Every man will readily enough confess, that his own condition discontents him; and that he has not yet been able, with all his labour, to make happiness, or, with all his enquiries, to find it.2 But he still thinks, it is some where to be found, or by some means to be procured. His envy sometimes persuades him to imagine, that others possess it; and his ambition points the way, by which he supposes, that he shall reach, at last, the station to which it is annexed. Every one wants something to happiness,3 and when he has gained what he first wanted, he wants something else; he wears out life in efforts and pursuits, and perhaps dies, regretting that he must leave the world, when he is about to enjoy it.

So great is our interest, or so great we think it, to believe ourselves able to procure our own happiness, that experience never convinces us of our impotence; and indeed our miscarriages might be reasonably enough imputed by us, to our own unskilfulness, or ignorance; if we were able to derive intelligence, from no experience but our own. But surely we may be content to credit the general voice of mankind, complaining incessantly of general infelicity; and when we see the restlessness of the young, and the peevishness of the old; when we find the daring and the active combating misery, and the calm and humble lamenting it; when the vigorous are exhausting themselves, in struggles with their own condition, and the old and the wise retiring from the contest, in weariness and despondency; we may be content at last to conclude, that if happiness had been to be found, some would have found it, and that it is vain to search longer for what all have missed.

But though our obstinacy should hold out, against common experience and common authority, it might at least give way to the declaration of Solomon,4 who has left this testimony to succeeding ages; that all human pursuits and labours, are vanity. From the like conclusion made by other men, we may escape; by considering, that their experience was small, and their power narrow; that they pronounced with confidence upon that, which they could not know; and that many pleasures might be above their reach, and many more beyond their observation; they may be considered, as uttering the dictates of discontent, rather than persuasion; and as speaking not so much of the general state of things, as of their own share, and their own situation.

But the character of Solomon leaves no room for subterfuge; he did not judge of what he did not know. He had in his possession, whatever power and riches, and, what is still more, whatever wisdom and knowledge could confer. As he understood the vegetable creation, from the cedar of Libanus, to the hysop on the wall;5 so there is no doubt, but he had taken a survey of all the gradations of human life, from the throne of the prince, to the shepherd’s cottage. He had in his hand, all the instruments of happiness, and in his mind, the skill to apply them. Every power of delight which others possessed, he had authority to summon, or wealth to purchase; all that royal prosperity could supply, was accumulated upon him; at home he had peace, and in foreign countries he had honour; what every nation could supply, was poured down before him. If power be grateful, he was a king; if there be pleasure in knowledge, he was the wisest of mankind; if wealth can purchase happiness, he had so much gold, that silver was little regarded.6 Over all these advantages, presided a mind, in the highest degree disposed to magnificence and voluptuousness; so eager in pursuit of gratification, that alas! after every other price had been bid for happiness, religion and virtue were brought to the sale. But after the anxiety of his enquiries, the weariness of his labours, and the loss of his innocence, he obtained only this conclusion: “I have seen all the works that are done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.”

That this result of Solomon’s experience thus solemnly bequeathed by him to all generations, may not be transmitted to us without its proper use; let us diligently consider,

First, in what sense we are to understand, that all is vanity.

Secondly, how far the conviction, that all is vanity, ought to influence the conduct of life.

Thirdly, what consequences the serious and religious mind may deduce from the position, that all is vanity.

When we examine first, in what sense we are to understand, that all is vanity; we must remember, that the Preacher is not speaking of religious practices, or of any actions immediately commanded by God, or directly referred to him; but of such employments as we pursue by choice, and such works as we perform, in hopes of a recompense in the present life; such as flatter the imagination with pleasing scenes, and probable increase of temporal felicity; of this he determines that all is vanity, and every hour confirms his determination.

The event of all human endeavours is uncertain. He that plants, may gather no fruit; he that sows, may reap no harvest. Even the most simple operations are liable to miscarriage, from causes which we cannot foresee; and if we could foresee them, cannot prevent. What can be more vain, than the confidence of man, when the annual provision made for the support of life is not only exposed to the uncertainty of the weather, and the variation of the sky, but lies at the mercy of the reptiles of the earth, or the insects of the air? The rain and the wind, he cannot command; the caterpillar he cannot destroy, and the locust he cannot drive away.7

But these effects, which require only the concurrence of natural causes, though they depend little upon human power, are yet made by Providence regular and certain, in comparison with those extensive and complicated undertakings, which must be brought to pass by the agency of man, and which require the union of many understandings, and the co-operation of many hands. The history of mankind is little else than a narrative of designs which have failed, and hopes that have been disappointed. In all matters of emulation and contest, the success of one implies the defeat of another, and at least half the transaction terminates in misery. And in designs not directly contrary to the interest of another, and therefore not opposed either by artifice or violence, it frequently happens, that by negligence or mistake, or unseasonable officiousness, a very hopeful project is brought to nothing.

To find examples of disappointment and uncertainty, we need not raise our thoughts to the interests of nations, nor follow the warriour to the field, or the statesman to the council. The little transactions of private families are entangled with perplexities; and the hourly occurrences of common life are filling the world with discontent and complaint. Every man hopes for kindness from his friends, diligence from his servants, and obedience from his children; yet friends are often unfaithful, servants negligent, and children rebellious. Human wisdom has, indeed, exhausted its power, in giving rules for the conduct of life; but those rules are themselves but vanities. They are difficult to be observed, and though observed, are uncertain in the effect.

The labours of man are not only uncertain, but imperfect. If we perform what we designed, we yet do not obtain what we expected. What appeared great when we desired it, seems little when it is attained; the wish is still unsatisfied, and something always remains behind, without which, the gratification is incomplete. He that rises to greatness, finds himself in danger; he that obtains riches, perceives that he cannot gain esteem. He that is caressed, sees interest lurking under kindness; and he that hears his own praises, suspects that he is flattered. Discontent and doubt are always pursuing us. Our endeavours end without performance, and performance ends without satisfaction.

But since this uncertainty and imperfection is the lot which our Creatour has appointed for us, we are to enquire,

Secondly, how far the conviction, that all is vanity, ought to influence the conduct of life.

Human actions may be distinguished into various classes. Some are actions of duty, which can never be vain, because God will reward them. Yet these actions, considered as terminating in this world, will often produce vexation. It is our duty to admonish the vicious, to instruct the ignorant, and relieve the poor; and our admonitions will, sometimes, produce anger, instead of amendment; our instructions will be sometimes bestowed upon the perverse, the stupid, and the inattentive; and our charity will be sometimes misapplied, by those that receive it, and, instead of feeding the hungry, will pamper the intemperate; but these disappointments do not make good actions vain, though they show us, how much all success depends upon causes, on which we have no influence.

There are likewise actions of necessity; these are often vain and vexatious; but such is the order of the world, that they cannot be omitted. He that will eat bread, must plow and sow; though it is not certain, that he who plows and sows shall eat bread. It is appointed, that life should be sustained by labour; and we must not sink down in sullen idleness, when our industry is permitted to miscarry. We shall often have occasion to remember the sentence, denounced by the Preacher, upon all that is done under the sun; but we must still prosecute our business, confess our imbecillity, and turn our eyes upon him, whose mercy is over all his works,8 and who, though he humbles our pride, will succour our necessities.

Works of absolute necessity, are few and simple; a very great part of human diligence is laid out, in accommodations of ease, or refinements of pleasure; and the further we pass beyond the boundaries of necessity, the more we lose ourselves in the regions of vanity, and the more we expose ourselves to vexation of spirit. As we extend our pleasures, we multiply our wants. The pain of hunger is easily appeased, but to surmount the disgust of appetite vitiated by indulgence, all the arts of luxury are required, and all are often vain. When to the enjoyments of sense, are superadded the delights of fancy, we form a scheme of happiness that never can be complete, for we can always imagine more than we possess. All social pleasures put us more or less in the power of others, who sometimes cannot, and sometimes will not, please us. Conversations of argument often end in bitterness of controversy, and conversations of mirth, in petulance and folly. Friendship is violated by interest, or broken by passion, and benevolence finds its kindness bestowed on the worthless and ungrateful.

But most certain is the disappointment of him, who places his happiness in comparative good, and considers, not what he himself wants, but what others have. The delight of eminence must, by its own nature, be rare, because he that is eminent, must have many below him, and therefore if we suppose such desires general, as very general they are, the happiness of a few must arise from the misery of many.9 He that places his delight in the extent of his renown, is, in some degree, at the mercy of every tongue; not only malevolence, but indifference, may disturb him; and he may be pained, not only by those who speak ill but by those likewise that say nothing.

As every engine of artificial motion, as it consists of more parts, is in more danger of deficience and disorder; so every effect, as it requires the agency of greater numbers, is more likely to fail. Yet what pleasure is granted to man, beyond the gross gratifications of sense, common to him with other animals, that does not demand the help of others, and the help of greater numbers, as the pleasure is sublimated and enlarged? And since such is the constitution of things, that whatever can give pleasure, can likewise cause uneasiness, there is little hope that uneasiness will be long escaped. Of them, whose offices are necessary to felicity, some will be perverse, and some will be unskilful; some will negligently with-hold their contributions, and some will enviously with-draw them. The various and opposite directions of the human mind, which divide men into so many different occupations, keep all the inhabitants of the earth perpetually busy; but when it is considered, that the business of every man is to counteract the purpose of some other man, it will appear, that universal activity cannot contribute much to universal happiness. Of those that contend, one must necessarily be overcome, and he that prevails, never has his labour rewarded to his wish, but finds, that he has been contending for that which cannot satisfy, and engaged in a contest where even victory is vanity.

What then is the influence which the conviction of this unwelcome truth ought to have upon our conduct? It ought to teach us humility, patience, and diffidence. When we consider how little we know of the distant consequences of our own actions, how little the greatest personal qualities can protect us from misfortune, how much all our importance depends upon the favour of others, how uncertainly that favour is bestowed, and how easily it is lost, we shall find, that we have very little reason to be proud. That which is most apt to elate the thoughts, height of place, and greatness of power,1 is the gift of others. No man can, by any natural or intrinsick faculties, maintain himself in a state of superiority; he is exalted to his place, whatever it be, by the concurrence of those, who are for a time content to be counted his inferiours, he has no authority in himself; he is only able to controul some, by the help of others. If dependence be a state of humiliation, every man has reason to be humble, for every man is dependent.

But however unpleasing these considerations may be, however unequal our condition is to all our wishes or conceptions, we are not to admit impatience into our bosoms, or encrease the evils of life, by vain throbs of discontent. To live in a world where all is vanity, has been decreed by our Creatour to be the lot of man, a lot which we cannot alter by murmuring, but may soften by submission.

The consideration of the vanity of all human purposes and projects, deeply impressed upon the mind, necessarily produces that diffidence in all worldly good, which is necessary to the regulation of our passions, and the security of our innocence. In a smooth course of prosperity, an unobstructed progression from wish to wish, while the success of one design facilitates another, and the opening prospect of life shews pleasures at a distance, to conclude that the passage will be always clear, and that the delights which solicit from far, will, when they are attained, fill the soul with enjoyments, must necessarily produce violent desires, and eager pursuits, contempt of those that are behind, and malignity to those that are before. But the full persuasion that all earthly good is uncertain in the attainment, and unstable in the possession, and the frequent recollection of the slender supports on which we rest, and the dangers which are always hanging over us, will dictate inoffensive modesty, and mild benevolence. He does not rashly treat another with contempt, who doubts the duration of his own superiority: he will not refuse assistance to the distressed, who supposes that he may quickly need it himself. He that considers how imperfectly human wisdom can judge of that, which has not been tried, will seldom think any possibilities of advantage worthy of vehement desire. As his hopes are moderate, his endeavours will be calm. He will not fix his fond hopes upon things which he knows to be vanity, but will enjoy this world, as one who knows that he does not possess it: and that this is the disposition, which becomes our condition, will appear, when we consider,

Thirdly, what consequences the serious and religious mind may draw from the position, that all is vanity.

When the present state of man is considered, when an estimate is made of his hopes, his pleasures, and his possessions; when his hopes appear to be deceitful, his labours ineffectual, his pleasures unsatisfactory, and his possessions fugitive, it is natural to wish for an abiding city,2 for a state more constant and permanent, of which the objects may be more proportioned to our wishes, and the enjoyments to our capacities; and from this wish it is reasonable to infer, that such a state is designed for us by that infinite wisdom, which, as it does nothing in vain, has not created minds with comprehensions never to be filled. When revelation is consulted, it appears that such a state is really promised, and that, by the contempt of worldly pleasures, it is to be obtained. We then find, that instead of lamenting the imperfection of earthly things, we have reason to pour out thanks to him who orders all for our good, that he has made the world, such as often deceives, and often afflicts us; that the charms of interest are not such, as our frailty is unable to resist, but that we have such interruptions of our pursuits, and such languour in our enjoyments, such pains of body and anxieties of mind, as repress desire, and weaken temptation: and happy will it be, if we follow the gracious directions of Providence, and determine, that no degree of earthly felicity shall be purchased with a crime: if we resolve no longer to bear the chains of sin, to employ all our endeavours upon transitory and imperfect pleasures, or to divide our thoughts between the world and heaven; but to bid farewell to sublunary vanities, to endure no longer an unprofitable vexation of spirit, but with pure heart and steady faith to “fear God, and to keep his commandments, and remember that this is the whole of man.”3