Ecclesiastes

Ecclesiastes is one of the most enigmatical books in the Bible. So obscure is it that the most contradictory views have been taken by scholars of its drift and import. On the surface it appears to carry a meaning so much at variance with the general tenor of Holy Writ that from the earliest times there have been doubts as to whether it is entitled to a place in the canon of Scripture at all; and some have held that it was admitted, not because it is a portion of the divine wisdom, but for the purpose of demonstrating how far astray human wisdom may go, if left to itself. It contains not a few passages which sound like the confessions of a sceptic, who, seeing no divine hand in the arrangements of this world and recognising in man nothing which will not at death return to the dust, gives the advice, in the spirit of a sensuous epicureanism, to eat and drink and enjoy the present hour, taking no thought for the morrow. Its philosophy of life would thus be parallel with that of a little book which is said to be found in the kit of many a soldier in the present War, as it is said to be the favourite of the officers in the trenches of the enemy — The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam*

A patient study of the book, however, leads to the conviction that such notions are superficial, and that, though the opinions expressed in the book are peculiar, yet Ecclesiastes has a place of its own to fill as one of the component parts of the revealed mind of God. The problem with which it is occupied is one of the most momentous with which the human mind can deal, and the solution which it supplies is no less valuable than original. Ecclesiastes has, besides, very decidedly this mark of a genuine book of the Old Testament, that it points forward to the future and prepares the way for the full revelation of the truth as it is in Jesus.

In the book itself the author assumes two titles — the Preacher and the Son of David, King of Jerusalem. Why he calls himself the Preacher is not

* This comparison has been made in the commentary on Ecclesiastes in The Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges, by the late Dr. Plumptre, who has, besides, in the same volume, essays on Correspondences between Shakspeare and Ecclesiastes, based chiefly on the Sonnets, and between Tennyson and Ecclesiastes, based on The Vision of Sin, The Two Voices, and similar products of the late laureate’s muse. In Plumptre there was a streak of genius, which lifts his commentary above the average level; and he is deserving of special mention in a series like the present because of the abounding “humanism” in his work.

explained ;* but most probably he chose this name to express the consciousness of having a weighty message to deliver, to which it would be well worth the while of all to listen. As for the other title, any of the kings of Judah might have called himself the Son of David, King of Jerusalem, but the contents of the book plainly show that the name refers to David’s immediate son, King Solomon, the sad and splendid.

Solomon’s life began with the eager pursuit of wisdom, but subsequently degenerated into folly. In this book he is represented as an old man, who has left both of these periods behind and, reviewing his whole career and all he has seen of the world, gathers up the lessons of experience.

Thus the book seems to be a record of the wise king’s recovery to mental and spiritual sanity from the grievous errors into which for a time he had fallen. Many scholars, however, in modern times have supposed it to be the work of a poet of much later date, who, taking Solomon as the type of a man who had tried every variety of life, put into his mouth his own reflections on human existence. They allege that there are imperative reasons for this hypothesis in the language of the book and the condition of the times which it portrays. In-

* The word is Koheleth, which is puzzling as being a feminine; and the suggestion is rather attractive that perhaps Wisdom is to be understood.

deed, the author himself does not take the trouble to keep up the literary illusion; for he says, “I was king,” as if referring to something long past, whereas Solomon reigned to the end of his life, and he speaks of “all that were before me in Jerusalem,” as if he were one of a line that had reigned there, instead of being only second in the list. Even so conservative a critic as Delitzsch, after a detailed examination of the linguistic peculiarities, declares that, if the book could have been written in the age of Solomon, there is no history of the Hebrew language. The wrongs and oppressions of the times, which the writer exposes with scathing force, could not have belonged to a prosperous reign like that of Solomon, or at least a king like Solomon would not have acknowledged them.

It is well known how numerous at present are the proposals to alter the traditional view of the age of the books of the Bible, and how arbitrary these often are. But in the present case the reasons appear to be so much weightier than usual that it will be worth while to pause at this point and consider how the adoption of such a theory as to the date would affect our view of the book.

In poetry it is by no means unusual for the poet, instead of speaking in his own name, to put his reflections into the mouth of someone whose life has been a conspicuous illustration of the sentiments to which expression requires to be given.

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In Robert Browning’s works, for example, it is the rarest thing for the poet to say anything in his own name, his genius leading him to use almost invariably the literary device of speaking through the lips of some figure real or imaginary. But let us take a simpler example. In Scots, wha ha’e, the poet Burns gives to the sentiment of patriotism powerful and perfect expression; he does this, however, not in his own name, but in the form of an address supposed to be delivered by Bruce to his army on the field of Bannockburn. Bruce delivered no such address; but, had he done so, this must have been its drift. The ideas to which the poem gives expression gain immensely in impressiveness through being put in this artistic form; and none would think of objecting to the procedure of the poet, as if it were a deception.

Now, Ecclesiastes is a poem; and there is no reason for denying to the poets of the Bible the use of the same literary forms as are employed by poets in general. It would, therefore, in no degree derogate from the dignity or authority of the work in the present case, if we were to assume that the writer was not Solomon, but a poet of a later age who, brooding on the mystery of human life, chose as the mouthpiece for his reflections one whose knowledge of life was proverbial and on whose history he had profoundly meditated. The book reveals with perfect truthfulness how Solomon, at the end of his strangely chequered career, must have thought about life; here we have the essence of his wisdom and experience, whether the words are his or not. It may, therefore, safely be left to experts to discover, if it be in their power, the exact date of the composition and the situation of the author, while the rest of us are content to take home to mind and heart the divine message clothed in this poetic form.

II

The question raised in Ecclesiastes is this, What can make man truly happy? what ought he to pursue in this brief life? what is that which, if gained, makes life a success but, if missed, makes it a failure?

Surely this is a great question. Is it not the very greatest? Is it not the one which all human beings are asking all the time? What are men doing between the cradle and the grave but trying to find out what there is for which it is worth while to toil and to suffer — that is, what can make them really happy?

Looking back on his own life, Solomon declares that he has tried all the ways of it, but that his verdict on them is, “All is vanity and vexation of spirit.” Men are toiling to find the secret; the whole world is in a state of unrest; like the winds that never lie still, like the rivers always flowing

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but never filling the sea, like the sun returning to perform the same changeless circuit every day, so the restless human heart is forever occupied with this quest. Men are always persuading themselves that they are just on the point of discovery, and that they have found a new way of it; but this is merely illusion; because in every age it is the same toilsome, painful, bootless pursuit:

“The thing that hath been is that which shall be, and that which is done is that which shall be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.”*

The first experiment in living tried by Solomon was the pursuit of wisdom:

“I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven. I applied my heart to know and to search and to seek out wisdom and the reason of things,”

He acknowledges that this was the noblest and the least unsatisfactory of all his ventures. And yet it did not satisfy:

“This also is vexation of spirit; for in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” f

* i. 9. t i. 13; i. 18; vii. 25; xii. 12.

The human mind soon reaches the boundary of its knowledge; and, the ampler the outer rim of the circle of knowledge, the larger becomes the inner rim of the realm of conscious ignorance lying beyond it. The further the mind penetrates into the region of speculation, the more numerous are the contradictions which it encounters and cannot reconcile.

Your speculative wretch Is like a beast upon a barren waste, Round, ever round, by an ill spirit chased,

Whilst all about him fair green pastures stretch.

Solomon’s second venture, after he had tired of knowledge, was pleasure. None can have such ample opportunities of testing what luxury can do to satisfy the soul as one who has at his command the resources of a kingdom:

“What can the man do who cometh after
the king?”

“I sought in mine heart to give myself unto wine and to lay hold on folly, that I might see what was that good for the sons of men which they should do under the heaven all the days of their life. I made me great works, I builded me houses, I planted me vineyards. I made me gardens and orchards, and planted trees in them of all kinds of fruits. I got me servants and maidens and had servants born in my house; also I had great possession of great and small cattle, above all that were in Jerusalem before me. I gathered me also silver and gold and the peculiar treasure of kings and of the provinces. I got me men-singers and women-singers, and the delights of the sons of men, as musical instruments and that of all sorts. Whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept not from them; I withheld not my heart from any joy.”*

What a description of the dissipations of the splendid king! But what was the upshot? Did he feel his heart satisfied with these glittering sights and enchanting sounds? Here is the verdict:

“I looked on all the works that mine hands had wrought and on the labour that I had laboured to do; and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun.”f

This experiment has been tried thousands of times, and always with the same result. Among the wretched the case of none is so desperate as the situation of the sated voluptuary. The soul is too fine to be satisfied with these appeals to the senses. The senses themselves get cloyed with repletion. The edge of the taste becomes blunted, and stronger and stronger applications are needed, till the soul loathes itself. Nowhere is there less of real enjoyment than in what are called the haunts of pleasure,

* ii. 3-8. t ii. 1-12; iv. 3.

whether these be the drawing-rooms in which people of fashion turn night into day in the effort to forget themselves or the gayer scenes of dissipation in the capitals of the world. A Heine, on his mattressgrave, after wearing out his physical powers with indulgence, or a Byron, after disguising yet parading his own dissipations under the masks of his various heroes, would have uttered the oft-repeated maxim of this book with a grim bitterness which even the author could not command, and cried, “All is vanity and vexation of spirit.”

These were the two grand experiments tried by Solomon in person; but, looking abroad over society, he saw multitudes trying a third — namely, money. The Preacher disdains to say that he had tried this himself; but he had seen others absorbed in this pursuit, and he gives the results of his observation.

He saw one who was alone: he had neither child nor brother nor wife: yet there was no end to his labour, neither did he say, “For whom do I labour and bereave my soul of good?” He saw another, who toiled all his life long with prudence and justice, and accumulated abundant wealth; but he left it to a fool and an idler, who could not take care of his inheritance and loved not the man by whom it was bequeathed to him. He saw that often riches take to themselves wings and fly away, and he who has spent his time in gathering them dies as poor as he was born. He saw men with

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riches in their hands and yet unable to get any good out of them. The millionaire tosses on his couch within embroidered curtains, whilst the labouring man enjoys the sweetest sleep. The one has no appetite amidst a hundred dainties, whilst the other eats with relish the homeliest fare, seasoned with the salt of hunger. An object the enjoyment of which is thus imperilled by a hundred accidents cannot surely be the secret of life.*

This, however, is an experiment which multitudes are still trying. To millions money is the one object of regard. But how many does it make happy? In the haunts of the business- world, where the competition for wealth is keenest, do the faces and the movements of the votaries indicate that they have succeeded in the aspiration which is at the bottom of their hearts? Many a man there would confess that increase of wealth has only brought him increase of care. It has spoiled the simple joys of existence, and, with a superabundance of means for buying pleasure, he tastes little or none of it. His confession of the truth to himself is a repetition of the story of Midas, the miser king of ancient legend, who asked from the gods that whatever he touched might turn into gold. The stones he touched were straightway transmuted into the precious metal, and the ground he trod on became golden. So did, however, likewise the food he was going to eat,

* iv. 12; v. 12-17 £v** I-9* so that the ore stuck between his teeth. So did the curls on the head of his child, so that when his lips touched her face, they were pressing not against warm, responsive flesh, but against hardness and cold. The language of mankind has this truth engrained in its very texture. We call one whose mind is absorbed in money “a miser.” And what is a miser? The word simply means a miserable man, a wretched person. This cannot be the way to the well of life; it is only one of the paths leading to vanity and vexation of spirit.

Such are the unsatisfactory answers to the great question raised in this book. But, now, what is the correct answer?

It is a rather surprising one. But it is repeated again and again all through the book; so that there can be no mistake about it. Here it is:

“There is nothing better for a man than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour.”

Here it is again in a somewhat fuller form:

“Behold that which I have seen! It is good and comely for one to eat and to drink and to enjoy the good of all his labour that he taketh under the sun all the days of his life which God giveth him; for it is his portion.

Every man also to whom God hath given riches and wealth, and hath given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion and to rejoice in his labour; this is the gift of God.”

Again:

“Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart; for God now accepteth thy work. Let thy garments be always white, and let thy head lack no ointment. Live joyfully with the wife that thou lovest all the days of the life of thy vanity; for this is thy portion in this life and in thy labour that thou takest under the sun.”*

What do these sentences mean? do they not recommend the very pursuit of pleasure which the Preacher has been denouncing? At first sight they appear to do so; but, when closely scrutinised, they are seen to mean something widely different.

The pursuit of pleasure, in the evil sense, is inconsistent with steady toil; but, in every one of the definitions, just quoted, of the pleasure which the author is recommending, “labour” is mentioned as the price with which it is purchased. Idleness is denounced everywhere in the book and honest industry applauded:

“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” f

* ii. 24; v. 18-20; ix. 7-9. t ix. 10.

Again, the pursuit of pleasure, in the evil sense, is inconsistent with thoughts of God. The votary of pleasure does all he can to forget his Creator; but the pleasures here recommended are received as the gifts of God, and the sense of God’s presence is to regulate the enjoyment of them :*

“Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart and in the sight of thine eyes; but know, that for all these things God shall bring thee into judgment.” f

This does not mean that the judgment is something to terrify us from enjoyment, but that no pleasure is genuine the sweetness of which is not enhanced by the sense that God sees us partaking of His gifts. Indeed, in this book, religion is spoken of as itself the prime pleasure of life and an ingredient in all true enjoyment; and in a well-known passage the young are exhorted to remember their Creator in the days of their youth, before old age with its frailties sets in. It is as if the Preacher said, The full sweetness of religion cannot be tasted unless it be enjoyed whilst the faculties of enjoyment are still in their prime.t

* Always Elohim, the universal, never Jehovah, the national God. t xi. 9.

X In Appendix B, p. 228, will be found an ampler statement of the philosophy of this book, in the shape of an exposition of the first verses of the last chapter, the aim being to show how to use such learning as an evangelistic weapon.

In short, the meaning of the writer is plain enough, if two distinctions be borne in mind. Of these the first is the difference between pleasure pursued as an end in itself and pleasure enjoyed as the natural outcome of honest and well directed industry. This writer teache6 that God rules over every human life and appoints what is to go into every cup. Only wait patiently, and you will get your own share. It is not necessary to pursue pleasure: if you be only in the way, doing your duty, it will come to you of its own accord. There may be such a thing as the farmer sowing and never reaping; but this is quite exceptional. Be in your place and at your post, sowing the seed of life in its season, and the harvest of pleasure will grow in due time.

The other distinction is that between natural and artificial pleasure. The real pleasures of life are simple. What enjoyment, manufactured by art, is comparable to a sound sleep? Yet every labouring man enjoys this every four- and- twenty hours. With all his striving how little it is that anyone can obtain. He cannot eat more than one meal at a time; he cannot at the same time wear more than one suit of clothes; and nature is bountiful enough to supply as much as this to all. Why do men envy one another and trample on one another in their eagerness to attain the enjoyments of life? There is enough for all, if men were not so keen for pleasure that, in their haste, they upset the vessel in which it is contained.

Such is the doctrine of this book and its answer to the question how to be happy. Happiness is not to be found by eagerly and selfishly pursuing it; but it comes simply and naturally to those who are doing their duty and walking in God’s way.*

Between the vain attempts at the solution of the riddle of existence and the true solution, however, there come in elements of considerable extent, embodying criticism of life, not a little of which is so pungent that the author has by some been reckoned among the sceptics. But the presence of these exposures of the seamy side of things has the same artistic purpose as in chiaroscuro the massing of dark pigments for the purpose of throwing into relief the figures in the picture on which the light is intended to fall. The facility and felicity with which the author extricates himself from these dark

The philosophical sects of Greece, Stoics and Epicureans, occupied themselves with the same problem, and there are not a few resemblances between their favourite ideas and illustrations and those of the Ecclesiast. On this account the latter has been supposed by some to have copied these thinkers. Plumptre was among those who adopted this view, which deeply colours his exposition; but the late Professor A. B. Davidson, in the article on Ecclesiastes in Book by Book, says: “Nothing could be more inept than to look upon Ecclesiastes as reflecting the ideas of Greek philosophy, whether Stoical or Epicurean. The coincidences of phraseology are merely literary, not technical. Nor can the terms Stoic or Epicurean be applied to him in their proper sense.... The work is a genuine product of the Hebrew Wisdom.”

entanglements, in order to state again and again what is the message of his book, afford conclusive proof that he is no pessimist, but a consistent and victorious optimist.

IV

In this wisdom of the Ecclesiast there are tones which call to mind a far greater Preacher. Jesus also rebuked the eager striving and anxiety of men to find happiness. “Take no thought for to-morrow,” He said; “your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” If God feeds the ravens and adorns the lilies, how much more will He clothe you, O ye of little faith!

It is true that Christ taught sacrifice and self-denial; but this was never the whole of His message. The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and His critics, contrasting Him in this respect unfavourably with the Baptist, called Him a gluttonous man and a winebibber. The first word of His preaching was “Blessed,” and the name given by Himself to His doctrine as a whole was “the Glad Tidings.” Christianity is not correctly defined as a life of suffering and self-denial in this world, by which a life of enjoyment is to be purchased in the world to come. Even in this world it affords a life of pleasure, pure, simple and natural. Godliness has the promise of the life which now is as well as of that which is to come.

At a time when great movements are being set agoing, in the name of Christianity, for the uplifting of the condition of the people, and everybody who is anybody has in his head a scheme of social regeneration, it is not out of place to emphasise this truth. With movements for the better housing of the poor, the procuring of higher wages for the underpaid, the shortening of the hours of labour, and the brightening of the homes of the multitude by means of art and knowledge, every Christian ought to be in sympathy, and the authority of Christ can be appealed to on behalf of such efforts. But not in these things lies the secret of Jesus Christ. “The Kingdom of God is not meat and drink, but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost.” It has never been by bread alone that men have lived the life which is life indeed. The secret of Jesus does not need to be discovered in the twentieth century: it has always been known. In the first century it was known to tens of thousands of slaves, who were made blessed by it, though still under the yoke. In last century it was known to Scottish weavers, Welsh quarrymen and English peasants, who, in spite of means far too straitened, had their homes brightened and their characters glorified by its influence. The deformed, the incurable, the agonised, the dying have in myriads

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of cases in every age been made happy by it. In our own day, in the poorest streets of our cities, it makes the homes of true Christians to differ as much from the homes of the drunken and reckless as lilies do from thorns. It is not by the manipulation of their circumstances from the outside that the lapsed multitudes are to be regenerated. True happiness is a well springing up within the soul. It is a life hid with Christ in God.*

Professor A. B. Davidson, in the article quoted above, suggests another way in which Ecclesiastes foreshadows Christ: “The Preacher prepares for Christianity by showing the need of it. He is a voice crying in the night. His cry may justly be called prophetic. The life and immortality brought to light in the Gospel would have changed his ’ vanity of vanities ’ into an activity of gladness. When Christ said, ‘God is spirit, and they that worship must worship Him in spirit,’ He not only stated a necessity, He gave a definition. Religion is fellowship with God in spirit,”