Isaac has been called “the Wordsworth of the Old Testament,” but his meditative disposition seems to have degenerated into mere dreamy apathy, which at last made him the tool of the more active-minded members of his family, and was also attended by its common accompaniment of sensuality. It seems also to have brought him to a condition of almost entire bodily prostration, for a comparison of dates shows that he must have spent forty or fifty years in blindness and incapacity for all active duty.
There are some families whose miserable existence is almost entirely made up of malicious plottings and counter-plottings, little mischievous designs, and spiteful triumphs of one member or party in the family over the other. In the story before us we see the family whom God had blessed sunk to this low level and betrayed by family jealousies into unseemly strife on the most sacred ground. The history of this family seems like a grand drama, acted upon a small stage: we see the selfish fondness of Isaac for Esau, the unhappy partiality of Rebekah for Jacob, the carnal appetites of the elder brother, the over-reaching spirit of the younger. There is plot, and counter-plot, and rivalry, and stratagem, and strife-the whole array of those evil passions which prove that the heart of man is “deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.”
What a contrast we have in Sir Walter Scott's family life. “In the social relations of life, where men are more effectually tried, no spot can be detected in him. He was a patient, dutiful, reverent son; a generous, compassionate, tender husband; an honest, careful, and most affectionate father. Never was a more virtuous or a happier fireside than his. The influence of his mighty genius shadowed it imperceptibly; his calm good sense, and his angelic sweetness of heart and temper, regulated and softened a strict but paternal discipline. His children, as they grew up, understood by degrees the high privilege of their birth; but the profoundest sense of his greatness never disturbed their confidence in his goodness. The buoyant play of his spirits made him sit young among the young; parent and son seemed to live in brotherhood together; and the chivalry of his imagination threw a certain air of courteous gallantry into his relations with his daughters, which gave a very peculiar grace to the fondness of their intercourse.”1 [Note: J. G. Lockhart, Life of Sir Walter Scott, ch. lxxxix.]
1. During Isaac's stay at Gerar, his sons appear to have reached middle age. Esau was the first to enter into the estate of matrimony. Contrary to the wishes of both father and mother, he contracted marriages with women belonging to the idolatrous races of Canaan, which lay under the Divine displeasure, and were about to forfeit their land on account of their iniquities. These unions were “a bitterness of spirit” to Isaac and Rebekah, who were totally opposed to any intermixture of the blood of the chosen race with that of the people whom God had appointed them to succeed. But here Isaac's lovely disposition came to his relief. Esau's wives, those Hittite women, were a grief of mind to Isaac, but he endured his mortification uncomplainingly.
2. When Isaac became very old, and was about to die, there occurred that scene of perfidy and craft which throws the light of interpretation somewhat upon Rebekah. Isaac, according to the custom and manner of the country, wished to bestow his blessing, and all the authority that went with it, upon his firstborn. Esau was his favourite son; not on account of any similarity between them, but just because they were dissimilar. The repose and contemplativeness and inactivity of Isaac found in the energy and even the recklessness of his firstborn a contrast in which it rested. That Isaac had some notion he was doing wrong in giving to Esau what belonged to God, and what God meant to give to Jacob, is shown from his precipitation in bestowing the blessing. He has no feeling that he is authorized by God, and therefore he cannot wait calmly till God should intimate, by unmistakable signs, that he is near his end; but, seized with a panic lest his favourite should somehow be left unblessed, he feels, in his nervous alarm, as if he were at the point of death, and, though destined to live for forty-three years longer, he calls Esau that he may hand over to him his dying testament. Isaac laid a net for his own feet. By his unrighteous and timorous haste he secured the defeat of his own long-cherished scheme. It was his hastening to bless Esau that drove Rebekah to checkmate him by winning the blessing for her favourite. The shock which Isaac felt when Esau came in and the fraud was discovered is easily understood. It was enough to rouse the anger of the mildest and godliest of men, but Isaac did not storm and protest-“he trembled very exceedingly.” He recognized, by a spiritual insight quite unknown to Esau, that this was God's hand, and deliberately confirmed, with his eyes open, what he had done in blindness: “I have blessed him; yea, and he shall be blessed.” Isaac unhesitatingly yielded.
What a train of evils followed that day of deceit-Jacob, forced to flee from his father's house for his life, lest Esau should fulfil his threat; Rebekah, losing the son of her affection, probably dying before his return, and so never seeing him again; Esau, marrying an Ishmaelite, and living in Seir, far away from Gerar; Isaac, losing both sons, then bereaved of his wife; a blind man for fifty years, and for twenty of those years alone. When the saint falls, God makes him an example for many. When Adam sinned, he was cast out from Paradise. When Moses sinned at Meribah, he was kept out of the Holy Land. And Isaac, blind Isaac, beautiful and still soul, though, like us all, imperfect, treads the Holy Land, but sees it no more. Moses sees, but does not possess; Isaac possesses, but does not see.
In the Epistle to the Hebrews, Isaac is commended for his faith in blessing his sons. The “faith” of Isaac was seen in this: he believed that by virtue of the covenant the promise was sure to the seed. He believed, in accordance with a revelation from God, that he could convey it by solemn benediction. He was wrong in the application of the blessing which he would fain have conferred upon Esau; but “the blessing” was given in “faith,” in full confidence that it would be fulfilled. The blessing was a prophecy of things to come, and he took the Divine word as evidence that the benediction would be accomplished to the letter.
Ruskin was in the world, but no longer of it. He was alive, yet only waiting for the end. In 1891 his friend, the Bishop of Carlisle, was staying at Brantwood. The Bishop was to leave Brantwood at an early hour. Mr. Ruskin expressed a strong wish to take leave of him and Mrs. Goodwin, if they would not mind coming to his bedroom. As the departing guests came into the room to say good-bye, a look came over Ruskin's face as though he had expected something more than the ordinary leave-taking. There was a moment's silence. Then the Bishop, quickly understanding what was passing in the other's mind, raised his hands over him, and said, “The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord lift up the light of His countenance upon you, and give you peace both now and for evermore. Amen.”1 [Note: E. T. Cook, The Life of Ruskin. ii. 532.]
