For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.
The three elements of a worldly life: love of pleasure, the love of knowledge, and the love of power
What then is the meaning of the phrase “desire of the flesh?” It is the desire which we naturally have to gratify our lower impulses, that animal nature which we share with the brutes, but which in man ought to be under the control of the superior faculty of reason. If we name this desire from its object, rather than from its origin or source, we might call it loosely “the desire of pleasure uncontrolled by a sense of duty.” It is more difficult to ascertain the exact force of the “desire of the eyes.” If taken literally, it would simply stand for a particular form of the desire of the flesh, a more refined and human form of sensual pleasure, the desire of seeing beautiful objects; but I am inclined to think that, so far as this is sensual, it is included under the former head, and that it is more in accordance with Hebrew ideas and with the facts of life to suppose that we have here a quite distinct class of desires, the desires of the intellect. But how, it may be asked, can the desire of knowledge be condemned as characteristic of the world. Knowledge is not dependent on society, like pleasure, and moreover the desire of knowledge is especially commended in the Bible. How then can it be to the discredit of the world, or make its influence more injurious, if it is accompanied by the desire of knowledge? The answer is that neither pleasure nor knowledge is in itself condemned in the Bible. The pleasure which is condemned in the phrase “lust of the flesh,” is, as we have seen, selfish and predominantly sensual, unchecked by higher thoughts and feelings. And so by the “desire of the eyes” is meant primarily not the desire for truth as such, but the desire for a knowledge of the world, knowledge as contrasted not with ignorance and stupidity, but with simplicity, ingenuousness and innocence. How many owe their fall to an impatience of restraint and a curiosity which is attracted to evil rather than to good! How few remember that knowledge no more than pleasure can claim our absolute allegiance! We now come to the third of these worldly lusts, as they are styled in the Epistle to Titus, the “pride,” or as the Revised Version has it, the “vainglory” of life, the desire to make a show, the desire of honour and distinction, which is as naturally characteristic of the active principle within us, as the desire of pleasure is of the passive or sensitive principle. Supposing this to be a generally correct account of St. John’s analysis of the spirit of the world, it is evident that it corresponds with the common division of man’s nature into the feeling, the thinking, and the willing part; the desire of pleasure corresponding to the appetites, the desire of knowledge to the intellect, while ambition, the desire of honour and of power, corresponds to the will. But human life consists in the exercise of these different elements of man’s nature. How is it possible, then, that these gifts of God should be the source of the evil that is in the world? If man were perfect, as God intended him to be, this would not be the case. His various impulses would all work harmoniously together under the control of reason and conscience, enlightened and guided by the Spirit of God himself. But we know that, whatever we may hope for the future, this is far from being the case at present. At present every impulse is a source of danger, because it is not satisfied with doing the work and attaining the end for which it was implanted in our nature, but continues to urge us on where its action is injurious, antagonistic to higher ends and higher activities, and contrary to the will of Him Who made us. It is these blind unruly impulses which constitute the spirit of the world, and are employed by him, who is described as the prince of this world, to band men together in evil, and so build up a kingdom of the world, in opposition to the kingdom of God. St. John implies the unrestrained action of these impulses when he tells us they make up all that is in the world. If we can trust contemporary evidence, the historians and satirists of Rome, no less than Christian writers, the moral condition of society in the imperial city is not too darkly coloured in St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. In the catalogue of sin and vice there given, two main lines of evil may be distinguished, which at first sight seem to be very remote from each other, but which are in fact closely allied, being continually associated together in history, as they are in Milton’s famous line, “Lust hard by hate.” Cruelty and profligacy were the most marked characteristics of the Caligulas and the Neros of Rome; they were the notes of that degraded aristocracy, in which even the women, dead to all sense of shame, were also dead to all feeling of pity, and could look on with a horrible delight at the sports in the arena, where gladiators were butchered to make a Roman holiday, and Christians were burnt alive at night in order to light up the chariot races of the emperor. And the profligacy of the capitol was faithfully copied in the provinces. St. Paul’s epistles, with their constant warnings against impurity, show how deeply even the humbler ranks of society, from which the Church was mainly recruited, were infected with this vice of paganism. We see, then, that as regards the desire or lust of the flesh, the state of contemporary society fully bore out St. John’s description of the world. How did the case stand with regard to the second point in his description, the lust of the eyes? Understanding this of the desire of knowledge, we find St. Paul in his Epistle to the Corinthians describing it as the distinctive feature of the Greek as opposed to the Hebrew, that the Greeks seek after wisdom; but “God (he says) hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise”; “Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.” So St. Luke mentions curiosity, which is merely the undisciplined desire of knowledge, as the chief characteristic of the Athenians, “all the Athenians spent their time in nothing else but either to tell or to hear some new thing.” Ephesus, where St. John is believed to have spent the latter part of his life, was especially noted for the study of curious arts, prying into forbidden things. Lastly, if we ask how far that third constituent of the worldly spirit, ambition, vainglory, the pride of life, was to be found in Paganism at the time of St. John’s writing, we need not look further than the temple of Ephesus, which was held to be one of the wonders of the world; we need only think of the magnificence of the architecture, the splendour of the ceremonial, the frenzied enthusiasm of the multitudes which gathered at the festival of “the great goddess Diana, whom all Asia and the world worshippeth.” How hard it must have been for the little band of Christians to realise that all this pageantry and power was but an empty show, destined in a few short years to vanish away; to feel that the weakness of God was stronger than men, that “God had chosen the base things of the world to confound the things which are mighty, that no flesh might glory in His presence.” And if this was true of a provincial town like Ephesus, how much more of what was even then known as the eternal city, to which all the wealth and power and greatness, all the art and science and skill of the whole earth was attracted, where one man commanded the lives and fortunes of all, and was worshipped as God on earth, the only God whose worship was obligatory on all. It was such a world dominion as this, that St. John had in his mind, when he warned his disciples against being dazzled by the vainglory of life, when he spoke of the whole world lying in wicked ness, when he encouraged them with the thought that “He that is born of God overcometh the world.” I think that what we have seen to be true of the pagan world of St. John’s day, is also true of all the more marked historical appearances of the worldly spirit. Two such appearances may be especially noticed. One was that period of revolt against the Middle Ages, which preceded and accompanied the Reformation, the other was that period of scepticism which prepared the way for the French Revolution. In both we find the most influential classes of society, those which may be regarded as the truest embodiment of the worldly spirit of their time, characterised by the combination of these three elements, the love of pleasure, the love of knowledge, and the love of power. Enlightenment was the special boast of both eras, and the effect of this enlightenment was to shake off the old fashioned restraints of religion and morality and give free scope to the selfish instincts, whether in the direction of pleasure or ambition. Caesar Borgia was the natural outcome of the first era; Napoleon Bonaparte of the second. (J. B. Mayor, M. A.)
Transitoriness of the lust of the flesh
By “the lust of the flesh” I understand the animal needs and appetites, the physical strength and vigour. There is a period in life when the desires of the flesh exercise immense influence and subtle power over the imagination. They seem to promise illimitable delight and inexhaustible pleasures. The imagination runs through the world and sees everywhere alluring forms which point to intoxicating joys. That is not an unusual experience. It is common to all of us in the heyday of youth and strength, and I only allude to it to ask--Have you considered that this is passing away? Do you know that the gamut of appetite and passion is very limited after all? You can soon reach up and strike the topmost note, and downward and strike the lowest. Do you know that these violent delights have violent ends? They are soon exhausted, and the hungry passion is satiated, and the promise which it made is found a cheat. It is so. It is so if for no other reason than this--because physical life itself fails. Youth is soon gone; manhood is soon passed; old age is soon reached. You are not what you were. Already the keen edge and zest of earthly appetite is blunted. You dislike, perhaps, to admit it, and yet you know in your hearts that the best cup of wine which life has to give you is already drunk, and that life will never prepare again for you the like. (W. J. Dawson.)
The lust of the eyes
The eye is the portal of innumerable delights. It is “the meeting place of many worlds.” Through it there stream in upon the mind the vision of beauty, the revelation of sciences, the pomp and pageantry of earthly power, all the bright, shifting splendour of human glory. Have you ever considered that riches appeal mainly to the eye? It is the eye which interprets to a man the stateliness of the house which he has built, the beauty of the gardens which he has laid out, the picture’s charm, the statue’s grace, the horse’s symmetry--in a word, all those costly embellishments with which wealth can adorn life. To the blind man they are nothing. To be blind is to lose almost everything that riches can bestow. Yet, says John, the lust of the eyes, too, is a fading passion which is soon satiated. The first house a man buys looks better and bigger to him than any house he owns afterwards. The first picture a man owns brings him more genuine pleasure than all the others put together. That lust of the eye which desires to add house to house and land to land has a lessening pleasure in its acquisitions. Like the lust of the flesh, after all it is a life of sensation, and all sensation is limited and soon exhausted. You, perhaps, have set your hope in some such direction as this. You desire to be rich; your eye lusts for the luxurious abodes of wealth and the circumstance and state of social greatness. When the lust of the flesh fails, the lust of the eye often develops; and the man who has lost the one frantically tries to recoup himself by flying to the other. But it is vain. The miseries of the idle rich, their ennui, their listlessness, their discontent, their imbecile thirst for new sensations, their perpetual invention of new and artificial joys, remind us how true are the words of John, that the lust of the eyes, too, passes away. (W. J. Dawson.)
The pride of life is transitory
It may signify either the pride of power or the pride of knowledge.
1. Take it, for instance, as the pride of power. Take it in regard to that great and splendid empire with which the apostles were familiar. It seemed built to last forever. To be a Roman was to be armed with an invincible defence. It was a proud boast which clothed the meanest man with dignity. The tramp of the legions of Rome echoed in every city; the silver eagles were borne in triumph through all the world; its laws had imposed civilisation upon the most barbarous peoples; and its power had crushed nation after nation. There was no sign in John’s day of any overthrow. Yet this solitary man told the truth when he said, not merely that it would pass away, but that it was passing away. He recognised that mysterious law of God, which seems to give to nations their chance and strengthen them with universal victory, and then depose them, lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Egypt, Chaldea, Babylon, Greece, all had had their day, and ceased to be. And so it would be with Rome. We today know that it has passed away.
2. And it is true of the pride of knowledge. The noblest pride of life, because the highest, is the pride of knowledge. Yet that, too, is transient. Nothing shifts its boundaries so often. Nothing is so illusive. Nothing passes through such strange and rapid transformations. The knowledge of Galileo would be the ignorance of today; and if Isaac Newton were alive now he would have to go to school again. A century, a half-century, a single decade, is often sufficient to thrust the most brilliant discoveries into oblivion. The steam engine has sup planted the coach; but the steam engine is already passing away, and in fifty years’ time will be supplanted by some greater and more serviceable power. The telegraph has bound nations together and has made all nations neighbours; but the telephone is becoming its rival, and in another century, and less perhaps, men will hear each other’s whispers round the globe. A thousand illustrations might be given of how knowledge perpetually effaces its past. Nor is this a mournful truth. It is no tolling bell which announces that the world is passing away. It is rather a trumpet. It means that God’s law is progress: and that is a glorious truth for those who can understand it. (W. J. Dawson.)
The worldling’s trinity
Pleasure, profit, preferment (called here “the lust of the flesh,” etc.) are the worldling’s trinity, to the which he performeth inward and outward worship. (J. Trapp.)
What is “the world”
Theworld is not altogether matter, nor yet altogether spirit. It is not man only, nor Satan only, nor is it exactly sin. It is an infection, an inspiration, an atmosphere, a life, a colouring matter, a pageantry, a fashion, a taste, a witchery. None of all these names suit it, and all of them suit it. (S. Faber.)
