Alexander the Great is said to have wept because there were no more worlds for him to conquer; and truly says the sage Hebrew King, “The grave and destruction can never have enough, nor are the eyes of man ever satisfied” (Prov. xxvii, 20), a sentiment which the following tale, or parable, is designed to exemplify:
The Vanity of Ambition.
Pursuing his journey through dreary deserts and uncultivated ground, Alexander came at last to a small rivulet, whose waters glided peacefully along their shelving banks. Its smooth, unruffled surface was the image of contentment, and seemed in its silence to say, “This is the abode of tranquility.” All was still: not a sound was heard save soft murmuring tones which seemed to whisper in the ear of the weary traveller, “Come, and partake of nature’s bounty,” and to complain that such an offer should be made in vain. To a contemplative mind, such a scene might have suggested a thousand delightful reflections. But what charms could it have for the soul of Alexander, whose breast was filled with schemes of ambition and conquest; whose eye was familiarised with rapine and slaughter; and whose ears were accustomed to the clash of arms—to the groans of the wounded and the dying? Onward, therefore, he marched. Yet, overcome by fatigue and hunger, he was soon obliged to halt. He seated himself on the bank of the river, took a draught of the water, which he found of a very fine flavour and most refreshing. He then ordered some salt fish, with which he was well provided, to be brought to him. These he caused to be dipped in the stream, in order to take off the briny taste, and was greatly surprised to find them emit a fine fragrance. “Surely,” said he, “this river, which possesses such uncommon qualities, must flow from some very rich and happy country.”
Following the course of the river, he at length arrived at the gates of Paradise. The gates were shut. He knocked, and, with his usual impetuosity, demanded admittance. “Thou canst not be admitted here,” exclaimed a voice from within; “this gate is the Lord’s.” “I am the Lord—the Lord of the earth,” rejoined the impatient chief. “I am Alexander the Conqueror. Will you not admit me?” “No,” was the answer; “here we know of no conquerors, save such as conquer their passions: None but the just can enter here.” Alexander endeavoured in vain to enter the abode of the blessed—neither entreaties nor menaces availed. Seeing all his attempts fruitless, he addressed himself to the guardian of Paradise, and said: “You know I am a great king, who has received the homage of nations. Since you will not admit me, give me at least some token that I may show an astonished world that I have been where no mortal has ever been before me.” “Here, madman,” said the guardian of Paradise—“here is something for thee. It may cure the maladies of thy distempered soul. One glance at it may teach thee more wisdom than thou hast hitherto derived from all thy former instructors. Now go thy ways.”
Alexander took the present with avidity, and repaired to his tent. But what was his confusion and surprise to find, on examining his present, that it was nothing but a fragment of a human skull. “And is this,” exclaimed he, “the mighty gift that they bestow on kings and heroes? Is this the fruit of so much toil and danger and care?” Enraged and disappointed, he threw it on the ground. “Great king,” said one of the learned men who were present, “do not despise this gift. Contemptible as it may appear in thine eyes, it yet possesses some extraordinary qualities, of which thou mayest soon be convinced, if thou wilt but cause it to be weighed against gold or silver.” Alexander ordered this to be done. A pair of scales were brought. The skull was placed in one, a quantity of gold in the other; when, to the astonishment of the beholders, the skull over-balanced the gold. More gold was added, yet still the skull preponderated. In short, the more gold there was put in the one scale the lower sank that which contained the skull. “Strange,” exclaimed Alexander, “that so small a portion of matter should outweigh so large a mass of gold! Is there nothing that will counterpoise it?” “Yes,” answered the philosophers, “a very little matter will do it.” They then took some earth and covered the skull with it, when immediately down went the gold, and the opposite scale ascended. “This is very extraordinary,” said Alexander, astonished. “Can you explain this phenomenon?” “Great king,” said the sages, “this fragment is the socket of a human eye, which, though small in compass, is yet unbounded in its desires. The more it has, the more it craves. Neither gold nor silver nor any other earthly possession can ever satisfy it. But when it is once laid in the grave and covered with a little earth, there is an end to its lust and ambition.”
Shakspeare’s well-known masterly description of the Seven Ages of Man, which he puts into the mouth of the melancholy Jaques (As You Like It, ii, 7), was anticipated by Rabbi Simon, the son of Eliezer, in this Talmudic description of
The Seven Stages of Human Life.
Seven times in one verse did the author of Ecclesiastes make use of the word vanity, in allusion to the seven stages of human life.[95]
The first commences in the first year of human existence, when the infant lies like a king on a soft couch, with numerous attendants about him, all ready to serve him, and eager to testify their love and attachment by kisses and embraces.
The second commences about the age of two or three years, when the darling child is permitted to crawl on the ground, and, like an unclean animal, delights in dirt and filth.