whether mirth will end in heaviness depends upon its
character--therefore upon the character of the man who is mirthful.+
There is an innocent and right mirth, there is an ill-timed, guilty
mirth. The end of lawful mirth is not heaviness. It is good for the
_body._ A physician is glad to see his patient mirthful. He knows
that it will act most beneficially, and assist his recovery to
health. A mirthful man will not suffer so much physical injury from
the wear and tear of life as one who is always sombre and melancholy.
Lawful mirth is good for the _mind._ It is the unbending of the bow
which breaks if it is kept always at its extreme tension. A man who
is naturally mirthful--who is ever disposed to see men and things in
their brightest colours, must be a creature of hope, and hope has
power to surround those who possess her with a paradise of their own
creation, which is very independent of outward circumstances.
Natural, wholesome mirth will make a man much stronger to do and to
bear all the duties and trials of life. But natural, lawful mirth is
only proper to godly men. Christians are the only people in the world
who have reason to be glad. All those who are worthy of the name
ought to be able, amidst all the saddening influences of life, to
hold fast such a confidence in God as shall leave room for the play
even of mirth. But the man who is in a state of alienation from God
has no reason to be mirthful, his mirth must be either feigned or the
result of a thoughtless disregard of his own relations to God and
eternity. The "end" of such mirth must be "heaviness."
+II. Laughter is not always an index of feeling.+ There is doubtless
much that passes for mirth among the ungodly that is merely a blind
to conceal intentions or feelings deeply hidden in the soul. The
seducer laughs at the fears and misgivings of his victim, but his
laugh is not the laugh of the light-hearted, God-fearing man. Its
very ring tells any unprejudiced hearer that there is a flaw
somewhere, and it is only assumed to enable him to effect his
purpose. In such laughter there may not be present actual sorrow, but
there is an entire absence of gladness of heart. But laughter often
veils the deepest and most heartfelt misery. The poor drunkard will
laugh at the debauchery of the past night while he feels a bitter
consciousness of his degradation. Many a man laughs with his gay
companions, and all the while sees a dread future rising up before
him which he trembles to meet. The _character_ of him who laughs will
afford the best clue by which to determine whether or not the
laughter is the outcome of genuine mirth.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
Already the wise king was beginning to experience what he more fully
states in Eccles. ii. 2; vii. 6. Men's very pleasures turn into their
opposites.--_Fausset._
Not of its own nature, of course; for a proverb has already said that
there is a _"joy"_ which is not our foe. Not this is always the case;
but there is such a case. Because the wicked get nothing really but
their "ways" (verse 14).--_Miller._
The sun doth not ever shine: there is a time of setting. No day of
jollity is without its evening of conclusion, if no cloud of
disturbance prevent it with an overcasting. First God complains, men
sing, dance, and are jovial and neglectful; at last man shall
complain, and "God shall laugh at their calamity." Who should God be
conjured to receive that spirit dying which would not receive God's
Spirit living?--_T. Adams._
As soon might true joy be found in hell as in the carnal heart. As
soon might the tempest-tossed ocean be at rest as the sinner's
conscience (Isa. lvii. 20, 21). He may feast in his prison, or dance
in his chains. . . . But if he has found a diversion from present
trouble, has he found a cover from everlasting misery? It is far
easier to drown conviction than to escape damnation. . . . But the
end of that mirth implies another with a different end. Contrast the
prodigal's mirth in the far country with his return to his father's
house when "they began to be merry."--_Bridges._
Every human heart carries the feeling of disquiet and of separation
from its true home, and of the nothingness, transitoriness of all
that is earthly; and in addition to this, there is many a secret
sorrow in everyone which grows out of his own corporeal and spiritual
life, and from his relation to other men; and this sorrow, which from
infancy onward is the lot of the human heart, and which more and more
deepens and diversifies itself in the course of life, makes itself
perceptible even in the midst of laughter, in spite of the mirth and
merriment, without being able to be suppressed or expelled for the
soul, returning always the more intensely, the more violently we may
for a time have kept it under, and sunk it in unconsciousness. From
the fact that sorrow is the fundamental condition of humanity, and
forms the back-ground of laughter, it follows that it is not good for
man to give himself up to joy, viz., sensual (worldly), for to it the
issue is sorrow.--_Delitzsch._
There are two sorts of joys--the joy natural and the joy spiritual;
the joy of vanity and the joy of verity; a joy in the creature and a
joy in the Creator; a joy in a mutable thing and a joy in a matter
immutable. The spiritual joys are the joys of the palace. The natural
joys are the joys of prisoners. These are to worldlings that are
without God seeming joys, because they know no better. They cannot
get Penelope, they will be suitors to her maidens. . . . The godly
are like the ant, they are first weary, then merry; but the ungodly
are like the grasshopper, first they sing and then they
sorrow.--_Bishop Abernethy,_ 1630.
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 14.
SATISFACTION AND DISSATISFACTION.
+I. The position and character of the backslider.+ The word suggests
that there has been a time in the past when his moral standing was
high. There must have once been a going forward, if there is now a
sliding backward. Up to a certain time progress was made. Of many
followers of our Lord it is written that from a certain period "they
went back and walked no more with Him" (John vi. 66). They had walked
with Him in outward discipleship at least, and it is probable that
their hearts had been more or less influenced for good. Their
"walking no more" was a going back probably in outward life,
certainly in right disposition towards the Christ of God. The man of
our text is "a backslider in heart." Then there must once have been a
going forward of his soul towards God and goodness, and outward
movement towards righteousness and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.
But the forward movement has ceased--the retrograde movement has set
in within the man, although it may not immediately be seen in his
outward conduct. Solomon was himself a sad example of a backslider.
In his early days his heart was turned towards his God, his desires
after righteousness were strong, his moral progress a reality. No one
can read his dedication prayer without feeling that the man who
offered it stood in right relations with his God--that his
aspirations were after righteousness of heart and life. He is himself
a proof of the certain fact that a man can terribly deteriorate in
character even after he has given evidence of a progression in the
good and the right way.
+II. His portion.+ "He shall be filled with his own ways."
Retribution will flow from both his past and present character. The
remembrance of what he once was will embitter the present. To think
of what _might have been_ is in itself a hell when a man feels that
by his own act he is now far lower in the moral scale than he once
was. How it must embitter the misery of the fallen angels to remember
that they once stood sinless before God's throne, and, but for their
own act, would stand there still. In one of the writings of Lucian,
he represents the ghost of a man who has left the world coming up for
judgment before the bar of Rhadamanthus. He had lived so depraved a
live that his judge exclaims that a new punishment is needed that
will be in some degree adequate to his unparalleled villany. A poor
cobbler, standing by, suggests that it will be enough if the cup of
Lethe, which was supposed to obliterate all remembrance of the past,
and which each shade was permitted to drink as he passed from the
dread tribunal, should, in this instance, be withheld. And the
criminal was therefore condemned to remember for ever what he had
done in life, and this was held to be retribution sufficient for the
worst of crimes. And if this is true of every wicked man, surely to
be filled with the remembrance of what he once was will be the
bitterest cup that can be the portion of every backslider.
+III. The portion of the godly man.+ He, too, shall be filled with
his own ways, but it will be the fulness of satisfaction. The
foundation of real happiness is in character alone. The blessedness
of the Eternal God comes from nothing outside of Himself. It has its
foundation in His own perfect character. So nothing outside a man can
yield him satisfaction. It must come from what he is--from his
partaking of some degree of the character of the ever-blessed God. In
proportion as he approaches that--in proportion as he brings forth
the fruits of righteousness--will he be conscious of a well-spring of
satisfaction which is quite independent of outward circumstances.
This well-spring has the advantage of being always at hand. A man may
often find himself shut out from external sources of joy, death may
part him from those who have largely ministered to his happiness, but
wherever he is--whether in this world or another--a "well of water"
which is "within him" (John iv. 14) is always at hand. It is needless
to remark that this well-spring does not originate with man, but is
the outcome of relationship and communion with God.
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
_Temporary_ backsliding may take place in the true children of God;
but the "backslider" _here_ is evidently he who, in the language of
the apostle, "goes back into perdition." Solomon alludes to such
_perpetual_ backsliding on the part of those who thus prove
themselves to have been no more than professors--"having the form of
godliness, but denying the power thereof." Such characters, whatever
appearances they present to the eye of men,--even of the people of
God, with whom they associate, never were vitally and savingly one
with Christ, and one with true believers in Him. This is as plainly
affirmed as it is in the power of language to affirm it. _"They went
out from us but they were not of us; for if they had been of us they
would no doubt have continued with us; but they went out, that they
might be made manifest that they were not all of us"_ (1 John
ii. 19).--_Wardlaw._
Every spot is not the leprosy. Every mark of sin does not prove a
backslider. "A man may be overtaken in a fault" (Gal. vi. 1); or it
may be the sin of ignorance (Lev. iv. 2; Heb. v. 2) or sin abhorred,
resisted, yet still cleaving (Rom. vii. 15-24). _Backsliding_ implies
a _wilful_ step; not always open, but the more dangerous, because
hidden. Here was no open apostasy, perhaps no tangible inconsistency.
Nay, the man may be looked up to as an eminent saint, but he is a
_backslider in heart.--Bridges._
The upright is satisfied from his own conscience, which though it be
not the original spring, yet is the conduit at which he drinks peace,
joy and encouragement.--_Flavel._
The wicked are travelling; and they seek an end; and they confidently
expect it, but they never get it. What they do get, therefore is
their journey. The old man has got about enough of travelling, but
enough, if he be an impenitent man, of nothing else, in either world,
whatever. The saint may have very little on the earth, but he has
made more than his own journey. _"The backslider in heart."_ Not a
Christian. A Christian never really backslides. Not, therefore, what
our usage means, but a _heart sliding back,_ as every lost heart
does. The writer has but written a fresh name for the impenitent.
Such a sliding heart will just have its journey at last, and nothing
for it.--_Miller._
What a world of sound theology lies in the deliverance of this
verse--telling us much how the rewards and punishments of the Divine
administration lie in the subjective state, apart from the objective
circumstances.--_Chalmers._
Good men _know within themselves_ that they have in heaven a better
and more enduring substance (Heb. x. 34); _within themselves,_ they
know it not in others, not in books, but in their own experience and
apprehension. They can feelingly say that "in doing God's will"--not
only _for_ doing it, or _after_ it was now done, but even _while_
they were doing it--"there was great reward" (Psa. xix. 11).
Righteousness is never without a double joy to be its strength: "Joy
in hand and in hope, in present possession and in certain reversion"
(Bernard).--_Trapp._
All engineering proceeds upon the principle of reaching great heights
or depths by almost imperceptible inclines. The adversary of men
works by this will. When you see a man who was once counted a
Christian standing shameless on a mountain-top of impiety, or lying
in the miry pit of vice, you may safely assume that he has long been
worming his way in secret on the spiral slimy track by which the old
serpent marks and smooths the way to death. . . . Whatever the
enormity it may end in, backsliding begins in the heart. . . . There
is a weighing beam exposed to public view, with one scale loaded and
resting on the ground, while the other dangles high and empty in the
air. Everybody is familiar with the object, and its aspect. One day
curiosity is arrested by observing the low and loaded beam is
swinging aloft, while the side which hung empty and light has sunk to
the ground. Speculation is set on edge by the phenomenon, and at rest
again by the discovery of its cause. For many days certain diminutive
but busy insects had, for some object of their own, been transferring
the material from the full to the empty scale. Day by day the sides
approached an equilibrium, but no change took place in their
position. At last a grain more removed from one side and laid in the
other reversed the preponderance, and produced the change. There is a
similar balancing of good and evil in the human heart. The sudden
outward change proceeds from a gradual inward preparation.--_Arnot._
Every man, both good and bad, shall feel himself sufficiently
recompensed for his service.--_Dod._
"A good man shall be satisfied from himself." +I. He can bear his own
company, his own thoughts.+ What is it that makes solitude so irksome
to mankind? They cannot bear reflection. . . . Generally, we know,
all is not right. Men do not like to look steadily at themselves,
because, like the bankrupt tradesman who dreads striking a balance,
they have a secret suspicion that their lives will not bear a rigid
scrutiny. . . . The good man does not fear to probe his wound to the
bottom. +II. He is independent, as other men are not, of earthly
vicissitudes.+ Men who have their portion here are never safe. The
world is a disappointing world, but the good man's eyes are opened to
the glories of a better. . . . It is a doomed world, but his treasure
is safe. . . . Let other men be suddenly driven from the pleasures,
occupations, and companions with which habit has made them familiar,
and they are like shipwrecked voyagers whose wealth has all gone down
in the vessel in which they sailed. He is like a man who has escaped
to shore with a casket of jewels in which his whole fortune is
invested. +III. He stands for judgment, not at the world's bar, but
at the tribunal of his own conscience.+ "It is a small thing," said
St. Paul, "that I should be judged of you, or of man's judgment." Was
he, then, a morose man who cared nothing about his neighbours? No,
but his conscience was ruled by God's law, and in the very act of
submitting himself to Christ as the Lord of his life and soul, he
became comparatively independent of all besides.--_J. H. Gurney._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF THE PARAGRAPH.--Verses_ 15-18.
REVELATIONS OF CHARACTER.
+I. Four marks of a foolish man.+ When a piece of ground is left to
itself--left in the hand of nature alone, without the intervention of
the hand of man--there will be a variety in its productions, but
there will be no wheat--no grain to give seed to the sower and bread
to the eater. When human nature is left to itself there will of
necessity be a variety in its productions, but, however unlike they
may be in many respects, they are all alike in this, that they are
equally unprofitable to God and injurious to man. We have
here--1. _The man who believes too much in others._ "The simple
believeth every word." It is possible to have too much faith. The
blessedness of having it in abundance depends entirely upon the
foundation upon which it rests--upon the object _in_ which a man
trusts--in the person in whom he believes. Those who have faith in
the words of men and women of worthless character--like the young man
of chap. vii. 7--will find their ruin will be in proportion to the
confidence. We stigmatise as a fool the man who shows his purse to
any wayfarer whom he meets upon the high road; we know that his
fellow-traveller may be only seeking a fitting time and place to rob
him. In this world of fallen men and women we must withhold our faith
until we have some knowledge. There are many now in the world whose
foolish credulity has led to the other extreme of universal
scepticism. From believing everybody and everything they have come to
believe nothing, and to brand "all men" as "liars." He who begins by
being a "simple one," and believeth every word, will most likely end
in being a disbeliever and a scoffer. We are not required to believe
in God without ground for our belief. He does not demand from us an
unreasoning credulity, but an intelligent faith. 2. _The man who
believes too much in himself._ He "rages," or is presumptuous, and is
"confident." As the foolishness of the first man took the form of
over-confidence in others, so this man shows his want of wisdom by
undue confidence in himself. (On this character see Homiletics on
chap. xii. 15, page 271.) 3. _The man who is easily offended._ Such a
man reveals his folly by the insignificance of the matters which
generally arouse his passion. The man who is "soon angry" is
generally more angry about trifles than about things of importance. A
parent who is easily vexed by his children's transgressions is
generally more severe in punishing those that really least deserve
punishment. Such a person does not take into account the amount of
moral wrong done, but the amount of immediate and personal
inconvenience which he suffers. For if a man is "soon angry" he has
no time to put things in their right light--to weigh the offence in
the balance of right and of reason. The man who is soon angry shows
that his mind is not filled with high and noble aspirations; if it
were, there would be no room for vexation at small offences. God is
"slow to anger," because only things worthy of His notice can arouse
it--because He is filled with high and holy purposes of good towards
the human race. (See also on chap. xii. 16, page 272.) 4. _The man
who, by wicked plots against his fellow-men, incurs their hatred._
This man possesses more mental activity than the others. But he uses
it against himself, because he uses it against his fellow-men. "He is
of wicked devices," and "is hated." A man cannot devise plans of evil
any more than of good without mental labour. Probably Satan is the
most active creature in the universe. He is ever "going to and fro in
the earth, and walking up and down in it." And many of his human
children imitate him in this respect. This man has not the simplicity
of him who "believeth every word," nor of him who haughtily rejects
the counsel of others, nor of him who allows his feelings to carry
him away. He sets about his plans with cool deliberateness, but he is
a fool for all that. He is a fool, because, as we have seen over and
over again, his plans of wickedness will not only fail, but will
overthrow himself (see chap. xii. 3, 5 and 7). But the special
element of foolishness in the man of wicked devices which is here
noted is that his way of life is sure to bring him the hatred of his
fellow-creatures. No man can afford to set at nought the good-will of
his fellow-men. To be an object of universal execration is only the
lot of a man who lives to injure others, and it is a very poor
investment of life to put it to a use which will only bring such
interest.
+II. The marks of a wise man.+ 1. _He walks through life with
caution._ To say that a man "looketh well to his going" is only
saying that he acts like a rational and responsible creature. Even
the animals, in obedience to the instinct of self-preservation, look
to their goings, and avoid many dangers which beset them. The smaller
birds, though apparently flying about without any care, have a quick
eye for the hawk soaring above them, or for the cat crouching
beneath. All creatures, whether brutes or men, instinctively look to
their goings so far as regards their bodily life. The traveller on a
dangerous road instinctively picks his way--does not set down his
foot without looking to see where there is firm ground to tread upon.
The man whose lot is cast in a city where a pestilence is raging
naturally takes all possible precautions to avoid the infection. A
mariner does his best to guide his vessel clear of rocks and
quicksands. The prudent man extends this caution to every act of his
life. As a merchant, he weighs probabilities before he embarks in any
enterprise. He does not enter into speculations as men engage in a
game of billiards. He considers the results of his actions in
relation to others as well as to himself. Above all, he looks to his
goings in relation to their morality; he frames his life, as we have
before seen (chap. xiii. 14), according to the law of God within him
in his conscience, and without him, in the revealed word. 2. _He
walks thus cautiously because he recognises moral danger._ He
_"fears."_ This makes all the difference in the lives of men. Some
recognise the fact that they are in a world full of moral pit-falls
and rocks which will be their ruin unless they take heed to their
ways, and others do not. Some know the moral atmosphere is laden with
moral pestilence, but others do not discern its impurity. The wise
man "departs from evil" as he would involuntarily turn aside if he
saw a deadly serpent lying in his path, or would parry a sword-thrust
made at him by an adversary. His main business is, not to take care
of his _life,_ but of his _character._
+III. The respective reward of the wise and foolish.+ The first are
_crowned_ by an increase of knowledge, the second have an
_inheritance;_ but it is only to be given over to their foolishness.
The wise man's moral sense becomes more developed "by reason of use"
it is more and more able "to discern good and evil" (Heb. v. 14). He
is more and more removed from that simplicity which "believeth every
word"--he can "try the spirits, whether they are of God" (1 John
iv. 1), while the foolish man is more and more the dupe of his own
credulity, or of his own self-conceit, and becomes more and more the
slave of uncontrolled passion.
_ILLUSTRATION OF VERSE_ 17.
Socrates, meeting a gentleman of rank in the street, saluted him, but
the gentleman took no notice of it. His friends, observing what
passed, told the philosopher that they were so exasperated at the
man's incivility that they had a good mind to resent it. But he
calmly made answer, "If you meet any person in the road in a worse
habit of body than yourself would you think you had reason to be
enraged with him on that account. Pray, then, what greater reason can
you have for being incensed at a man for a worse habit of mind than
any of yourselves?"
_OUTLINES AND SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS._
Verse 15. He who applies himself to wisdom takes heed of his own
ways, foreseeing dangers, preparing remedies, employing the
assistance of the good, guarding himself against the wicked, cautious
in entering on a work, not unprepared for a retreat, watchful to
seize opportunities, strenuous to remove impediments, and attending
to many other things which concern the government of his own actions
and proceedings. But the other kind of wisdom is entirely made up of
deceits and cunning tricks, laying up all its hope in the
circumventing of others, and moulding them to its pleasure, which
kind verse 8 denounces as being not only dishonest, but also
foolish.--_Lord Bacon._
"The simple believeth every word," whether true or false, useful or
injurious. Charity, indeed, "believeth all things" (1 Cor. xiii. 7),
but not things that are palpably _untrue._ It is the _truth_ which it
readily believes. It believes all that it can with a good conscience
to the credit of another, but not anything more. Epicharmus says,
"The sinews and limbs of faith are not rashly to believe" (Acts
xvii. 11). "The prudent man looketh well to his going"--whether it
tends to grace and salvation, or to sin and perdition; he "believeth
not every word"--as, for instance, the flattering words of seducers,
who commend to him false doctrine or licentious practice (Eph.
v. 15).--_Fausset._
We may apply the verse in all its emphasis of meaning to _eternal
concerns._ The simple hear different persons on the subject of
religion, and take for granted that all they hear is right. They are
easily bewildered by sophistical arguments; led away by appeals to
feeling; swayed and mastered by false eloquence; seduced by flattery.
They are the sport of all that is novel--"tossed to and fro, and
carried about with every wind of doctrine." On the contrary, when
interests so vast are at stake the prudent man will feel his way,
taking nothing upon trust. He first bends his earnest thought to the
question of the Divine authority of the Bible--a question next in
importance to that of the being of God; and having ascertained its
authority, to learn its lessons. Having the map he will examine for
himself the way to heaven. Having a Divine directory, he will trust
no human guide.--_Wardlaw._
History is full of examples of men who have lost their lives by means
of their credulity, amongst whom were those great men, Abner and
Amasa. . . . Some have been betrayed into the worst of sins, by
believing groundless reports of others, as Saul in the case of David,
and we might also add, David himself in the case of Mephibosheth. The
nation of the Jews was threatened with desolation by the easy temper
of Ahasuerus, who believed without examination the malicious
suggestions of the wicked Haman. . . . The whole world was ruined by
the simplicity of Eve, and the easy credit she gave the
serpent.--_Lawson._
To _believe every word_ of God is _faith._ To _believe every word_ of
man is _credulity._ Admit only the one standard; like the noble
Bereans, who would not believe even an apostle's word, except it was
confirmed by the written testimony (Acts xvii. 11).--_Bridges._
We are not willing to be blindfolded at our meat, nor to eat our
supper without a light, especially in strange places, where we
neither know well the fidelity of our host, nor what dishes are set
before us, and shall we be more provident for the outward man, than
for the inward? Shall we keep out of our bodies such food as is not
wholesome and savoury, and receive into our souls such food as will
poison us? . . . No wrong is thus done to any man. We used to tell
silver and weigh gold, and yet we prejudge not them at whose hands we
receive them.--_Dod._
Trust is a lovely thing, but it cannot stand unless it get truth to
lean on. . . . It is a well-known characteristic of the little child
to believe implicitly whatever you tell him. . . . It remains a
feature of the child until it is worn off by hard experience of the
world. . . . In this world a man is obliged to be suspicious. Man
suffers more from man than from the elements of nature or the beasts
of the field. A time is coming when this species of prudence will be
no longer needed. When the people shall be all righteous, there will
be no deception on one side, and no distrust on the other.--_Arnot._
A prudent man looks forward to the consequences of things, and
particularly to the consequences of his own conduct. O, how much
misery and mischief might be avoided or prevented by attending only
to this single principle, for what are most of the calamities we see
in the world owing to but this--that men will not look before them?
To the want of this wise foresight Moses attributed all the
rebellions and enormities of the Jewish people, and therefore
breathed forth this ardent prayer on their behalf, "Oh, that they
were wise, that they understood this, that they would consider their
latter end" (Deut. xxxii. 29).--_Mason._
Verse 16. The "evil" from which the "wise man departeth" may mean
either _suffering_ or _sin._ Both may with propriety be included, the
one being the cause of the other.--_Wardlaw._
_Fear_ is sometimes thought to be an unmanly principle. But look at
the terrible extent of _the evil_ dreaded. Without it is vanity and
disappointment (Rom. vi. 21). Within it is the sting of guilt (1 Cor.
xv. 56). Upward we see the frown of God (John iii. 36). Downward
everlasting burnings (Mark ix. 44). . . . The _fool,_ however, never
_fears_ till he falls. . . . Such a _fool_ was the _raging_ Assyrian,
blindly _confident_ in his own might, till the God whom he despised
turned him back to his destruction (2 Kings xix. 28-37).--_Bridges._
He (the good man) can never _trust in himself,_ though he is
satisfied _from himself_ (verse 14). He knows that his sufficiency is
of God; and the _fear_ that causes him to _depart from evil_ is a
guardian to the _love_ he feels. Love renders him cautious; the other
makes him feel confident. His _caution_ leads him _from sin,_ his
_confidence_ leads him _to God._--_A. Clarke._
They which are in greatest safety are farthest from carnal security.
The godly have not so many sins as the wicked, and yet they feel them
more, and fear them more, and flee from them faster. And the wicked
have not more valour than the godly nor so much freedom from
punishment, and yet go beyond them in audacity and fleshly
confidence. When David was dealt with by Nathan, he confessed his
fault, he craved pardon, he set his heart to seek help from heaven
against his sin; but when Ahab was spoken to by Macaiah, he
persecuted the prophet, he proceeded in his purpose, he promised
himself a safe return. Josiah, hearing the law of the Lord read by
Shaphan, rent his clothes in grief and fear, but Jehoiakim hearing
the words of God read by Baruch, in regard of the curses therein
denounced, did tear the book and burn it in wrath and fury.--_Dod._
A wise man knows that the enemy is strong, and that his own defences
are feeble. His policy therefore is, not to brave danger, but to keep
out of harm's way. He seeks safety in flight. The fool's character is
mainly made up of two features; he thinks little of danger and much
of himself. He stumbles on both sides alike. That which is strong he
despises, and that which is weak he trusts. The dangers that beset
him are great, but he counts them as nothing; the strength that is in
him is as nothing, but he counts it great. Thus he is on all hands
out of his reckoning, and stumbles at every step.--_Arnot._
As a foolish fear is a betrayer of the strength of man, so a wise
fear is the safety of him. Wherefore Cyprian saith, the Divine wisdom
hath found out an excellent policy that by the help of fear we should
be delivered. Great is the benefit of God's providence, that
sometimes fear is made both a virtue and a victory. A wise man
departeth from evil before he cometh to it, for then the parting, as
most easily, so is most happily made.--_Jermin._
_Fear a religious principle._ The beginning of religion in the heart
is a subject of curious inquiry and of great practical importance.
There is no sufficient reason for supposing that it is in all men
alike, we have no rule for saying that religion must either
necessarily, or that it does usually proceed from the same cause.
Different men are affected by different motives; and what sinks deep
into the heart of one, makes little impression upon another. . . .
Thus it is, that religion sometimes, not seldom indeed, has a
_violent_ origin in the soul, and begins in terror: "A wise man
_feareth_ and departeth from evil."--_Paley._
Verse 17. Some pettish spirits are like fine glasses, broken as soon
as touched, and all on fire upon every slight and trifling occasion;
when meek and grave spirits are like flints that do not send out a
spark but after violent and great collision; _feeble_ minds have a
_habit_ of wrath, and, like broken bones, are apt to roar with the
least touch: it argues a very unsanctified spirit to be so soon
moved. Let it be like the fire of thorns, quickly extinct.--_Salter._
As small letters hurt the sight, so do small matters him that is too
much intent upon them; they vex and stir up anger, which begets an
evil habit in him in reference to greater affairs.--_Plutarch._
A man who falls into a passion does indeed commit a folly, but yet is
far preferable to the coldly and selfishly calculating villain.--_Von
Gerlach._
"A man of wicked devices," one, who when offended, represses the
indications of his anger, all the while meditating revenge, and
waiting for the opportunity when he can wreak it. As "he that is soon
angry dealeth foolishly" as regards himself, so he that wickedly
deviseth revenge, while deferring the expression of his anger,
bringeth on him the "hatred" of others. Thus there is danger on both
sides, in hastiness, and in deferring anger through malice. The
latter is the worst offence.--_Fausset._
The more hot-pulsed sinner may be lost; but the _deep-set_ fool
excels him both in guilt and danger. Alas! for the well-complexioned,
coolly-settled, morally-esteemed, and long-established hypocritical
professor. It is not all thinking that this book applauds, but that
which is discriminate, the watching of our feet.--_Miller._
Though religion alloweth to be angry, yet it forbiddeth to be _soon
angry,_ because he that is soon angry is as soon dealing foolishly.
The haste of his choler maketh him to outrun his understanding, and
the smoke of his anger putteth out the light of his
judgment.--_Jermin._
To be angry is to revenge the faults of others upon
ourselves.--_Pope._
As fine gold doth suffer itself to be tried in the fire six or seven
times, and yet the heat of the fire doth never change its nature or
colour; or as good corn is first threshed with the flail, and then
winnowed with the wind, and yet is neither broken with the one nor
carried away with the other; even so we should suffer ourselves to be
tried by injuries, and yet not by impatience, through anger, change
our nature, nor yet our colour, nor be carried away with any
inconvenience.--_Cawdray._
Verse 18. This proverb is especially instructive with respect to the
deep inner connection that exists on the one hand between foolish
notions, and a poor, unattractive, powerless earthly position,
destitute of all influence,--and on the other hand between true
wisdom and large ability in the department both of the material and
the spiritual. Von Gerlach pointedly says, "There is a certain power
of attraction, according as a man is wise or foolish; the possessions
also which the one or the other attains are in accordance with his
disposition."--_Lange's Commentary._
The child of Adam is born to folly (Job xi. 12). That is his
_inheritance._ He received it from his first father (Gen. v. 3; Psa.
li. 5). So long as he remains _simple,_ he confirms the title. Unlike
an earthly _inheritance,_ he cannot relinquish it. He holds it in
life, he still holds it firm in death, and reaps its bitter fruits
throughout eternity.--_Bridges._
The prudent has not inherited much at this present date. He has not
much of the world. He has not much of another. How shall we express
his excellence? He has this poor thing that he calls piety. Where is
its worth to him? Why, its worth to him is that it is a splendid
_"crown." He makes a crown of knowledge._ That is, he takes his
piety, which is a mean, weak beginning, and makes it the badge of a
glorious sovereignty. The Christian is a king. And by this is meant,
that, when he becomes pious, everything becomes subject to him
(1 Cor. iii. 22).--_Miller._
The world says that none dies without an heir: Religion says that
none dies without an inheritance. Everyone dying in this world is
heir to himself in the next world.--_Jermin._
_MAIN HOMILETICS OF VERSE_ 19.
A LEVELLING LAW.
+I. This law is now manifest to the inner life of the wicked.+ If a
wicked man has any sense of right and wrong, he is conscious of the
superiority of the good man. There is an inward bowing down of the
evil to the good which is as real, although invisible, as any outward
bending of the person of one man before another. Indeed it is far
more real than much outward homage. There are many outward and
visible bendings and bowings which are mere matters of form, which
are only made to keep up appearances. But the involuntary bowing of
the evil man's soul in the presence of the good man is a real act of
homage, although there is in it an element of unwillingness. There is
a compulsory consent, so to speak, of the man himself against
himself. But this genuflexion of soul is no mere pretence.