The very same principle extended leads to the conviction that the highest wisdom is his who lives for the furthest, which is also the most certain, Future.
However material the advantages of the birthright were supposed to be, they _then_ appealed to imagination, not sense. _There_ was the pottage in the pan: 'I can see that and smell it. This birthright, can I eat _it_? Let me get the solid realities, and let who will have the imaginary.'
So the unseen good things, such as intellectual culture, fair reputation, and the like, are better than the gross satisfactions that can be handled, or tasted, or seen.
And, on the very same principle, high above the seeker after these--as high as he is above the drunkard--is the Christian, whose life is shaped by the loftiest Unseen, even 'Him who is invisible.'
The story seems to have a certain undertone of sarcasm, and a keen perception of the immense stupidity of the man.
Pottage and a full belly to-day--that was all he got for such a sacrifice.
3. How well the bargain worked at first, and what came of it at last.
No doubt Esau had his meal, and, no doubt, when a man sells his soul to the devil (the mediaeval form of the story), he generally gets the price for which he bargained, more or less, and oftentimes with a dash of vinegar in the porridge, which makes it less palatable.
What comes of it at last. Put side by side the pictures of Esau's animal contentment at the moment when he had eaten up his mess, and of his despair when he wailed, 'Hast thou not one blessing?'
He finds out his mistake. A sense of the preciousness of the despised thing wakes in him.
And it is too late. There _are_ irrevocable consequences of every false choice. Youth is gone: cannot alter that. Opportunities gone: cannot alter that. Strength gone: cannot alter that. Habits formed, associations, reputation, position, character, are all determined.
But there is a blessed _contrast_ between Esau's experience and what may be ours. The desire to have the birthright is sure to bring it to us. No matter how late the desire is of springing, nor how long and insultingly we have suppressed it, we never go to our Father in vain with the cry, 'Bless me, even me also.'
'What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?'