1. The view which has been taken of Joseph's early life strips him of the full admiration that he generally receives, and attaches to him somewhat of rebuke. But though partially blaming Joseph, it is not necessary in consequence of this that we should reverse the whole scene and set about excusing his brethren. Not only is that not necessary-it is not possible. When he was coming to them in Dothan on a message from his father, their ridicule, if not gratuitous, was at all events excessive. It was too severe-“Behold, this dreamer cometh.” And their immediately following conspiracy against his life so far outwent any slight offence he had given them that it was monstrous and horrible. They were not guided by the precept-“Be ye angry, and sin not.”
Revenge is sweet! I am afraid that some of us like just a little revenge; not that we should ourselves personally and directly inflict it, but if our enemies could, somehow or another, be tripped up, and tumble half-way at least into a pit, we should not feel that compunction and sorrow and distress of soul which, sentimentally, appears to be so very fine and beautiful. Nothing but God the Holy Ghost can train a man to this greatness of answering the memory of injury with tears, and accepting processes in which only men appear to have a part, as if God, after all, had been over-ruling and directing the whole scheme.1 [Note: Joseph Parker.]
2. Reuben's interposition was blessed of God to save the intended victim, and forms the first link of a wonderful chain of providences. When Joseph was cast into the pit to be left to his fate, Reuben designed to return, extricate him, and restore him to his father. But the rescue was a more circuitous one, permitted to begin as miserably as possible that it might end as gloriously as possible. There appeared in sight a company of merchants travelling to Egypt with laden camels, and their appearance was suggestive to Judah. “What profit is it if we slay our brother, and conceal his blood? Come, and let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and let not our hand be upon him; for he is our brother and our flesh. And his brethren were content.” Thus envy, hatred, and twenty pieces of silver make Joseph a slave, and rob Jacob of his favourite, the son of his old age.
Keep yourselves far from envy; because it eateth up and taketh away good actions, like as fire eateth up and burneth wood.1 [Note: The Sayings of Muhammad (ed. Al-Suhrawardy), 82.]
To a certain extent jealousy is just and reasonable, since it only aims at preserving a real or fancied possession, while envy is a madness and cannot endure the welfare of others.2 [Note: Rochefoucauld, Maxims.]
Hate is a bad spirit to face the world with, my boy. Hatred is heavier freight for the shipper than it is for the consignee.3 [Note: Augustus Thomas, The Witching Hour.]
3. Reuben was not present when the sale was made. On his return he “rent his clothes” in impotent mourning. But the others dipped Joseph's princely raiment in the blood of a kid, to give their father the impression that Joseph had been “devoured by a wild beast.” The device succeeded. Jacob mourned him bitterly and “for many days,” refusing all the comfort which his family hypocritically offered. But even his bitterest lamentation expressed the hope and faith that he would meet his loved son in another world-for he said: “I will go down into the grave unto my son mourning.”
There is a large and secret brotherhood in this world, the members of which easily recognize each other, without any visible outward sign. It is the band of mourners. The members of this brotherhood need not necessarily wear mourning; they can even rejoice with the joyful, and they seldom sigh or weep when others see them. But they recognize and understand each other without uttering a word. Their countenances reflect a soft moonlight; when they speak, one thinks of the whispering of the leaves of a beech forest after a warm spring shower, and as the rays of the sun light up the drops of dew with a thousand colours, and drink them up from the green grass, a heavenly light seems to shine through the tears of the mourners, to lighten them, and lovingly kiss them away. Almost every one, sooner or later, enters this brotherhood, and those who enter it early may be considered fortunate, for they learn, before it is too late, that all which man calls his own is only lent him for a short time, and the ivy of their affections does not cling so deeply and so strongly to the old walls of earthly happiness.1 [Note: Max Müller.]
O bitter wind toward the sunset blowing,
What of the dales to-night?
In yonder gray old hall what fires are glowing?
What ring of festal light?
“In the great window as the day was dwindling
I saw an old man stand;
His head was proudly held and his eyes kindling,
But the list shook in his hand.”
O wind of twilight, was there no word uttered,
No sound of joy or wail?
“ ‘A great fight and a good death,' he muttered;
‘Trust him, he would not fail.' ”
What of the chamber dark where she was lying
For whom all life is done?
“Within her heart she rocks a dead child, crying
‘My son, my little son.' ”2 [Note: H. Newbolt, Poems New and Old, 87.]
