heard him discuss, and consider whether or not they accord with the
results of our own observation and experience. Is it true, then--or,
rather, is it not true--that our devotion to business is becoming
excessive and exhausting, and that this devotion springs mainly from
our jealous rivalry and competition with each other? If, some two or
three and twenty centuries ago, the Jews were bent every man on
outdoing and outselling his neighbour; if his main ambition was to
amass greater wealth or to secure a larger business than his
competitors, or to make a handsomer show before the world; if in the
urgent pursuit of this ambition he held his neighbours not as
neighbours, but as unscrupulous rivals, keen for gain at his expense
and to rise by his fall; if, to reach his end, he was willing to get
up early and go late to rest, to force all his energies into an
injurious activity and strain them close to the snapping-point: if
this were what a Jew of that time was like, might you not easily take
it for a portrait of many an English merchant, manufacturer, lawyer,
or politician? Is it not as accurate a delineation of our life as it
could be of any ancient form of life? If it be, as I think it is, we
have grave need to take the Preacher's warning. We gravely need to
remember that the stream cannot rise above its source, nor the fruit
be better than the root from which it grows; that the business ardour
which has its origin in a base and selfish motive can only be a base
and selfish ardour. When men gather grapes from thorns and figs from
thistles, then, but not before, we may look to find a satisfying good
in "all the toil and all the dexterity in toil" which spring from this
"jealous rivalry of the one with the other."
[Sidenote: _It tends to form a Covetous Temper_: Ch. iv., v. 8.]
(_b_) Nor, in the face of facts patent to the most cursory observer,
can we deny that this eager and excessive devotion to the successful
conduct of business tends to produce a grasping, covetous temper
which, however much it has gained, is for ever seeking more. It is not
only true that the stream cannot rise above its source; it is also
true that the stream _will_ run downward, and must inevitably contract
many pollutions from the lower levels on which it declines. The ardour
which impels men to devote themselves with eager intensity to the
labours of the Market may often have an origin as pure as that of the
stream which bubbles up on the hills, amid grass and ferns, and runs
tinkling along its clear rocky channels, setting its labour to a happy
music, singing its low sweet song to the sweet listening air. But as
it runs on, if it swell in volume and power, it also _sinks_ and grows
foul. Bent at first on acquiring the means to support a widowed
mother, or to justify him in taking a wife, or to provide for his
children, or to win an honourable place in his neighbours' eyes, or to
achieve the chance of self-culture and self-development, or to serve
some public and worthy end, the man of business and affairs too often
suffers himself to become more and more absorbed in his pursuits. He
conceives larger schemes, is drawn into more perilous enterprises, and
advances through these to fresh openings and opportunities, until at
last, long after his original ends are compassed and forgotten, he
finds himself possessed by the mere craving to extend his labours,
resources, influence, if not by the mere craving to amass--a craving
which often "teareth" and "tormenteth" him, but which can only be
exorcised by an exertion of spiritual force which would leave him
half dead. "He has no one with him, not even a son or a brother;" the
dear mother or wife is long since dead; his children, to use his own
detestable phrase, are "off his hands"; the public good has slipped
from his memory and aims: but still "there is no end to all his
labours, neither are his eyes satisfied with riches." Coheleth speaks
of one such man: alas, of how many such might we speak!
[Sidenote: _To produce a Materialistic Scepticism_; Ch. iii., vv.
18-21.]
(_c_) The "speculation" in the eye of business men is not commonly of
a philosophic cast, and therefore we do not look to find them
_arguing_ themselves into the materialism which infected the Hebrew
Preacher as he contemplated them and their blind devotion to their
idol. They are far, perhaps very far, from thinking that in body and
spirit, in origin and end, man is no better than the beast, a creature
of the same accident and subject to "the same chance." But though they
do not reason out a conclusion so sombre and depressing, do they not
practically acquiesce in it? If it is far from their thoughts, do they
not _live_ in its close neighbourhood? Their mind, like the dyer's
hand, is subdued to that it works in. Accustomed to think mainly of
material interests, their character is materialised. They are disposed
to weigh all things--truth, righteousness, the motives and aims of
nobler men--in the scales of the market, and can very hardly believe
that they should attach any grave value to ought which will not lend
itself to their coarse handling. In their judgment, mental culture, or
the graces of moral character, or single-hearted devotion to lofty
ends, are not worthy to be compared with a full purse or large
possessions. They regard as little better than a fool, of whom it is
very kind of them to take a little care, the man who has thrown away
what they call "his chances," in order that he may learn wisdom or do
good. Giving, perhaps, a cheerful and unforced accord to the current
moral maxims and popular creed, they permit neither to rule their
conduct. If they do not say, "Man is no better than a beast," they
carry themselves as if he were no better, as though he had no
instincts or interests above those of the thrifty ant, or the cunning
beaver, or the military locust, or insatiable leech--although they are
both surprised and affronted when one is at the pains to translate
their deeds into words. Judged by their deeds, they _are_ sceptics and
materialists, since they have no vital faith in that which is
spiritual and unseen. They have found "the life of their hands," and
they are content with it. Give them whatever furnishes the senses,
whatever in them holds by sense, and they will cheerfully let all else
go. But such a materialism as this is far more injurious, far more
likely to be fatal, than that which reflects, and argues, and utters
itself in words, and refutes itself by the very powers which it
employs. With them the malady has struck inward, and is beyond the
reach of cure save by the most searching and drastic remedies.
[Sidenote: _To make Worship Formal and Insincere_; Ch. v., vv. 1-7.]
(_d_) But now if, like Coheleth, we follow these men to the Temple,
what is the scene that meets our eye? In the English Temple, I fear,
that which would first strike an unaccustomed observer would be the
fact that very few men of business are there. They are "conspicuous by
their absence," or, at best, noted for an only occasional attendance.
The Hebrew Temple was crowded with men; in the English Temple it is
the other sex which predominates. But glance at the men who are there?
Do you detect no signs of weariness and perfunctoriness? Do you hear
no vows which will never be paid, and which they do not intend to pay
even when they make them? no prayers which go beyond any honest and
candid expression of their desires? Do you not feel and know that many
of them are making an unwilling sacrifice to the decencies and the
proprieties, instead of worshipping God the Spirit in spirit and
nerving themselves for the difficulties of obedience to the Divine
law? Listen: they are saying, "Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we
bless Thee for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of
this life; but _above all_ for Thine inestimable love in the
redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ, for the means of
grace, and for the hope of glory." But _are_ these ineffable spiritual
benefits "above all" else to them? Do they care for "the means of
grace" as much even as for the state of the market, or for "the hope
of glory" as much as for success or promotion? Which is most in their
thoughts, their lives, their aspirations, for which will they take
most pains and make most sacrifices--for what _they_ mean by the
beautiful phrase "all the blessings of this life," or for that sacred
and crowning act of the Divine Mercy, "the redemption," in which God
has once for all revealed his fatherly forgiving love?
What is it that makes their worship formal and insincere? It is the
very cause which, as the Preacher tells us, produced the like evil
effect upon the Jews. They come into the Temple with pre-occupied
hearts. Their thoughts are distracted by the cares of life even as
they bend in worship. And hence even the most sacred words turn to
"idle talk" on their lips, as remote from the true feeling of the
moment as "the multitude of dreams" which haunt the night; they utter
fervent prayers without any due sense of their meaning, or any hearty
wish to have them granted.
[Sidenote: _And to take from Life its Quiet and Innocent Enjoyments._
Ch. v., vv. 10-17.]
(_e_) Now surely a life so thick with perils, so beset with
temptations, should have a very large and certain reward to offer. But
has it? For one, Coheleth thinks it has not. In his judgment,
according to his experience, instead of making a man happier even in
this present time, to which it limits his thoughts and aims, it robs
him of all quiet and happy enjoyment of his life. And, mark, it is not
the unsuccessful man of business, who might naturally feel sore and
aggrieved, but the successful man, the man who has made a fortune and
prospered in his schemes, whom the Preacher describes as having lost
all faculty of enjoying his gains. Even the man who has wealth and
abundance, so that his soul lacketh nothing of all that he desireth,
is placed before us as the slave of unsatisfied desire and constant
apprehension. Both his hands are so full of labour that he cannot lay
hold on quiet. Though he loves silver so well, and has so much of it,
he is not satisfied therewith; his riches yield him no certain and
abiding delight. And how can he be in "happy plight" who is
"debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture him."
The sound sleep of humble contented labour is denied him. He is
haunted by perpetual apprehensions that "there is some ill a-brewing
to his rest," that evil in some dreaded shape will befall him. He
doubts "the filching age will steal his treasure." He knows that when
he is called hence he can carry away nothing in his hand; all his
gains must be left to his heir, who may either turn out a wanton fool
or be crushed and degraded by the burden and temptations of a wealth
for which he has not laboured. And hence, amid all his toils and
gains, even the most prosperous and successful man suspects that he
has been "labouring for the wind" and may reap the whirlwind: "he is
much perturbed, and hath vexation and grief."
_Is_ the picture overdrawn? Is not the description as true to modern
experience as to that of "the antique world"? Shakespeare, who is our
great English authority on the facts of human experience, thought it
quite as true. His Merchant of Venice has argosies on every sea; and
two of his friends, hearing him confess that sadness makes such a
want-wit of him that he has much ado to know himself, tell him that
his "mind is tossing on the ocean" with his ships. They proceed to
discuss the natural effects of having so many enterprises on hand. One
says--
"Believe me, Sir, had I such venture forth,
The better part of my affections would
Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Plucking the grass, to know where sits the wind;
Peering in maps for ports, and piers, and roads;
And every object that might make me fear
Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Would make me sad."
And the other adds--
"My wind, cooling my broth,
Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great at sea might do.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew, dock'd in sand,
Vailing her high-top lower than her ribs
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church
And see the holy edifice of stone,
And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks,
Which, touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all her spices in the stream;
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks:
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing? Shall I have the thought
To think on this; and shall I lack the thought
That such a thing bechanced would make me sad?"
"Abundance suffereth not the rich to sleep;" the thought that his
"riches may perish in some unlucky adventure" rings a perpetual alarum
in his ears: "all his days he eateth in darkness, and is much
perturbed, and hath vexation and grief." These are the words of the
Hebrew Preacher: are not our own great poet's words an expressive
commentary on them, an absolute confirmation of them, covering them
point by point? And shall we envy the wealthy merchant whose two hands
are thus "full of labour and vexation of spirit"? Is not "the
husbandman whose sleep is sweet, whether he eat little or much,"
better off than he? Nay, has not even the sluggard who, so long as he
hath meat, foldeth his hands in quiet, a truer enjoyment of his life?
Of course Coheleth does not mean to imply that every man of business
degenerates into a miserly sceptic, whose worship is a formulated
hypocrisy and whose life is haunted with saddening apprehensions of
misfortune. No doubt there were then, as there are now, many men of
business who were wise enough to "take pleasure in all their labours,"
to cast their burden of care on Him in whose care stand both to-morrow
and to-day; men to whom worship was a calming and strengthening
communion with the Father of their spirits, and who advanced, through
toil, to worthy or even noble ends. He means simply that these are the
perils to which all men of business are exposed, and into which they
fall so soon as their devotion to its affairs grows excessive. "Make
business, and success in business, your chief good, your ruling aim,
and you will come to think of your neighbours as selfish rivals; you
will begin to look askance on the lofty spiritual qualities which
refuse to bow to the yoke of Mammon; your worship will sink into an
insincere formalism; your life will be vexed and saddened with fears
which will strangle the very faculty of tranquil enjoyment:" this is
the warning of the Preacher; a warning of which our generation, in
such urgent sinful haste to be rich, stands in very special need.
2. But what checks, what correctives, what remedies, would the
Preacher have us apply to the diseased tendencies of the time? How
shall men of business save themselves from being absorbed in its
interests and affairs?
[Sidenote: _The Correctives of this Devotion are a Sense of its
Perils_; Ch. v., vv. 10-17.]
(_a_) Well, the very sense of the danger to which they are exposed--a
danger so insidious, so profound, so fatal--should surely induce
caution and a wary self-control. The symptoms of the disease are
described that we may judge whether or not we are infected by it; its
dreadful issues that, if infected, we may study a cure. The man who
loves riches is placed before us that we may learn what he is really
like--that he is not the careless happy being we often assume him to
be. We see him decline on the low bare levels of covetousness and
materialism, hypocrisy and fear; and, as we look, the Preacher turns
upon us with, "There, _that_ is the slave of Mammon in his habit as he
lives. Do you care to be like that? Will you break your heart unless
you are allowed to assume his heavy and degrading burden?"
[Sidenote: _And the Conviction that it is opposed to the Will of God
as expressed in the Ordinances of his Providence_, Ch. iii., vv. 1-8.]
This is one help to a wise content with our lot; but he has many more
at our service, and notably this,--that an undue devotion to the toils
of business is contrary to the will, the design, the providence of
God. God, he argues, has fixed a time for every undertaking under
heaven, and has made each of them beautiful in its season, but only
then. By his wise kindly ordinances He has sought to divert us from an
injurious excess in toil. Our sowing and our reaping, our time of rest
and our time for work, the time to save and the time to spend, the
time to gain and the time to lose,--all these, with all the
fluctuating feelings they excite in us: in short, our whole life, from
the cradle to the grave, is under, or should be under, law to Him. It
is only when we violate his gracious ordinances,--working when we
should be at rest, waking when we should sleep, saving when we should
spend, weeping over losses which are real gains, or laughing over
gains which will prove to be losses--that we run into excess, and
break up the peaceful order and tranquil flow of the life which He
designed for us.
[Sidenote: _In the Wrongs which He permits Men to inflict upon us_;
Ch. iii., v. 16-Ch. iv., v. 3.]
Because we will not be obsequious to the ordinances of his wisdom, He
permits us to meet a new check in the caprice and injustice of
man--making even these to praise Him by subserving our good. If we do
not suffer the violent oppressions which drew tears from the
Preacher's fellow-captives, we nevertheless stand very much at the
mercy of our neighbours in so far as our outward haps are concerned.
Unwise human laws or an unjust administration of them, or the selfish
rapacity of individual men--brokers who rig the market; bankers whose
long prayers are a pretence under cloak of which they rob widows and
orphans, and sometimes _make_ them; bankrupts for whose wounds the
Gazette has a singular power of healing, since they come out of it
"sounder" men than they went in: these are only some of the
instruments by which the labours of the diligent are shorn of their
due reward. And we are to take these checks as correctives, to find in
the losses which men inflict the gifts of a gracious God. He permits
us to suffer these and the like disasters lest our hearts should be
overmuch set on getting gain. He graciously permits us to suffer them
that, seeing how often the wicked thrive (in a way and for a time) on
the decay of the upright, we may learn that there is something better
than wealth, more enduring, more satisfying, and may seek that higher
good.
[Sidenote: _But above all, in the immortal Cravings which He has
quickened in the Soul._ Ch. iii., v. 11.]
Nay, going to the very root of the matter and expounding its whole
philosophy, the Preacher teaches us that wealth, however great and
greatly used, _cannot_ satisfy men, since God has "_put eternity into
their hearts_" as well as time: and how should all the kingdoms of a
world that must soon pass content those who are to live for ever?[39]
This saying, "God has put _eternity_ into their hearts," is one of the
most profound in the whole Book, and one of the most beautiful and
suggestive. What it means is that, even if a man would confine his
aims and desires within "the bounds and coasts of Time," he cannot do
it. The very structure of his nature forbids it. For time, with all
that it inherits, sweeps by him like a torrent, so that, if he would
secure any lasting good, he _must_ lay hold of that which is eternal.
We may well call this world, for all so solid as it looks, "a
perishing world;" for, like our own bodies, it is in a perpetual flux,
perishing every moment that it may live a little longer, and must
soon come to an end. But we, in our true selves, we who dwell inside
the body and use its members as the workman uses his tools, how can we
find a satisfying good whether in the body or in the world which is
akin to it? _We_ want a good as lasting as ourselves. Nothing short of
that can be our chief good, or inspire us with a true content.
[39] M. de Lamennais--the founder of the most religious school of
thinkers in modern France, from whom such men as Count Montalembert,
Pere Lacordaire, and Maurice Guerin, drew their earliest
inspiration--asks, "Do you know what it is that makes man the most
suffering of all creatures?" and replies, "It is that _he has one foot
in the finite and the other in the infinite, and that he is torn
asunder_, not by four horses, as in the horrible old times, but
_between two worlds_."
"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend:"
and we might as well think to build a stable habitation on the waves
which break upon the pebbled shore as to find an enduring good in the
sequent minutes which carry us down the stream of time. It is only
because we do not understand this "work of God" in putting eternity
into our hearts and therefore making it impossible for us to be
content with anything less than an eternal good; it is because,
plunged in the flesh and its cares and delights, we forget the
grandeur of our nature, and are tempted to sell our immortal
birthright for a mess of pottage which, however much we enjoy it
to-day, will leave us hungry to-morrow: it is only, I say, because we
fail to understand this work of God "from beginning to end," that we
ever delude ourselves with the hope of finding in ought the earth
yields a good in which we can rest.
[Sidenote: _Practical Maxims deduced from this View of the
Business-life._]
(_b_) A noble philosophy this, and pregnant with practical counsels of
great value. For if, as we close our study of this Section of the
Book, we ask, "What good advice does the Preacher offer that we can
take and act upon?" we shall find that he gives us at least three
serviceable maxims.
[Sidenote: _A Maxim on Co-operation._ Ch. iv., vv. 9-16.]
To all men of business conscious of their special dangers and anxious
to avoid them, he says, first: Replace the competition which springs
from your jealous and selfish rivalry, with the co-operation which is
born of sympathy and breeds goodwill. "Two are better than one. Union
is better than isolation. Conjoint labour has the greater reward."
Instead of seeking to take advantage of your neighbours, try to help
them. Instead of standing alone, associate with your fellows. Instead
of aiming at purely selfish ends, pursue your ends in common. Indeed
the wise Hebrew Preacher anticipates the golden rule to a remarkable
extent, and, in effect, bids us love our neighbour as ourself, look on
his things as well as our own, and do to all men as we would that they
should do to us.
[Sidenote: _A Maxim on Worship._ Ch. v., vv. 1-7.]
His second maxim is: Replace the formality of your worship with a
reverent and steadfast sincerity. Keep your foot when you go to the
House of God. Put obedience before sacrifice. Do not hurry on your
mouth to the utterance of words which transcend the desires of your
heart. Be not of those who
"words for virtue take,
As though mere wood a shrine would make."[40]
[40] Horace, _Ep._ 6, Lib. I:
"Virtutem verba putant, ut
Lucum ligna."
Do not come into the Temple with a pre-occupied spirit, a spirit
distracted with thoughts that travel different ways. Realise the
presence of the Great King, and speak to Him with the reverence due to
a King. Keep the vows you have made in his House after you have left
it. Seek and serve Him with all your hearts, and ye shall find rest to
your souls.
[Sidenote: _A Maxim on Trust in God._ Ch. v., vv. 8-17.]
And his last maxim is: Replace your grasping self-sufficiency with a
constant trust in the fatherly providence of God. If you see
oppression or suffer wrong, if your schemes are thwarted and your
enterprises fail, you need not therefore lose the quiet repose and
settled peace which spring from a sense of duty discharged and the
undisturbed possession of the main good of life. God is over all, and
rules all the undertakings of man, giving each its season and place,
and causing all to work together for the good of the loving and
trustful heart. Trust in Him, and you shall feel, even though you
cannot prove,
"That every cloud that spreads above,
And veileth love, itself is love."
Trust in Him, and you shall find that
"The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good,
The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill
And all good things from evil,"