IV

WISE OVERMUCH

Neither make thyself overwise: why shouldest thou destroy thyself?-ECCLESIASTES Vii. 16.

IN last sermon we saw how the author of Ecclesiastes applied the doctrine of the mean, of moderation as the secret of life, to religion, and reached the conclusion that it was best for a man to steer a middle course, and not be either over-righteous or overwicked. We saw what truth there was in the advice as satire on formal religion; and we saw its inherent falseness when contrasted with our Lord's pronouncement, "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness."

Here the same doctrine of moderation is extended to the intellectual sphere that the safest course is to avoid extremes here also and to do nothing in excess. As the prudent man will not pain himself by vain efforts after perfect moral excellence but will be content to be moderately righteous and will not seek to pitch his principles to too high a tone; so also

in matters of intellect the prudent man will not shorten his days with too eager speculation and too deep thought. He knows that wisdom is good, and that it is a terrible thing to be a fool, but it is almost as bad to be too wise. The worldly-wise man is not concerned with insoluble problems, and life is full of such problems. He is more concerned about practical things, and he sees that what pays best is practical good sense, and knowledge of life, and skill in affairs. He carefully avoids touching the mysteries, and infinities, and immensities, that surround human life. He feels that such knowledge is too high for him; and besides, that is not the gate to success in the world. As in the question of holiness he shrinks from being infected by the malady of the ideal, so in the question of wisdom, he knows his limitations and will not aim at the stars. 'Be not righteous overmuch, neither make thyself overwise; why shouldest thou destroy thyself?"

The truth of this advice from his own point of view is seen more clearly if we translate the word "destroy" a little more fully. The primary idea of the word is that of silence, being put to silence, and thus it came to mean to be laid waste, or destroyed. But the root meaning is to be made desolate, solitary, and was sometimes used of a lonely

solitary way. So that the question of the writer might be put, Why make thyself solitary? Why isolate thyself? If you are too good, people will turn from you, and call you a fanatic. If you are too wise, people will call you a bore. In any case you only make yourself unhappy. The exceptional always isolates. This is true on both sides, both of too high and too low, and explains why our author should in the same breath counsel his readers against being wicked overmuch and against being too much of a fool. Exceptional goodness or wickedness repels. Not many can breathe the rarefied air of the pit. Not many can have sympathy with the transcendental thinker, and nobody can have patience with a perfect fool with no ideas at all. The successful man is the man versed in the details of life, who knows his way about, who is not too much burdened either with overfine principles or with thin-spun notions; and yet who is both honest and capable. That is the sort of man everybody trusts, the shrewd, prudent, unimaginative, unimpulsive man of affairs, of good principles and clear brain, and yet not an enthusiast either for holiness or for new ideas. Ecclesiastes warns people off from the dangerous ground of the ideal. Why put others out of sympathy with you? he asks. The ordinary man of the

street cannot see your far-away visions of truth or beauty or holiness. If you speak to him of them he will not understand, and will only shrug his shoulders and pass on. The thinker is lonely.

Besides, too much thought unfits you for the ordinary happiness and comfort of life. Confine yourself to the practicable. Man with his limitations can only get a certain length in all his investigations, when he is brought up against an impassable wall. He is baffled in every effort to know more. Like a bird in a cage, he only breaks his own wings with fluttering against the bars. All speculations end in mystery. All knowledge carried far enough up lands in deep darkness. Truth is elusive and only mocks the eager searcher. You scorn delights and live laborious days to find in the end-nothing.

He who speaks thus knows; for he has tried. In his youth he too had dreamed of climbing the heights of truth. "I gave my heart to know wisdom. I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit [rather "pursuit of wind "]. For in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow."

How pitifully true this is can be seen in the whole history of human thought. Every line on the page is traced in blood. Here too it seems the law of life

that in the sweat of brow shall man eat his bread. In loneliness, in sickness of heart, in despair of the unknown, has every inch of ground been gained for the mind of man. The martyrs of truth are more than are to be found in any Church's hagiology. Only the shallow mind can be satisfied with what it knows, and can imagine that it amounts to very much. Only the trifler with truth can shut his eyes to the infinite mystery that enfolds every subject of knowledge. Why, then, not give up the fruitless quest, and the vain soaring into the empyrean, which ends only in "pursuit of wind"? Stick to the regions which are more accessible. Some things are unknowable: do not fret your soul over them, but confine yourself to what can be ascertained and understood. Let your speculations and questionings and problems alone. There is much force, and a strong appeal to our modern temper of mind, in the advice of our text, "Make not thyself overwise."

Further, there is justification for it even from a moral point of view. As the temptation of the overrighteous is censoriousness and self-satisfaction; so the temptation of the overwise is what St. Paul calls the vainly puffed-up mind, a besotted conceit and pride, as if wisdom will die with them, and