Daniel 5:5 In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand… Belshazzar was the king of Babylon, one of the most splendid cities in the world. It was built in an immense plain; and its walls measured a circumference of sixty miles. A hundred gates of brass adorned it; and hanging gardens, terrace above terrace, clothed its regal palace with living verdure. Through the midst flowed the great river Euphrates, painting in its depths the surrounding magnificence, and shedding beauty on temple and tower, that looked boldly from its banks. Yet the crowned lord himself of this wondrous city was a worthless wretch. He spent his time in luxurious repose, pampering the baser appetites, and permitting all the glory of his great abode to be sustained by the debauchery of his people. Many years he went on, and did his pleasure. God permitted him to choose his own course, and work out his own destiny, in the station assigned. The scene of our text is laid at the return of a certain idolatrous festival. The king had prepared a rich feast to grace it. He called in a thousand of his lords to the sparkling tables. His wives with his concubines came to join the company. And they reclined at the costly viands, spread all around in grateful abundance. So they went on, hour by hour, intoxicating their senses, and burying their souls in unbounded revelry. At length, heated with wins, Belshazzar ordered the sacred vessels, taken by Nebuchadnezzar from the temple of God at Jerusalem, to be brought for service in this scene of rioting and drunkenness. And they all, king, prince, wives, and concubines, used these instruments of holiness as their own goblets. They polluted them with their voluptuous lips, and poured out libations to the idols, and sang impious songs in honour of false gods. Then, suddenly, they saw the fingers, as of a man's hand, writing over against the candlestick, upon the plastered wall. Dim grew the lamps before those letters of fire. Wherefore those letters written on the wall? Simply to announce a punishment for the crime committed that very night! Thus are they generally understood. But the reference was, doubtless, larger and more solemn. It embraced the king's whole being, and was a final judgment on the long course of his guilty life. "Thou art weighed in the balances, and found wanting." Was the king utterly at a loss, even at the first, to know the meaning inscribed by that miraculous hand? So it is commonly supposed. And the idea seems to be justified by his offering a reward to anyone who should be able to read it. But, affrighted as he was at the terrible appearance, there is reason to believe that he was not altogether surprised. For, you will observe, it was not the wondrous miracle nor the blinding splendour that most moved the king. No; the text informs us it was his thoughts that troubled him. It was not stupid amazement and blind fear. No; his thoughts, rising clear and strong, and breaking at once through the fumes of intoxication, troubled him. And how was it that the king's thoughts troubled him? Oh, was it not by the interpretation they gave of the miraculous writing? Did not they translate that burning symbol, whose separate words he could not read, into one large commentary on his whole sinful life? Yea; guilty conscience woke from her slumber in his bosom, and compelled even the monarch to travel with her far away from the brilliant hall of felting to scenes of cruel bloodshed and dungeons of unjust imprisonment. Far into years long gone and forgotten, she hurried him as ghosts are said to hurry their victims; and, once more to the king's awakened mind, they were filled with their own fresh scenes and real characters. Yet he called in the wise man of God to read the writing, and, as he had promised, rewarded him with a chain of gold about his neck, and by proclaiming him the third ruler in the kingdom. But not for a moment could he stay the righteous goings of the Divine law. Hard on the sentence pronounced pressed its dreadful execution. Terrible interruption came to that scene of joy, where "a thousand hearts beat happily, and music arose with its voluptuous swell." That very night the Persian general, having turned the river Euphrates from its course, marched his troops along the empty channel. The drunken Chaldeans had left open their brazen gates. I have but pictured the operation in a single instance of a law which is universal and eternal — the law of retribution. It is not Belshazzar alone, and Babylon, and two thousand years ago, of which I have spoken, but of every wilful offender against God's law who walks our own streets. It is to be feared most of us do not live with a practical regard to this law of retribution. And wherefore? Is it because we have not found conclusive evidence of its reality? It cannot be; for not only is it a law expounded in Scripture. It is suggested by all the analogies of nature which Scripture has used for its illustration. It is written everywhere in history. It is taught in all civil regulations. We see the same law governing domestic life. How many families, rising to riches and honour by the path of the virtues, have as surely fallen by that of the vices! Two or three generations measured their ascent, and two or three more have sunk them in poverty and shame; and then men talk of the wheel of fortune. Nay, it is the revolution of Providence; it is the justice of God! This moral law, too, while exactly adjusting individual fortunes, as easily weighs kingdoms. The Roman empire was built from the feeblest beginnings, by the force of temperance, industry, and valour. She spread her arms over the nations, gave law to savage tribes, made the mention of her citizens a universal joy and terror, and became another name for the world. But luxury flowed in, stagnant sloth extended, corruption prevailed, ambition battled; and she that had ruled mankind by virtue, dissolved in vice, fell a prey to barbarians. All known religions, too, of merely human invention, have confessed the same principle. How deeply have they sunk caverns of torment in the world of spirits! In fine, the vilest sinner himself has fearful anticipations of his doom. Retribution, then, is not only a solemn doctrine of holy writ, but a great fact in human nature. Our disregard of it comes not from any want of proof. How, then, is it to be accounted for? Doubtless, we may say generally, by our own guilty negligence. Yet there are more special reasons. First, the very strength with which it has been believed by some, and the terrific manner in which it has been set forth, have produced unbelief in others. Morbidly excited religionists have averred that the slightest offence is worthy of eternal punishment. No wonder that our ideas of God, of justice, of mercy, yea, and our human hearts, should rebel against such representations. But, recoiling in horror from this over-statement and extravagance, many have gone into a perilous extreme of indifference and doubt. Men have lived as if there were to be no day of reckoning at all, and put their souls to imminent hazard. How many, too, view retribution simply as a doctrine of the understanding, to be uncertainly reasoned about, refuted, or proved, and a fit subject for sectarians to try their armour upon in theological warfare! We have received it too much as an opinion to be discussed, rather than a reality to be felt in a perpetual pressure on the heart. This account shows us, in the first place, that men generally allowed to go on for a while as they please, really to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season. It is sometimes said, guilt always receives its full punishment immediately in this life. But this is plainly not true, as matter of fact; and, if it were, we can hardly conceive how sin or virtue should exist at all. Were the stripes inflicted at once, and for every even the smallest offence, transgression would be a thing to be avoided just as we avoid tasting poison, plunging into deep water, or handling coals of fire. Probation, a trial of men to see whether they will do right, would be entirely out of the question. There could be no free moral will but would at once break down. We should he machines, moving with regularity as the sun and moon do. Bat how was it with Belshazzar? Time was given him to degrade himself fully, and offer abundant sacrifices to the gods of flesh and sense. Nearly seventeen years had he reigned. He had gathered everything rich and beautiful around him. And yet the angel of judgment had not sensibly touched him. But, secondly, the account from Scripture, while it shows we have a season of clear and proper probation, makes retribution something equally positive and distinct. Though not now mingled in equal proportions with sin, it will at length break in upon it suddenly and sharply. Our own experience will furnish us with cases of commencing retribution similar to that of the Asiatic king. We have seen the young man despising wholesome restraints, neglecting regular duties, moving joyously through all the rounds of sinful pleasure. Was the sword of vengeance stretched at once over his head, and his soul summoned to its trial? No; year after year he went on, and spent his substance in riotous living, and robbed his brothers' patrimony. Noble were the powers of his mind, and, like jewels, they might have shone in his noble frame. But, alas! their strength was all melted down in the fires of appetite and the heats of passion. At length the too-sorely taxed system began to tremble from the height of its proud strength. Loathsome disease infected the nerves, and loosened every fibre. And death is not the end of retribution, but the signal of its more perfect reign. Death is often piously spoken of as a circumstance in life. But it is not a small circumstance. The time arrives for this temple of the human body to be taken down. Finally, the account from Scripture presents retribution, not only as a principle thus sure and dreadful in its operations, but as a law of rigorous justice. Even to the dissolute king it was said, "Thou art weighed in the balances, and found wanting." Retribution shall be measured and meted out to thee in exact proportion to thy sin. Thou shall suffer as much as thou deservest, and no more and no less. The unbounded and unqualified declarations which are so common are apt to make us forget this just and guarded style of the Scriptures. A man is to reap exactly what he sows, of the same kind and in the same degree. Turning aside, then, from all ingenious speculations, here is the solemn fact that should press upon our hearts and control our lives. We must eat the fruit of our own doings, and all of it. Oh! were we but once thoroughly persuaded of this simple truth, what revolutions would take place in our lives! How should we avoid every inordinate passion as a raging fire! How should we cast all envious and uncharitable thoughts, like vipers, from our bosoms! What immense interest would life gain in our eyes! Steadily and for ever the work goes on. Events sweep by us, ever taking some stamp from the moral tamper of our minds, the transcript of which is entered in the book of judgment. As not the smallest particle of dust is ever annihilated, so not a thought we have cherished, not a feeling we have indulged, not the most trivial act done in the most sportive mood, shall be lost. Buried these things may be, and are, for a time, like seed in a field. The traveller walks over the smooth surface, and dreams not of the mighty process going on beneath. But, nevertheless, soon does the full harvest wave wide its golden treasure. Thus, too, the harvest-season of life shall come. Now is the spring-time of the moral year! (C.A. Bartol.) Parallel Verses KJV: In the same hour came forth fingers of a man's hand, and wrote over against the candlestick upon the plaister of the wall of the king's palace: and the king saw the part of the hand that wrote. |
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