Worldliness in Christian preaching highlights the danger of valuing earthly appearances, possessions, and pleasures above spiritual truth and godly character (1 John 2:15-17). Illustrations often use images of emptiness, entrapment, and contamination to show how worldly pursuits choke spiritual life and limit vision, urging believers to seek lasting faithfulness and freedom in Christ (Romans 12:2).
A dying father warns his daughter about the emptiness of worldly pleasures after death.
A Parisian gentleman who had educated his daughter Ninon for the gay world, on his death-bed, thus addressed her, "Draw near, Ninon: you see that nothing more remains for me than the sad remembrance of those enjoyments which I am about to quit forever. But, alas! my regrets are as useless as vain: you, who will survive me, must make the best of your precious time."
Greed makes a man never content, always desiring more wealth endlessly.
"When I was a lad," says one, "an old gentleman took some trouble to teach me a little knowledge of the world. With this view, I remember, he once asked me when a man was rich enough. I replied, 'When he has a thousand dollars.' He said, 'No.'—'Two thousand?'—'No.'—'Ten thousand?'—'No.'—'Twenty thousand?'—'No.'—'A hundred thousand?' which I thought would settle the business; but, he still continuing to say 'No,' I gave it up, and confessed I could not tell, but begged he would inform me. He gravely said, 'When he has a little more than he has got; and that is never. If he acquires one thousand, he wishes to have two thousand, then five, then twenty, then fifty; from that his riches might amount to a hundred thousand, and so on, till he has grasped the whole world; after which, he would look about him, like Alexander, for other worlds to possess.'"
Money can make people accept unsuitable marriages, showing its corrupting power.
Give him gold enough, and marry him to a puppet, or an aglet-baby, or an old trot, with ne'er a tooth in her head, though she have as many diseases as two and fifty horses; why, nothing comes amiss, so money comes withal. Shakespeare.
Money is unstable and fleeting, like leaves blown by the wind, not truly valuable.
Learn in youth to withstand the fascination of money, and not to contemplate it with pleasure or appetence, as if it were some excellent and precious thing. It is, in fact, glittering earth, and nothing more. Unstable and fugitive, it flits from one to another, and is like the withered leaves which the wind drives to and fro, and collects here in one heap, there in another. I know not whether there exists such a thing as a coin stamped with a pair of pinions; but I wish this were the device which monarchs put upon their dollars and ducats, to show that riches make to themselves wings, and fly away.
— Gothold
Abundance in life can breed spiritual weeds, reducing righteousness despite worldly wealth.
In our fields, abundance of wet breeds abundance of weeds, and, consequently, great scarcity of corn. And is it not so with our souls? The more of God's blessings and wealth, the more weeds of carnality and vanity; and the more rich to the world, the less righteous to God commonly. Spencer.
Beautiful flowers and pots remind us that worldly glory is temporary and returns to earth.
As he was walking in a garden, Gotthold saw a collection of flowers, planted in beautifully painted and ornamented pots, and shown off upon a lofty stage; and he thought with himself, "Even these flowers are daughters of the earth: by earth they live, and to earth they shall be turned. Of earth, too, are formed, and with earth are filled, the gaudy pots in which they grow. Wait but a little, and, of all the showy flowers which figure on that lofty stage, there will be no more to say than of the humble violet that creeps upon the ground, and fades in the month of March. Paint such a flower-pot, and inscribe it with the motto, — 'We fade like other flowers; earth, and nothing more,' — and you will have an appropriate emblem of worldly greatness and glory."
Royal honors are unstable, as kings quickly exalt and then destroy their favorites.
Xerxes crowned his footman in the morning, and beheaded him in the evening of the same day; and Andronicus, the Greek emperor, crowned his admiral in the morning, and then took off his head in the afternoon. Roffensis had a cardinal's hat sent to him; but his head was cut off before it came to hand. Most say of their crowns, as a certain king said of his, "O crown! more noble than happy!" It was a just complaint which long ago was made against the heathen gods, "O faciles dare summa Doos eademque tueri difficiles!" They could give their favorites great gifts; but they could not maintain them in the possession of them.
— Biblical Treasury
Alexander's search for bones and a scholar's success reveal the emptiness of worldly honor.
Alexander the Great, finding Diogenes in the charnel-house, asked him what he was seeking for. He answered, "I am seeking for your father's bones, and those of my slave; but I cannot find them, because there is no difference between their dust." Rev. H. Martyn, after gaining the highest position the university could bestow, writes, "I obtained my highest wishes, but was surprised to find that I had grasped a shadow."
Temporary honor is overshadowed by imminent danger, revealing the fleeting nature of worldly happiness.
Damocles, a courtier of Dionysius the tyrant of Syracuse, having lauded in the highest terms the happiness of royalty, received the following striking reproof from his master. He was placed upon a kingly throne, in the midst of a luxurious banquet. The tables were loaded with choicest food: gold, silver, and precious stone gleamed and sparkled in every direction. But as he admired his exalted position, he looked upwards, and saw, exactly over his head, keen-edged sword, suspended by a single hair. His happiness was gone in an instant, and with it his estimate of the felicity of kings.
Seeking a life of ease without purpose is a delusion leading to decay.
It is a sad thing to look at some of the receiving-hulks at the navy-yard; to think that that was the ship which once went so fearlessly across the ocean! It has come back to be anchored in some quiet bay, and so roll this way and that with the tide. Yet this is what many men set before them as the end of life,—that they may reach some haven, where they will be able to cast out an anchor at the bow and an anchor at the stern, and never move again, but rock lazily, without a sail, without a voyage, waiting simply for decay to take apart their timbers.
— Beecher
Wealth should be matched by personal excellence, not just external luxury.
The wealthy and the noble, when they expend large sums in decortating their houses with the rare and costly efforts of genius, with busts from the chisel of a Canova, and with cartoons from the pencil of a Raphael, are to be commended if they do not stand still here, but go on to bestow some pains and cost, that the master himself be not inferior to the mansion, and that the owner be not the only thing that is little amidst every thing else that is great. Colton.
Luxury corrupts nations, weakening virtue and leading to downfall.
The luxury of Capua destroyed the bravest army which Italy ever saw, flushed with conquest, and commanded by Hannibal. The moment Capua was taken, that moment the walls of Carthage trembled. They caught the infection, and grew fond of pleasure, which rendered them effeminate, and of course an easy prey to their enenies. It is to the victory over Antiochus, and the conquest of Asia, that Pliny dates the corruption of the manners of the Roman commonwealth, and of the fatal change that happened in it by introducing at Rome, with the riches it brought thither, a taste for luxury and voluptuousness. Asia conquered by the arms of Rome, in its turn conquered Rome by its vices. Foreign riches put an end to the love of industry and the ancient simplicity which had been the stamina of its honor and strength. Luxury, which entered Rome as in triumph, with the superb spoils of Asia, brought with it in its train all kinds of disorders and crimes, made more havoc than the most numerous armies could have done, and in that manner avenged the conquered globe. Thus the face of the state was changed; virtue, valor, and disinterestedness were no longer esteemed; the opposite vices prevailed; and the government, from just and wise, became tyrannical and insupportable. Stretch.
Luxury and indulgence break spirits and destroy rebellion.
When Cyrus had received an account that the Lydians had revolted from him, he told Cræsus, with a good deal of emotion, that he had almost determined to make them all slaves. Cræsus begged him to pardon them: "But," says he, "that they may no more rebel or be troublesome to you, command them to lay aside their arms, to wear long vests and buskins, i.e. to vie with each other in the elegance and richness of their dress. Order them to sing and play on the harp; let them drink and debauch; and you will soon see their spirits broken, and themselves changed from men to women, so that they will no more rebel, or give you any uneasiness." And the event answered the advice. Stretch.
Material possessions can make death-bed reflections fearful.
Garrick showed Dr. Johnson his fine house, gardens, statues pictures, &c., at Hampton Court. "Ah! David, David," said the doctor, "these are the things which make a death-bed terrible!"
Living only for luxury is shallow and fleeting like a butterfly.
I know it is more agreeable to walk upon carpets than to lie upon dungeon-floors; I know it is pleasant to have all the comforts and luxuries of civilization; but he who cares only for these things is worth no more than a butterfly, contented and thoughtless upon a morning flower; and who ever thought of rearing a tombstone to a last summer's butterfly. Beecher.
A man focused on earthly wealth misses the beauty and blessings of heaven and nature.
A young man once picked up a sovereign lying in the road. Ever afterwards, as he walked along, he kept his eye steadfastly on the ground, in hopes of finding another. And, in the course of his long life, he did pick up, at different times, a good amount of gold and silver. But all these days, as he was looking for them, he saw not that heaven was bright above him, and nature was beautiful around. He never once allowed his eye to look up from the mud and filth in which he sought the treasure; and, when he died a rich old man, he only knew this fair earth of ours as a dirty road to pick up money as we walk along.
Many prefer worldly pleasures over heaven, reflecting a worldly mindset opposed to God.
Luther tells of a nobleman at Vienna who made a great supper, and, in the midst of his mirth, exclaimed, "If God will leave me this world to live and enjoy my pleasure therein for a thousand years, then let him take his heaven to himself!" This man spoke what most men think.
Becoming a millionaire demands sacrificing compassion, leisure, and family for wealth accumulation.
You must be a very able man, as nearly all millionnaires are. You must devote your life to the getting and keeping of other men's earnings. You must eat the bread of carefulness; and you must rise early, and lie down late. You must care little or nothing about other men's wants or sufferings or disappointments. You must not mind it that your great wealth involves many others' poverty. You must not give away money except for a material equivalent. You must not go meandering about Nature, nor spend your time enjoying air, earth, sky, and water; for there is no money in it. You must not distract your thoughts from the great purpose of your life with the charms of art and literature. You must not let philosophy or religion engross you during the secular time. You must not allow your wife or children to occupy much of your valuable time or thoughts. You must never permit the fascinations of friendship to inveigle you into making loans, however small. You must abandon all other ambitions or purpose; and, finally, you must be prepared to sacrifice ease, and all fanciful notions you may have about tastes and luxuries and enjoyments during most if not all of your natural life. If you think the game is worth the candle, you can die rich — some of you can. Galaxy.
Worldly pleasure can mask despair leading to eternal consequences beyond earthly mirth.
A well-dressed and handsome youth entered an inn, called for breakfast, then for beer and wine, and, at last, for gamesters and musicians. He spent the whole day in mirth and jollity of every conceivable sort; and, when evening came, paid the bill, and bade the musicians follow him, playing their very best. He then took the way to the navigable river which flows in the vicinity,—dancing, singing, and laughing as he went,—and walked into the water, to the astonishment of the musicians, who, fancying it was a diversion, looked on and continued to play. At last, calling for a right merry tune, and throwing them a dollar from the stream, he laughed aloud, cried, "Good-night, gentlemen," plunged into the deep, and was drowned. It was generally supposed that he was a clerk from some distant place, who had squandered the money of his principal, and did not dare to face the day of reckoning. Fear of punishment on earth plunged him into everlasting wailing. Such is the mirth, the pleasure, and the laughter of the world. Gotthold.
Adorning the body while neglecting family needs is foolish and shortsighted.
What would you think of a man who paints and decorates his dwelling with all that is beautiful, and starves himself, his wife, and his children? Do all you will in adorning the body, you are but adorning dust. T. J. 1000.
Worldly pleasures initially delight but soon disappoint and become burdensome.
A philosopher, in an epistle which he writes to a friend from the court of Dionysius, where he was forcibly detained, thus bemoans himself: "We are unhappy, O Antisthenes! beyond measure; and how can we but be unhappy, that are burdened by the tyrant every day with sumptuous feasts, plentiful compotiations, precious ointments, gorgeous apparel? and I knew, as soon as I came into this island and city, how unhappy my life would be." This is the nature and common condition of even the most pleasing sensible objects: they first tempt, then please a little, then disappoint, and lastly vex. The eye that beholds them blasts them, quickly rifles and deflowers their glory, and views them with no more delight at first than disdain afterwards. Creature enjoyments have a bottom, are soon drained, and drawn dry. Hence there must be frequent diversions: other pleasures must be sought out, and are chosen, not because they are better, but because they are new.
— John Howe
Expecting sweet fruit but tasting bitter dust illustrates the emptiness of worldly pleasures.
It was a remarkably hot and sultry day. We were scrambling up the mountain which rises above the east shore of the Dead Sea, when I saw before me a fine plum-tree loaded with fresh-blooming plums. I cried to my fellow-traveller "Now, then, who will arrive first at that plum-tree?" and, as he caught a glimpse of so refreshing an object, we both pressed our horses into a gallop to see which should get the first plum from the branches. We both arrived at the same time, and each, snatching a fine ripe plum, put it at once into our mouths; when, or biting it, instead of the cool, delicious, juicy fruit which we expected, our mouths were filled with a dry, bitter dust; and we sat under the tree upon our horses, sputtering and hemming and doing all we could to be relieved of the nauseous taste of this strange fruit. We then perceived, to my great delight, that we had discovered the famous apple of the Dead Sea the existence of which has been doubted and sauvassed since the days of Strabo and Pliny, who first described it. R. Curzon.
Loving worldly pleasures traps people like flies stuck in honey, leading to destruction.
A dervise once went into a confectioner's shop. The confectioner, to honor him, poured some honey into a dish before him. Immediately a swarm of flies settled, as was their wont, upon the honey; some upon the edge of the dish, but the greater number in the middle. The confectioner then took up a whisk to drive them off, when those upon the side flew away with case; but the others were prevented from rising by the honey clinging to their wings, and were involved in ruin. The dervise noticed this, and remarked, "That honey-dish is like the world, and the honey like its pleasures. Those who enjoy them with moderation and contentment, when the whisk of death approaches, not having their hearts filled with the love of them, can with ease escape its snare; while all, who, like the foolish flies, have given themselves wholly to their sweetness, will meet with destruction."
Worldly pleasures are ultimately empty and disappointing when fully experienced.
I have run the silly rounds of pleasure, and have done with them all. I have enjoyed all the pleasures of the world: I appraise them at their real worth, which is, in truth, very low. Those who have only seen their outsides always overrate them; but I have been behind the scenes: I have seen all the coarse pulleys and dirty ropes which move their gaudy machines; and I have also seen and smelled the tallow-candles which illuminate the whole decoration, to the astonishment and admiration of the ignorant audience. When I reflect on what I have seen, what I have heard, and what I have done, I can hardly persuade myself that all that frivolous hurry and bustle of pleasure in the world had any reality; but I look upon all that is past as one of those romantic dreams which opium commonly occasions; and I do by no means desire to repeat the nauseous dose.
— Chesterfield
Even great entertainers suffered sadness despite worldly success and laughter.
Cervantes was overwhelmed with melancholy when all Spain was laughing at the humorous flights of his pen. Molière, the first of French comic writers, was always so sad, that the greatest of prosperity could not dispel his gloom. Samuel Foote, a noted wit, died of a broken heart.
Earthly riches are fleeting and cannot be securely held like a caged eagle.
You would think him an absurd man, who, when he sees an eagle in his field, would take great care how to fence it in there; whereas no fence can secure it, make it as high as he can. The eagle, when she list, will make use of her wings, and fly away: she will do it certainly. Such winged things are the enjoyments of this life. There is nothing so certain as our utter uncertainty of having them or keeping them.
— D. Clarkson
Wealth often weakens spiritual strength and burdens believers with dissatisfaction.
Many a Christian do you find among the rich and the titled, who, as a less encumbered man, might have been a resolute soldier of the cross; but he is now only a realization of the old Pagan fable, — a spiritual giant buried under a mountain of gold. Oh! many, many, such we meet in our higher classes, pining with a nameless want, pressed by a heavy sense of the weariness of existence, strengthless in the midst of affluence, and incapable even of tasting the profusion of comfort which is heaped around them.
— F. W. Robertson
Theatre culture in revolutionary Paris symbolized moral decay and rejection of religion.
Of the French Revolution, the celebrated Edmund Burke writes, "While courts of justice were thrust out by Jacobia tribunals, and silent churches were only funeral monuments of departed religion;" when Paris "was like a den of outlaws, a lewd tavern for revel and debaucheries,"—there were in that city "no fewer than twenty-eight theatres crowded every night." From debauchery, blasphemy, and butchery, in the daytime, to the theatre at night; from the theatre at night, back to butchery, blasphemy, and debauchery in the daytime. W. P. Breed, D.D.
A preacher attending theatre risks damaging his influence and encouraging others to sin.
A gentleman of wealth and high position, but not a professor of Christ, had just returned from New York, when he remarked to a friend, "I saw the Rev. Mr. K. and his wife at the theatre one evening, and I was determined he should know that I saw him. So I went around, and spoke to him." What good influence could the preacher exert over him after that? Besides, if he could go once, others could many times.
Theatre led a virtuous youth to ruin and prison, showing its destructive influence.
Said a broken-hearted mother, bursting into tears, "O my child! Oh! my child is just committed to prison; and I fear he will never return to his father's house. Oh, that theatre! He was a virtuous, kind youth till the theatre proved his ruin!"
The world alternates between joy and sorrow, hiding secret sorrows in every heart.
Ah, this beautiful world! I know not what to think of it. Sometimes it is all sunshine and gladness, and heaven itself lies not far off; and then it suddenly changes, and is dark and sorrowful, and the clouds shut out the day. In the lives of the saddest of us, there are bright days, like this, when we feel as if we could take the great world in our arms. Then come gloomy hours, when the fire will not burn on our hearths, and all without and within is dismal, cold, and dark. Believe me, every heart has its secret sorrows, which the world knows not; and oftimes we call a man cold when he is only sad. Longfellow.
G113. WORLD, Choice of the. It was an ancient custom, when an heir was impleaded as an idiot, to put before him an apple or a counter, with a piece of gold, and try which he would take: if he took the apple or the counter, and not the gold, he was cast for a fool, as unable to discern the true worth of things. This is the way, however, with all wicked men, who prefer toys to treasure, trifles to realities, present troubles to eternal joys. Bowes.
G114. WORLD, Corrupt. We live in a world extremely corrupt, of which may be said, it is a monster, whose understanding is a pit of darkness; his reason, a shop of malice; his will, a hell, where thousands of passions outrageously infest him; his eyes are two conduits of fire, out of which fly sparks of concupiscence; his tongue, an instrument of cursing; his face, a painted hypocrisy; his body, a sponge full of froth; his hands, harpies' talons; and, to conclude, he owns no faith but infidelity, no Lord but his passions, no God but his belly. N. Caussin.
G115. WORLD, Danger of the. As you love your souls, beware of the world: it has slain its thousands and ten thousands. What ruined Lot's wife?—the world. What ruined Achan?—the world. What ruined Haman?—the world. What ruined Judas?—the world. What ruined Simon Magus?—the world. What ruined Demas?—the world. And "what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?"
G116. WORLD, Deception of the. It is said there is a fiery light which appears in marshy places, floating just above the surface of the earth, so volatile in its nature, that the least breath moves it; and, consequently, those who rush towards it most eagerly create a current of air which drives it from them, and it thus leads them on to miry places for their destruction; while, if they would quietly sit down, it might float near them, or rest upon them when there was no agitation in the atmosphere to repel it. So is it with the great things of this world; they often fly from the face of those who pant most anxiously in the chase of them; they frequently rest upon those who reach after them with calm and persevering industry.
G117. WORLD, Destruction of the. The cool night arrived, and, about half-past eight, I was lying half asleep. I fancied I heard a rumbling like distant thunder. I had not heard such a sound for months; but a low, uninterrupted roll appeared to increase in volume, although far distant. Hardly had I raised my head to listen more attentively, when a confusion of voices arose from the Arab's camp with a sound of many feet; and, in a few minutes, they rushed into my camp, shouting to my men in the darkness, "El bahr! El bahr!" "The river, the river!" We were up in an instant; and my interpreter, Mahomed, in a state of confusion, explained that the river was coming down, and that the supposed distant thunder was the roar of the approaching water. Many of the people were sleep on the clean sand of the river's bed: these were awakened by the Arabs, who rushed down the steep bank to save the skull of my two hippopotami that were exposed to try. Hardly had they descended, when the sound of the river in the darkness beneath told us that the water had arrived; and the men had just sufficient time to drag their heavy burdens up the bank. All was darkness and confusion; everybody was talking, and no one listening: but the great event had occurred, — the river had arrived "like a thief in the night," as it is said the end of the world shall come. Baker.
G148. WORLD, Dissatisfaction with the. Pope Adrian IV., who in early life suffered great hardships from poverty, told a friend, that all the hardships of his life were nothing in comparison to the Papal crown. The Emperor Diocletian found a crown so heavy, that he laid it aside, and retired to private life.
G149. WORLD, End of the. The word of God holds up before mankind two great days, — the first day and the last. The first was when he spake this earth into form; the last, when it shall be dissolved. The world we inhabit had a birth-day: it will have a death-day. As the body we occupy was born, and must die; so this planetary body had its cradle, and will have its grave. As our frames testify to the presence of diseases that can destroy them, so this goodly frame of earth testifies to the presence of diseases that could instantly and easily destroy it. Sir Charles Lyell says, "In view of the activity of these elements, the wonder is, not that the earth will be dissolved, but that it exists for a moment."
G150. WORLD, Exile. A holy indifference to present things makes it easy to part with them, and death less fearful. Chrysostom, in a letter to Ciriacus, who was tenderly sensible of his banishment, wrote to him, "You now begin to lament my banishment: but I have done so for a long time; for, since I knew that heaven was my country, I have esteemed the whole earth a place of exile. Constantinople, from which I am expelled, is as distant from paradise as the desert to which they send me."
Buck.
G151. WORLD. Folly of the. God sees that you are naked and poor, and comes to you with a royal wardrobe and all supplies. Suppose you succeed in proving that there is no food nor raiment: you are still poor and naked. What would you think, if there were to be an insurrection in a hospital, and sick man should conspire with sick man, and, on a certain day, they should rise up, and reject the doctors and nurses! There they would be, — sickness and disease within, and all the help without! Yet what is a hospital compared to this fever-ridden world, which goes swinging in pain and anguish through the centuries, where men say, "We have got rid of the atonement, and we are rid of the Bible"? Beecher.
G152. WORLD, God's Use of this. This world, small as it is, is made of use by the Creator to illustrate principles in his government, "to the intent that now, unto principalities and powers in heavenly places may be known by the Church, the manifold wisdom of God." That this world is the smallest but two in the planetary system is no more a valid objection to its being used for infinite purposes of wisdom, than it would be to object to the size of the slate on which La Place wrought out his logarithms for his "Mécanique Celeste." God is solving problems in this world with sin: the results may enter into the practical knowledge of unnumbered worlds, as the answers to problems are transferred to books of navigation, and are the confidence of them that are afar off upon the sea. Our own Lexington and Bunker Hill were not too small for transactions which brought this nation into being; nor did one field in Waterloo prove too small to have the destiny of half of Europe decided there. The cross of a Redeemer has stood here: things are associated with it which we are told "angels desire to look into."
N. Adams.
G153. WORLD, Hatred of the. From the fiery days of the stakes of Smithfield, even until now, the world's black heart has hated the Church; and the world's cruel hand and laughing lip have been forever against us. The host of the mighty are pursuing us, and are thirsty for our blood, and anxious to cut us off from the earth. Such is our position unto this hour, and such must it be, until we are landed on the other side of Jordan, and until our Maker comes to reign on the earth. Spurgeon.
G151. WORLD, Holding to the. As you will sometimes see a sear and sallow leaf hang upon the tree all through winter, tenacious of its hold, dancing and whirling in the playful wind, out of beauty, out of grace, out of season; so you sometimes may see some worn-out, godless sinners clinging to this world when they have lost all their use, beauty, and goodness.
Dr. Guthrie.
G155. WORLD, Ignorance of the. He that knows a little of the world will admire it enough to fall down and worship it; but he that knows it most will most despise it. Colton.
G156. WORLD, Inconstancy of the. As it cannot be otherwise than that the sun shining in one horizon occasions darkness in another, so that our day is their night, and the reverse; thus it is with the things of the world. Many are made poor that the few may become rich; one is made honorable by another's disgrace; one full by another's emptiness. If the day of prosperity smiles upon one, the day of adversity lowers upon another; one weeps, and another rejoices; one gains, and another loses.
Spencer.
G157. WORLD, Infelicity of the. A child imagines, that, as soon as he arrives at a certain stature, he shall enjoy more pleasure than he hath enjoyed in his childhood. The youth persuades himself, that men who are what they call settled in the world are incomparably more happy than young people can be at his age. While we think ourselves condemned to live single, solitude seems intolerable; and, where we have associated ourselves with others, we regret the happy days spent in the tranquillity of solitude. Thus we go on from fancy to fancy, and from one chimera to another, till death arrives, subverts our imaginary projects of happiness, and makes us know by our own experience what the experience of others ought to have taught us long before, that is, that the whole world is vanity, and that, by changing our situation, we often do no more than change our kind of infelicity. Saurin.
Loving the world destroys the lover, requiring the love of the world to be put to death.
Crates threw his gold into the sea, saying, "I will destroy thee, lest thou destroy me!" If men do not put the love of the world to death, the love of the world will put them to death. Venning.
A legend of a world losing all color symbolizes the deathly dullness of a world without beauty.
There is a strange old legend, of a world that grew colorless in a single night. The clouds became lifeless, spongy vapors; the waves turned pale and motionless; the fire fled from the diamond, and light from every gem; the metal gleaming of the snake, and the dyes of the jewelled orbs, faded away slowly, as the stars go out at daybreak. The world turned into a sculptor's world, and all was animated stone. Those that dwelt upon it were saddened and bewildered at the change, and never ceased to mourn for the beautiful tints of flowers and grasses, and the vanished hues of the sunset clouds. All Nature was in mourning, and wore a leaden-colored robe. Never more should diamonds sparkle, or rubies shine, or dewdrops glisten in the morning light. Never more should there be a rainbow on the cloud, or silver in the falling raindrops. The expanse of lake or ocean should never more reflect a blue heaven, or the stars, or the sun. The world had passed into eclipse, — into the shadow of death.
The world is a temporary place, dangerous to dwell in permanently for both present and eternal life.
It was said of Athens, that it was a good place to pass through: for there were many things to be learned there; but it was not a good place to stay in, because it was dangerous to live there. The same may be said of this world, "If a man but passes through it, he shall be the better for it; but, if he takes up his abode here, he is in jeopardy of his life, both present and eternal."
Worldly pleasures are poisonous streams that bring death, unlike life-giving waters of the Nile.
The pleasures of the world are not like the waters of the Nile, which leave, when they are gone, the germs of beauty and fertility to bud and blossom, and cheer the heart of man: on the contrary, they are like those streams polluted by the washings of poisonous minerals, depositing the seeds of disease and death to all who drink them.
The spirit of the world changes forms but always opposes the believer's soul in a silent battle.
The spirit of the world is forever altering, impalpable; forever eluding, in fresh forms, your attempts to seize it. In the days of Noah, the spirit of the world was violence. In Elijah's day, it was idolatry. In the day of Christ, it was power, concentrated and condensed in the government of Rome. In ours, perhaps, it is the love of money. It enters in different proportions into different bosoms; it is found in a different form in contiguous towns, in the fashionable watering-places, and in the commercial city; it is this thing at Athens, and another in Corinth. This is the spirit of the world, a thing in my heart and yours to be struggled against, not so much in the case of others as in the silent battle done within our own souls.
— F. W. Robertson
Life is a stage where all worldly roles end equally at death, revealing their temporary nature.
The world is a great show, which presents us various scenes and fantastic characters, — princes, politicians, warriors, and philosophers, the rich, the honorable, the learned, and the wise, and, with these, the servant and the beggar, the poor, the weak, and the despised. Some seldom come from behind the scenes; others, adorned with honor and power, are followed by a shouting multitude, and fill the world with the noises of their actions. But, in a little time, the scene turns, and all these phantoms disappear. The king of terrors clears the stage of these busy actors, and strips them of their fictitious ornaments, bringing them all to a level, and sending them down to the grave: all the actors in a drama return to their private character when the action is over. W. Jones.
Saints do not stoop to worldly things, unlike worldly spirits who embrace them.
WORLD, Stooping to the Plutarch saith of Themistocles, that he accounted it below his state to stoop to take up the spoils (though chains of gold) which the enemy had scattered in the way, but said to one of his followers, "Thou mayest; for thou art not Themistocles." It is for worldly spirits, it is below the state of heaven-born spirits, to stoop to worldly things: worldlings may; they are not Themistocles, they are not saints. Venning.
The names Cain and Abel teach that worldly possessions are ultimately vain and uncertain.
A learned man has a note upon the names of the two first that ever were born into the world, Cain and Abel; whence, said he, we may learn a very good lesson, and that from the very interpretation of their names. Cain signifies possession, and Abel, vanity, to show that Adam and Eve, who had all the world before them, did see nothing but vanity in all their possessions: and it were well if the sons and daughters of Adam, that have a great deal less of the world than Adam had, would not set their hearts so much upon the vanities and uncertainties thereof. Spencer.
The world is treacherous and deceptive, like a sea that betrays those who trust it.
There is an old story, of a man residing on the coast of England, who, seeing his neighbors grow rich by trade with foreign countries, converted his goods into gold, went to Spain, and bought a cargo of figs. On his way home, a great storm at sea compelled him to cast his figs overboard. Again at home, his friends started him at farming. While ploughing, one day, near the shore, he cried, "Whoa!" to the driver; then, gazing at the sea, he said, "How is it that you look so smooth now? You long for more figs, do you? Your fair looks shall never deceive me again, I warrant you. Drive on, boy!" The world is as treacherous as this sea. They are few who have not been deluded by it.
Worldly pleasures and possessions cannot satisfy or comfort a suffering soul.
What can all the world minister to a sick person, if it represents all the spoils of nature, and the choicest delicacies of land and sea? Alas! his appetite is lost: and to see a pebble-stone is more pleasing to him; for he can look upon that without loathing, but not so upon the most delicious fare that ever made famous the Roman luxury. Perfumes make his head ache. If you load him with jewels, you press him with a burden as troublesome as his gravestone; and what pleasure is in all those possessions that cannot make his pillow easy, nor tame the rebellion of a tumultuous humor, nor restore the use of a withered hand, or straighten a crooked finger? Vain is the hope of that man whose soul rests upon vanity and such unprofitable possessions! Bp. Taylor.
All worldly joys cannot outweigh the pain of sickness or sorrow.
The greatest vanity of this world is remarkable in this, that all its joys summed up together are not big enough to counterpoise the evil of one sharp disease, or to allay a sorrow. For imagine a man great in his dominion as Cyrus, rich as Solomon, victorious as David, beloved like Titus, learned as Trismegist, powerful as all the Roman greatness; all this, and the results of all this, give him no more pleasure in the midst of a fever or the tortures of the stone than if he were only lord of a little dish and a dishful of fountain-water. Bp. Taylor.
Being glued to the world spoils spiritual comfort and turns lawful things into idols.
If you should line a garment with linen, it would do very well; but if you line it with pitch or glue, that will stick fast to the body, and, in all likelihood, spoil both the garment and the man that wears it. So, when the world is glued to your hearts, it spoils the comforts of all the mercies that you enjoy; and so it may be said, that the otherwise lawful use of them is abused, when they are either used too affectionately in making gods of them, or being too eagerly bent in the gaining of them. Spencer.
Worldliness subtly and powerfully draws believers away from their Christian commitments.
Nearly all can recall that favorite fiction of their childhood, — the voyage of Sinbad the Sailor into the Indian Sea. They will remember that magnetic rock that rose from the surface of the placid waters. Silently Sinbad's vessel was attracted towards it; silently the bolts were drawn out of the ship's side, one by one, through the subtle attraction of that magnetic rock. And, when the fated vessel drew so near that every bolt and clamp were unloosed, the whole structure of bulwark, mast, and spars, tumbled into ruin on the sea, and the sleeping sailors awoke to their drowning agonies. So stands the magnetic rock of worldliness athwart the Christian's path. Its attraction is subtle, silent, slow, but fearfully powerful on every soul that floats within its range. Under its enchanting spell, bolt after bolt of good resolution, clamp after clamp of Christian obligation, are stealthily drawn out. What matters it how long or how fair has been the man's profession of religion, or how flauntingly the flag of his orthodoxy floats from the masthead? Let sudden temptation smite the unbolted professor, and in an hour he is a wreck. He cannot hold together in a tempest of trial, he cannot go out on any cruise of Christian service, because he is no longer held together by a divine principle within. It has been silently drawn out of him by that mighty loadstone of attraction, — a sinful, Godless, self-pampering, Christ-rejecting world. Cuyler.
The spiritually minded focus on God, not on the superficial attractions of the world.
In the courts of kings and princes, children and rude people are much taken with pictures and rich shows, and feed their fancies with the sight of rich hangings and fine things; but the wise and grave statesman passes by such things as not worthy of notice: his business is with the king. Thus it is, that, in this world, most men stay in the out-rooms, and admire the low things of the world, and look upon them as pieces of much excellence: but the spiritually-minded man, whose eye, desire, and ways are unto God, looketh over all these things that are here below: his business is with his God. Let them doat upon the world that are in love with it, whom hath he in heaven but God? and there is none upon earth that he desireth besides him (De. Ixxiii. 23). Spencer.
Worldly ambition causes some to betray Christ's cause for personal gain.
For everywhere he is a Judas, with whom his worldly interests, his worldly ambition, prevail over his attachment to Christ and to Christ's cause; who joins the Christian society, it may not be to make gain thereby, but who, when the occasion presents itself, scruples not to make what gain he can of that connection; who, beneath the garb of the Christian calling, pursues a dishonest traffic; who, when the gain and the godliness come into collision, sacrifices the godliness for the gain. Dr. Hanna.
Esau's choice illustrates worldliness as choosing present pleasure over future blessing.
Worldliness is the spirit of childhood carried into manhood. The child lives in the present hour: to-day to him is every thing. The holiday promised at a distant interval is no holiday at all: it must be either now or never. Natural in the child, and therefore pardonable, this spirit, when carried on into manhood, of course is worldliness. The most distinct illustration given us of this is the case of Esau. Esau came from the hunting-field worn and hungry: the only means of procuring the tempting mess of his brother's pottage was the sacrifice of his father's blessing, which, in those ages, carried with it a substantial advantage. But that birthright could be enjoyed only after years; the pottage was present, near and certain: therefore he sacrificed a future and higher blessing for a present and lower pleasure. For this reason, Esau is the Bible type of worldliness: he is called in Scripture a profane, that is, not distinctly a vicious, but a secular or worldly person, — an overgrown child, impetuous, inconsistent; not without gleams of generosity and kindliness, but overaccustomed to immediate gratification. F. W. Robertson.
Worldly pleasures are empty, fleeting, and ultimately unsatisfying to the soul.
As a cup of pleasant wine offered to a condemned man on the way to his execution; as the feast of him who sat under a naked sword, hanging perpendicularly over his head by a slender thread; as Adam's forbidden fruit, seconded by a flaming sword; as Belshazzar's dainties, overlooked by a handwriting against the wall, — such are all the empty delights of the world; in their matter and expectation, earthly; in their acquisition, painful; in their fruition, nauseous and cloying; in their duration, dying and perishing; in their operation, hardening, effeminating, leavening, puffing up, estranging # WORLDLINESS.
their heart from God; in their consequences, seconded with anxiety, solitude, fear, sorrow, despair, disappointment; in their measure, shorter than a man can stretch himself on, narrower than a man can wrap himself in; every way defective, and disproportionate to the vast and spacious capacity of the soul of man, as unable to fill that, as the light of a candle to give day to the whole world.
Spencer.
G181. WORLDLINESS, End of. Never shall I forget the end of one with whom I was well acquainted, a member of the church of which I was pastor at Perth. At the solicitation of a traveller with whom he did business, he retired one evening to a hotel. For the first time in his life he became intoxicated, went home, and, in the heat of passion excited by liquor, inflicted on his wife injuries of which she died. In due time, he was tried: the evidence was conclusive; and sentence of death was pronounced. Never will the scene be effaced from my memory. I attended him in his cell, and was the last to leave him on the scaffold; and there, within sight of the church of which he had been forty years a member, was he hanged like a dog. Rev. Jabez Burns.
G182. WORLDLINESS, Fatal to the Church. In Brazil, there grows a common plant, which forest-dwellers call the matador, or "murderer." Its slender stem creeps at first along the ground: but no rooner does it meet a vigorous tree, than, with clinging grasp, it cleaves to it, and climbs it, and, as it climbs, keeps, at short intervals, sending out arm-like tendrils that embrace the tree. As the murderer ascends, these ligatures grow larger, and clasp tighter. Up, up, it climbs a hundred feet, nay, two hundred if need be, until the last loftiest spire is gained and fettered. Then, as if in triumph, the parasite shoots a huge, flowery head above the strangled summit, and thence, from the dead tree's crown, scatters its seed to do again the work of death. Even thus worldliness has strangled more churches than ever persecution broke. S. Coley.
G183. WORLDLINESS, Folly of. As a man who looks on a town represented on a map may discern the order of the streets and houses; but, if the whole province shall be represented on the same paper, that town will show only a small point; then, if the whole world shall be represented on the same size of paper, the town cannot be found, and the whole province will scarcely appear: so it is great folly, or rather madness, for burgesses of heaven to offend God for the getting of a small portion of earth, which cannot be discovered on the map, and will appear still less when looked upon from heaven. Caudray.
G184. WORLDLINESS, Overruled. "My son," said a banker to his son, "I want to give you a lesson in business. Here is a half-dollar. Now, if you can find any boy whom you can trust, who will take this money, and pay you interest for it, you may lend it to him; and, if you invest this wisely, I'll increase your capital." When night came, the banker said, "My son, 'how did you invest your money to-day?'— "Well, father," replied the little fellow, "I saw a boy on the street without any shoes, and he had no dinner; so I gave him my fifty cents to buy something to eat with."—"You'll never make a business-man in the world," said the banker: "business is business. But I will try you once more. Now, here is a dollar to invest: see how well you can do it." A loud peal of laughter from the boy followed this speech, which was thus explained: "My Sunday-school teacher said giving to the poor was leading to the Lord; and she said he would return to us double: but I did not think he would do it quite so quick." James R. White.
G185. WORLDLINESS, Stream of. As a river leads a man through sweet meadows, green woods, fertile pastures, fruit-laden fields, by glorious buildings, strong forts, famous cities, yet at last brings him to the salt sea; so the stream of this world carries along through rich commodities, voluptuous delights, stately dignities, all possible content to flesh and blood, but, after all this, brings a man to death, after death to judgment, after judgment to hell. T. Adams.
G186. WORLDLINESS, Test of. This morning, I have read another of Edwards's sermons, on "God the Christian's Portion." The latter part comes very close; and I feel myself at a loss what to judge as to God's being my chief good. He asks, whether we had rather live in this world rich, and without God; or poor, and with him. Perhaps I should not be so much at a loss to decide this question as another; namely, Had I rather be rich in this world, and enjoy but little of God; or poor, and enjoy much of God? I am confident the practice of great numbers of professing Christians declares that they prefer the former; and, in some instances, I feel guilty of the same thing. Fuller.
G187. WORLDLINESS, Vanity of. The Romans painted Honor in the temple of Apollo, as representing the form of a man, with a rose in his right hand, a lily in his left, above him a marigold, and under him wormwood, with the inscription, Lecate, "consider." The rose denotes that man flourishes as a flower, but at length is withered, and cast away. The lily denotes the favor of man, which is easily lost, and is soon of no account. The marigold shows the fickleness of prosperity. The wormwood signifies, that all the delights of the world are sweet in execution, but bitter in retribution. Lecate, consider what lesson of earthly vanity is here.
G188. WORLDLINESS, Warning against. Mr. John Eliot was once on a visit to a merchant; and finding him in his counting-house, where he saw books of business on the table, and all his books of devotion on the shelf, he said to him, "Sir, here is earth on the table, and heaven on the shelf. Pray, don't think so much of the table as altogether to forget the shelf." Whitecross.
G189. WORLDLING, Belief of the. He believes that the fleeting pleasures of the flesh are more substantial and precious than the enduring joys of the Spirit; that the fitful admiration and favor of feeble man are more to be desired than the grace and love of Almighty God; that earth is truer and more real than heaven; that a life of a few years is longer, and of more importance, than a life through eternity; that the scarred and bloated carcass of sin, with its death's head, and its stinging snakes coiling restlessly around it, is lovelier, and more to be desired, than the pure and radiant beauty of holiness. Archdeacon Hare.
Delaying fleeing from judgment to save possessions leads to total loss of both life and goods.
It is said, that among the recent discoveries at Pompeii was a woman in the act of gathering in her apron, rings, bracelets, and other valuable articles of jewelry. It would seem that some wealthy persons, aware of the coming destruction, had made their escape, and left these things behind as worthless in comparison with life; but she, hoping to save both, delayed the time of her flight, and, alas! was overwhelmed in the terrific judgment, and so lost her life and her jewels. How forcibly may this remind us of covetous worldlings, who, while God's people in the last day shall make haste, like Lot, to escape to the mountain of the Lord, shall be seeking and toiling to accumulate the perishable things of earth; when the conflagration of the world shall break upon them, and they and their possessions shall be consumed together. Bate.
Those who choose the world find disappointment and dissatisfaction despite outward appearances.
Grimaldi, a noted clown, consulted a physician to obtain a cure for his melancholy, and was advised to go and listen to his own performances. What mockery! "The heart knoweth its own bitterness." Disraeli tells of meeting a most miserable and squalid man, who was then amusing all London with his witty verses. Thomas Hood, the witty comic poet, found the world only a gilded cheat. All who have chosen the world, and have had it, have been disappointed and disgusted with their portion.
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