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
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