they give this other characteristic--that
these desires are in their very nature the instruments of deceit and
lies.

The words of my text are, perhaps, rather enfeebled by the form of
rendering which our translators have here, as in many cases, thought
proper to adopt. If, instead of reading 'corrupt according to the
deceitful lusts,' we read 'corrupt according to the desires of deceit,'
we should have got not only the contrast between the old man and the new
man, 'created in righteousness and holiness of truth'--but we should
have had, perhaps, a clearer notion of the characteristic of these
lusts, which the Apostle meant to bring into prominence. These desires
are, as it were, the tools and instruments by which deceit betrays and
mocks men; the weapons used by illusions and lies to corrupt and mar the
soul. They are strong, and their nature is to pursue after their objects
without regard to any consequences beyond their own gratification; but,
strong as they are, they are like the blinded Samson, and will pull the
house down on themselves if they be not watched. Their strength is
excited on false pretences. They are stirred to grasp what is after all
a lie. They are 'desires of deceit.'

That just points to the truth of all such life being hollow and
profitless. If regard be had to the whole scope of our nature and
necessities, and to the true aim of life as deduced therefrom, nothing
is more certain than that no man will get the satisfaction that his
ruling passions promise him, by indulging them. It is very sure that the
way never to get what you need and desire is always to do what you like.

And that for very plain reasons. Because, for one thing, the object only
satisfies for a time. Yesterday's food appeased our hunger for the day,
but we wake hungry again. And the desires which are not so purely animal
have the same characteristic of being stilled for the moment, and of
waking more ravenous than ever. 'He that drinketh of this water shall
thirst again.' Because, further, the desire grows and the object of it
does not. The fierce longing increases, and, of course, the power of the
thing that we pursue to satisfy it decreases in the same proportion. It
is a fixed quantity; the appetite is indefinitely expansible. And so,
the longer I go on feeding my desire, the more I long for the food; and
the more I long for it, the less taste it has when I get it. It must be
more strongly spiced to titillate a jaded palat