Isaiah 14:9-23 Hell from beneath is moved for you to meet you at your coming: it stirs up the dead for you, even all the chief ones of the earth… I. ENTRANCE OF THE TYRANT INTO THE UNDERWORLD. (Vers. 9-11.) The realm of the departed trembles with the excitement of expectation as the great potentate of Babylonia approaches to take up his abode in those gloomy regions. The shades of departed chiefs and kings bestir themselves, and rise from their thrones in amazement to greet the newcomer. "Hast thou also become weak like us? Art thou become one of us?' His pomp and splendor is cast down to the lowest depth, the sound of his festive harp is silenced in that joyless place. Instead of his costly rugs, maggots are now his bedclothes, and his counterpane worms. II. IDEAS OF THE UNDERWORLD. These pictures reach far back into antiquity, and represent a deep and universal belief in the heart of mankind. Sheol among the Hebrews, Hades and Tartaros among the Greeks, the realm of Dis or Pluto among the Romans, are different representations of the same ideas of conscience. But with the Hebrew it is connected more sublimely and simply with the faith in the one supreme and righteous God. 1. It is viewed as a stale of physical exhaustion. In Homer ('Odyssey,' 11.) the departed are described as faint, helpless ghosts, who recover nor memory and consciousness till they have drunk of the blood poured by Odysseus into the trench. And when his mother has thus revived and has spoken to him - "Thrice in my arms I strove her shade to hind; Thrice through my arms she slipp'd like empty wind, Or dreams, the vain illusion of the mind.... All, all are such when life the body leaves No more the substance of the man remains, Nor bounds the blood along the purple veins." Pale and wan beneath those "nether skies," their lot is in extreme contrast to that of their friends who still "breathe in realms of cheerful day." 2. It is a place of profound sadness and regret. Who can forget the piercing pathos of Achilles' words when Odysseus hails him as a king among the shades, even as on earth he had been a guardian divinity to his countrymen - "Talk not of ruling in this dolorous gloom, Nor think vain words (he cried) can ease my doom. Rather I'd choose laboriously to bear A weight of woes and breathe the vital air, A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread, Than reign the sceptered monarch of the dead." Oh, how gladly, exclaims Virgil, in describing the suicides in hell, would they now endure poverty and toil beneath the deep sky! But vain the wish; justice forbids, and they must remain confined in the horrid swamp, with its melancholy waters, shut in by the ninefold stream of Styx. A sullen discontent is the mood of others, like Ajax, brooding over the loss of the prize of arms. It is a scene of hopelessness. The descent is easy; but to retrace the steps - the Roman poet admits the possibility only to a few, sons of gods, favored by Jupiter, or inspired by superhuman virtue. Says the gloomy Italian, "All hope abandon, ye who enter here." In the soul, where all these dread events must happen, first and last, what is this weakness, this unavailing regret, this void of hope, but the reaction of powers abused, of passions indulged beyond their proper bound? According to our sowing must be our reaping, and our daily deeds must be reflecting their color upon the wall of the inner chamber of the mind, till it becomes to us either prison or palace, a hell or a heaven. III. THE CONTEMPLATION OF PAST GREATNESS. From the depth of sorrow men learn to measure past blessings, from the lowest point of abject humiliation the height of previous greatness. Two things, in all history, in all legend, in the experience of daily life, impress the imagination, and through the imagination the moral conscience - the rise of the obscure into glory, and the fall of the great into ignominy. Such changes hint at a great law, the principle of which is one, the effects of whose operation are dual and diverse. The King of Babel had been as the morning star, the type of the Orient in all its splendor of intellectual light, heralding the dawn and the onward march of the sun. How true a proposition is it in reference to human culture, "Light comes from the East!" Babylonia was an early center of such culture; and dimly through the records of the past we may there discern all those passions and energies at work in that great kingdom which lead first to external greatness, then to moral corruption, finally to external ruin. The remains of Oriental architecture, as significant to those who understand the ethical meaning of art as a whole literature could have been, speak of a towering ambition, such as the prophet here describes. In no way can we be more astonished at the vastness of the passions of man's little heart, than in contemplating those colossal tombs and temples and palaces of ancient lands. They seem a visible challenge to time, a defiance of death, an arrogation of divinity and of immortality. To the prophet they, with other accompaniments of despotic power, appeared as the attempt of vain man to measure himself with heaven. The secret thought he detects in the heart of the tyrant is, "To heaven I will ascend, beyond God's stars I will raise my throne, and sit down on the mount of all the gods, in the extreme north; will ascend to the heights of the clouds, and make myself like the Most High." The north was in ancient thought generally the sacred quarter. Zeus dwelt in Olympus, on the north borders of Greece. Apollo came from the Hyperboreans, the people beyond the north wind. Zion is "on the sides of the north, the city of the great king." And in his epiphany in the tempest, Jehovah comes in majesty from the north. The magnificent heathen would then have rivaled him. He said in his heart as he looked on his palaces and hanging gardens, as he reviewed his troops, as he listened to the echoes of Western alarms, "By the strength of my hand I have done it;" "As one gathereth deserted eggs, I have gathered all the earth" (Isaiah 10:11, 14). He felt himself to be like a magnificent tree, deftly striking his roots through the whole succulence of the earth, overtopping all other growths, sheltering all fowls in his branches, all beasts, yea, all nations, in his shade. All other trees, the cedar in the garden of God, the fir tree and the chestnut, seemed to envy him (Ezekiel 30.). And now! Oh, tragic change! his boughs are broken, his branches scattered on the earth, his shade deserted; the birds and beasts remain, but only as haunters of a ruin. "Now thou art east into hell, into the lowest depth." IV. ASTONISHMENT AT PRESENT IGNOMINY. 1. The world looks on. "Is this the man who made the earth tremble through and through, who shook the kingdoms to their base? who made the world as a desert, and destroyed its cities, and let not his captives return home?" The scene is changed from Hades; no longer is the monarch viewed even as in the underworld, to which only the buried could pass. It is an outcast corpse the spectators look upon, and no sight could to ancient feeling be more abhorrent, or signify more deeply the curse of a hero's end. The other kings of the peoples rest each in his magnificent mausoleum; he lies amongst the meanest corpses of those slain upon the battle-field; not even hastily interred in a hole filled with stones, but liable to be trampled underfoot by the victor. He who would have grasped the earth in his ambitious embrace, cannot now find six feet of it to shelter his remains. The lurid light of such an end is cast back upon the beginning. To a prophetic eye false greatness is already smitten by the Divine judgment, the effects of which will be one day the amazement and the horror of men. 2. The prophet reads the moral. Such an end of the waster of lands and fierce murderer of peoples must serve as example and prototype to all times. It is no mere personal, but a dynastic doom. The seed of evil-doers, the tyrant's progeny, will pass into oblivion; his sons will expiate his offences in a bath of blood, so that the very species of human savages called "tyrants" shall no more be propagated. Every general truth has its particular application to a given time and condition; so every particular catastrophe that fills the nations with amaze is to be traced up to some great central ever-working cause. And for good or for evil, there is organic sympathy in the lives and fates of individuals. If we wrench ourselves not free from the family vice, what can we expect but the family doom? If we are partakers, by the force of custom or example, of the sins of our party, profession, class, we may not be exempt from the moral disgrace which must sooner or later overtake it. V. CLOSING ORACLE. It uses images of the utmost energy and tragic vehemence. Jehovah will root out of Babylon name and remnant, sprout and shoot. It shall become the heritage of "hedgehogs and swamps," shall be swept with the besom of destruction. The doom of great cities - what is it but the doom of individuals "writ large?" In that doom may be seen eternal justice; can we find mixing with it eternal mercy, eternal love? In these scenes of horror on earth, in the reflected miseries of Hades? Must history ever pursue its spiral course, and epicycle upon epicycle of sin and damnation eternally succeed? Let us fall back upon our deepest hopes, and think that the yearning of the creature cannot exceed that of the Creator, and that at the foundation of hell's floor must still be Divine justice and love. So Dante sang - "Justice the founder of my fabric moved; To rear me was the task of power Divine, Supremest wisdom, and primeval love." ? J. Parallel Verses KJV: Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all the kings of the nations. |
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