And he that riseth against me as the unrighteous._"
If I have aught to do with a wicked man such as I am now to describe,
one who would pretend to pure and godly life while he had behaved in
impious defiance of righteousness, if I have to do with such a man,
let it be as an enemy.
"_For what is the hope of the godless whom He cutteth off,
When God taketh his soul?
Will God hear his cry
When trouble cometh upon him?
Will he delight himself in the Almighty
And call upon Eloah at all times?_"
The topic is access to God by prayer, that sense of security which
depends on the Divine friendship. There comes one moment at least, there
may be many, in which earthly possessions are seen to be worthless and
the help to the Almighty is alone to any avail. In order to enjoy hope
at such a time a man must habitually live with God in sincere obedience.
The godless man previously described, the thief, the adulterer whose
whole life is a cowardly lie, is cut off from the Almighty. He finds no
resource in the Divine friendship. To call upon God always is no
privilege of his; he has lost it by neglect and revolt. Job speaks of
the case of such a man as in contrast to his own. Although his own
prayers remain apparently unanswered he has a reserve of faith and hope.
Before God he can still assure himself as the servant of His
righteousness, in fellowship with Him who is eternally true. The address
closes with these words of retrospection (vv. 11, 12):--
"_I would teach you concerning the hand of God,
That which is with Shaddai would I not conceal.
Behold, all ye yourselves have seen it;
Why then are ye become altogether vain?_"
At this point begins a passage which creates great difficulty. It is
ascribed to Job, but is entirely out of harmony with all he has said.
May we accept the conjecture that it is the missing third speech of
Zophar, erroneously incorporated with the "parable" of Job? Do the
contents warrant this departure from the received text?
All along Job's contention has been that though an evil-doer could
have no fellowship with God, no joy in God, yet such a man might
succeed in his schemes, amass wealth, live in glory, go down to his
grave in peace. Yea, he might be laid in a stately tomb and the very
clods of the valley might be sweet to him. Job has not affirmed this
to be always the history of one who defies the Divine law. But he has
said that often it is; and the deep darkness in which he himself lies
is not caused so much by his calamity and disease as by the doubt
forced upon him whether the Most High does rule in steadfast justice
on this earth. How comes it, he has cried again and again, that the
wicked prosper and the good are often reduced to poverty and sorrow?
Now does the passage from the twelfth verse onwards correspond with
this strain of thought? It describes the fate of the wicked oppressor
in strong language--defeat, desolation, terror, rejection by God,
rejection by men. His children are multiplied only for the sword. Sons
die and widows are left disconsolate. His treasures, his garments
shall not be for his delight; the innocent shall enjoy his substance.
His sudden death shall be in shame and agony, and men shall clap their
hands at him and hiss him out of his place. Clearly, if Job is the
speaker, he must be giving up all he has hitherto contended for,
admitting that his friends have argued truly, that after all judgment
does fall in this world upon arrogant men. The motive of the whole
controversy would be lost if Job yielded this point. It is not as if
the passage ran, This or that may take place, this or that may befall
the evil-doer. Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar never present more strongly
their own view than that view is presented here. Nor can it be said
that the writer may be preparing for the confession Job makes after
the Almighty has spoken from the storm. When he gives way then, it is
only to the extent of withdrawing his doubts of the wisdom and justice
of the Divine rule.
The suggestion that Job is here reciting the statements of his friends
cannot be entertained. To read "Why are ye altogether vain, _saying_,
This is the portion of the wicked man from God," is incompatible with
the long and detailed account of the oppressor's overthrow and
punishment. There would be no point or force in mere recapitulation
without the slightest irony or caricature. The passage is in grim
earnest. On the other hand, to imagine that Job is modifying his
former language is, as Dr. A. B. Davidson shows, equally out of the
question. With his own sons and daughters lying in their graves, his
own riches dispersed, would he be likely to say--"_If his children be
multiplied it is for the sword_"? and
"_Though he heap up silver as the dust,
And prepare raiment as the clay;
He may prepare it, but the just shall put it on
And the innocent shall divide the silver_"?
Against supposing this to be Zophar's third speech the arguments drawn
from the brevity of Bildad's last utterance and the exhaustion of the
subjects of debate have little weight, and there are distinct points
of resemblance between the passage under consideration and Zophar's
former addresses. Assuming it to be his, it is seen to begin precisely
where he left off;--only he adopts the distinction Job has pointed out
and confines himself now to "oppressors." His last speech closed with
the sentence: "This is the portion of a wicked man from God, and the
heritage appointed unto him by God." He begins here (ver. 13): "This
is the portion of a wicked man with God, and the heritage of
oppressors which they receive from the Almighty." Again, without
verbal identity, the expressions "God shall cast the fierceness of His
wrath upon him" (chap. xx. 23), and "God shall hurl upon him and not
spare" (chap. xxvii. 21), show the same style of representation, as
also do the following: "Terrors are upon him.... His goods shall flow
away in the day of his wrath" (chap. xx. 25, 28), and "Terrors
overtake him like waters" (chap. xxvii. 20). Other similarities may be
easily traced; and on the whole it seems by far the best explanation
of an otherwise incomprehensible passage to suppose that here Zophar
is holding doggedly to opinions which the other two friends have
renounced. Job could not have spoken the passage, and there is no
reason for considering it to be an interpolation by a later hand.
XXIII.
_CHORAL INTERLUDE._
CHAP. xxviii.
The controversy at length closed, the poet breaks into a chant of the
quest of Wisdom. It can hardly be supposed to have been uttered or
sung by Job. But if we may go so far as to imagine a chorus after the
manner of the Greek dramas, this ode would fitly come as a choral
descant reflecting on the vain attempts made alike by Job and by his
friends to penetrate the secrets of Divine providence. How poor and
unsatisfying is all that has been said. To fathom the purposes of the
Most High, to trace through the dark shadows and entanglements of
human life that unerring righteousness with which all events are
ordered and overruled--how far was this above the sagacity of the
speakers. Now and again true things have been said, now and again
glimpses of that vindication of the good which should compensate for
all their sufferings have brightened the controversy. But the
reconciliation has not been found. The purposes of the Most High
remain untraced. The poet is fully aware of this, aware even that on
the ground of argument he is unable to work out the problem which he
has opened. With an undertone of wistful sadness, remembering passages
of his country's poetry that ran in too joyous a strain, as if wisdom
lay within the range of human ken, he suspends the action of the drama
for a little to interpose this cry of limitation and unrest. There is
no complaint that God keeps in his own hand sublime secrets of Design.
What is man that he should be discontented with his place and power?
It is enough for him that the Great God rules in righteous
sovereignty, gives him laws of conduct to be obeyed in reverence,
shows him the evil he is to avoid, the good he is to follow. "The
things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God." Those who have a
world to explore and use, the Almighty to adore and trust, if they
must seek after the secret of existence and ever feel themselves
baffled in the endeavour, may still live nobly, bear patiently, find
blessed life within the limit God has set.
First the industry of man is depicted, that search for the hidden
things of the earth which is significant alike of the craving and
ingenuity of the human mind.
"_Surely there is a mine for silver
And a place for gold which they refine.
Iron is taken out of the earth,
And copper is molten out of the stone.
Man setteth an end to darkness,
And searcheth, to the furthest bound,
The stones of darkness and deathful gloom.
He breaks a shaft away from where men dwell;
They are forgotten of the foot;
Afar from men they hang and swing to and fro._"
The poet has seen, perhaps in Idumæa or in Midian where mines of
copper and gold were wrought by the Egyptians, the various operations
here described. Digging or quarrying, driving tunnels horizontally
into the hills or sinking shafts in the valleys, letting themselves
down by ropes from the edge of a cliff to reach the vein, then,
suspended in mid air, hewing at the ore, the miners variously ply
their craft. Away in remote gorges of the hills the pits they have dug
remain abandoned, forgotten. The long winding passages they make seem
to track to the utmost limit the stones of darkness, stones that are
black with the richness of the ore.
On the earth's surface men till their fields, but the hidden treasures
that lie below are more valuable than the harvest of maize or wheat.
"_As for the earth, out of it cometh bread;
And from beneath it is turned up as by fire.
The stones thereof are the place of sapphires,
And it hath dust of gold._"
The reference to fire as an agent in turning up the earth appears to
mark a volcanic district, but sapphires and gold are found either in
alluvial soil or associated with gneiss and quartz. Perhaps the fire
was that used by the miners to split refractory rock. And the cunning
of man is seen in this, that he carries into the very heart of the
mountains a path which no vulture or falcon ever saw, which the proud
beasts and fierce lions have not trodden.
"_He puts forth his hand upon the flinty rock,
He overturneth mountains by the roots._"
Slowly indeed as compared with modern work of the kind, yet surely,
where those earnest toilers desired a way, excavations went on and
tunnels were formed with wedge and hammer and pickaxe. The skill of
man in providing tools and devising methods, and his patience and
assiduity made him master of the very mountains. And when he had found
the ore he could extract its precious metal and gems.
"_He cutteth out channels among the rocks;
And his eye seeth every precious thing.
He bindeth the streams that they trickle not;
And the hidden thing brings he forth to light._"
For washing his ore when it has been crushed he needs supplies of
water, and to this end makes long aqueducts. In Idumæa a whole range
of reservoirs may still be seen, by means of which even in the dry
season the work of gold-washing might be carried on without
interruption. No particle of the precious metal escaped the quick eye
of the practised miner. And again, if water began to percolate into
his shaft or tunnel, he had skill to bind the streams that his search
might not be hindered.
Such then is man's skill, such are his perseverance and success in the
quest of things he counts valuable--iron for his tools, copper to
fashion into vessels, gold and silver to adorn the crowns of kings,
sapphires to gleam upon their raiment. And if in the depths of earth
or anywhere the secrets of life could be reached, men of eager
adventurous spirit would sooner or later find them out.
It is to be noticed that, in the account given here of the search
after hidden things, attention is confined to mining operations. And
this may appear strange, the general subject being the quest of
wisdom, that is understanding of the principles and methods by which
the Divine government of the world is carried on. There was in those
days a method of research, widely practised, to which some allusion
might have been expected--the so-called art of astrology. The
Chaldæans had for centuries observed the stars, chronicled their
apparent movements, measured the distances of the planets from each
other in their unexplained progress through the constellations. On
this survey of the heavens was built up a whole code of rules for
predicting events. The stars which culminated at the time of any one's
birth, the planets visible when an undertaking was begun, were
supposed to indicate prosperity or disaster. The author of the Book of
Job could not be ignorant of this art. Why does he not mention it? Why
does he not point out that by watching the stars man seeks in vain to
penetrate Divine secrets? And the reply would seem to be that keeping
absolute silence in regard to astrology he meant to refuse it as a
method of inquiry. Patient, eager labour among the rocks and stones is
the type of fruitful endeavour. Astrology is not in any way useful;
nothing is reached by that method of questioning nature.
The poet proceeds:--
"_Where shall wisdom be found,
And where is the place of understanding?
Man knoweth not the way thereof,
Neither is it to be found in the land of the living.
The deep saith, It is not in me;
And the sea saith, It is not with me._"
The whole range of the physical cosmos, whether open to the
examination of man or beyond his reach, is here declared incapable of
supplying the clue to that underlying idea by which the course of
things is ordered. The land of the living is the surface of the earth
which men inhabit. The deep is the under-world. Neither there nor in
the sea is the great secret to be found. As for its price, however
earnestly men may desire to possess themselves of it, no treasures are
of any use it is not to be bought in any market.
"_Never is wisdom got for gold,
Nor for its price can silver be told.
For the gold of Ophir it may not be won,
The onyx rare or the sapphire stone.
Gold is no measure and glass no hire,
Jewels of gold twice fined by fire.
Coral and crystal tell in vain,
Pearls of the deep for wisdom's gain.
Topaz of Cush avails thee nought,
Nor with gold of glory is it bought._"
While wisdom is thus of value incommensurate with all else men count
precious and rare, it is equally beyond the reach of all other forms
of mundane life. The birds that soar high into the atmosphere see
nothing of it, nor does any creature that wanders far into
uninhabitable wilds. Abaddon and Death indeed, the devouring abyss and
that silent world which seems to gather and keep all secrets, have
heard a rumour of it. Beyond the range of mortal sense some hint there
may be of a Divine plan governing the mutations of existence, the
fulfilment of which will throw light on the underworld where the
spirits of the departed wait in age-long night. But death has no
knowledge any more than life. Wisdom is God's prerogative, His
activities are His own to order and fulfil.
"_God understandeth the way thereof,
And He knoweth the place thereof.
For He looketh to the ends of the earth,
And seeth under the whole heaven,
Making weight for the winds;
And He meteth out the waters by measure.
When He made a decree for the rain,
And a way for the lightning of thunder,
Then did He see it and number it,
He established it, yea, and searched it out._"
The evolution, as we should say, of the order of nature gives fixed
and visible embodiment to the wisdom of God. We must conclude,
therefore, that the poet indicates the complete idea of the world as a
cosmos governed by subtle all-pervading law for moral ends. The
creation of the visible universe is assumed to begin, and with the
created before Him God sees its capacities, determines the use to
which its forces are to be put, the relation all things are to have to
each other, to the life of man and to His own glory. But the hokhma or
understanding of this remains for ever beyond the discovery of the
human intellect. Man knoweth not the way thereof. The forces of earth
and air and sea and the deep that lieth under do not reveal the secret
of their working; they are but instruments. And the end of all is not
to be found in Sheol, in the silent world of the dead. God Himself is
the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last.
Yet man has his life and his law. Though intellectual understanding of
his world and destiny may fail however earnestly he pursues the quest,
he should obtain the knowledge that comes by reverence and obedience.
He can adore God, he can distinguish good from evil and seek what is
right and true. There lies his hokhma, there, says the poet, it must
continue to lie.
"_And unto man He said,
Behold the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom,
And to depart from evil is understanding._"
The conclusion lays a hush upon man's thought--but leaves it with a
doctrine of God and faith reaching above the limitations of time and
sense. Reverence for the Divine will not fully known, the pursuit of
holiness, fear of the Unseen God are no agnosticism, they are the true
springs of religious life.
XXIV.
_AS A PRINCE BEFORE THE KING._
JOB SPEAKS. CHAPS. xxix.-xxxi.
From the pain and desolation to which he has become inured as a
pitiable second state of existence, Job looks back to the years of
prosperity and health which in long succession he once enjoyed. This
parable or review of the past ends his contention. Honour and
blessedness are apparently denied him for ever. With what has been he
compares his present misery and proceeds to a bold and noble
vindication of his character alike from secret and from flagrant sins.
In the whole circle of Job's lamentations this chant is perhaps the most
affecting. The language is very beautiful, in the finest style of the
poet, and the minor cadences of the music are such as many of us can
sympathise with. When the years of youth go by and strength wanes, the
Eden we once dwelt in seems passing fair. Of those beyond middle life
there are few who do not set their early memories in sharp contrast to
the ways they now travel, looking back to a happy valley and long bright
summers that are left behind. And even in opening manhood and womanhood
the troubles of life often fall, as we may think, prematurely, coming
between the mind and the remembered joy of burdenless existence.
"How changed are they!--how changed am I!
The early spring of life is gone,
Gone is each youthful vanity,--
But what with years, oh what is won?
"I know not--but while standing now
Where opened first the heart of youth,
I recollect how high would glow
Its thoughts of Glory, Faith, and Truth--
"How full it was of good and great,
How true to heaven, how warm to men.
Alas! I scarce forbear to hate
The colder breast I bring again."
First in the years past Job sees by the light of memory the
blessedness he had when the Almighty was felt to be his preserver and
his strength. Though now God appears to have become an enemy he will
not deny that once he had a very different experience. Then nature was
friendly, no harm came to him; he was not afraid of the pestilence
that walketh in darkness nor the destruction that wasteth at noon-day,
for the Almighty was his refuge and fortress. To refuse this tribute
of gratitude is far from the mind of Job, and the expression of it is
a sign that now at length he is come to a better mind. He seems on the
way fully to recover his trust.
The elements of his former happiness are recounted in detail. God
watched over him with constant care, the lamp of Divine love shone on
high and lighted up the darkness, so that even in the night he could
travel by a way he knew not and feel secure. Days of strength and
pleasure were those when the secret of God, the sense of intimate
fellowship with God, was on his tent, when his children were about
him, that beautiful band of sons and daughters who were his pride.
Then his steps were bathed in abundance, butter provided by
innumerable kine, rivers of oil which seemed to flow from the rock,
where terrace above terrace the olives grew luxuriantly and yielded
their fruit without fail.
Chiefly Job remembers with gratitude to God the esteem in which he was
held by all about him. Nature was friendly and not less friendly were
men. When he went into the city and took his seat in the "broad place"
within the gate, he was acknowledged chief of the council and court of
judgment. The young men withdrew and stood aside, yea the elders,
already seated in the place of assembly, stood up to receive him as
their superior in position and wisdom. Discussion was suspended that
he might hear and decide. And the reasons for this respect are given.
In the society thus with idyllic touches represented, two qualities
were highly esteemed--regard for the poor and wisdom in counsel. Then,
as now, the problem of poverty caused great concern to the elders of
cities. Though the population of an Arabian town could not be great,
there were many widows and fatherless children, families reduced to
beggary by disease or the failure of their poor means of livelihood,
blind and lame persons utterly dependent on charity, besides wandering
strangers and the vagrants of the desert. By his princely munificence
to these Job had earned the gratitude of the whole region. Need was
met, poverty relieved, justice done in every case. He recounts what he
did, not in boastfulness, but as one who rejoiced in the ability God
had given him to aid suffering fellow-creatures. Those were indeed
royal times for the generous-hearted man. Full of public spirit, his
ear and hand always open, giving freely out of his abundance, he
commended himself to the affectionate regard of the whole valley. The
ready way of almsgiving was that alone by which relief was provided
for the destitute, and Job was never appealed to in vain.
"_The ear that heard me blessed me,
The eye that saw bare witness to me,
Because I delivered the poor that cried,
And the fatherless who had no helper.
The blessing of him that was ready to die came upon me,
And I caused the widow's heart to sing with joy._"
So far Job rejoices in the recollection of what he had been able to do
for the distressed and needy in those days when the lamp of God shone
over him. He proceeds to speak of his service as magistrate or judge.
"_I put on righteousness and it indued itself with me,
My justice was as a robe and a diadem;
I was eyes to the blind,
And feet was I to the lame._"
With righteousness in his heart so that all he said and did revealed
it and wearing judgment as a turban, he sat and administered justice
among the people. Those who had lost their sight and were unable to
find the men that had wronged them came to him and he was as eyes to
them, following up every clue to the crime that had been committed.
The lame who could not pursue their enemies appealed to him and he
took up their cause. The poor, suffering under oppression, found him a
protector, a father. Yea, "_the cause of him that I knew not I
searched out_." On behalf of total strangers as well as of neighbours
he set in motion the machinery of justice.
"_And I brake the jaws of the wicked
And plucked the spoil from his teeth._"
None were so formidable, so daring and lion-like, but he faced them,
brought them to judgment and compelled them to give up what they had
taken by fraud and violence.
In those days, Job confesses, he had the dream that as he was
prosperous, powerful, helpful to others by the grace of God, so he
would continue. Why should any trouble fall on one who used power
conscientiously for his neighbours? Would not Eloah sustain the man
who was as a god to others?
"_Then I said, I shall die in my nest,
And I shall multiply my days as the Phœnix;
My root shall spread out by the waters,
And the dew shall be all night on my branch;
My glory shall be fresh in me,
And my bow shall be renewed in my hand._"
A fine touch of the dream-life which ran on from year to year, bright
and blessed as if it would flow for ever. Death and disaster were far
away. He would renew his life like the Phœnix, attain to the age of
the antediluvian fathers, and have his glory or life strong in him for
uncounted years. So illusion flattered him, the very image he uses
pointing to the futility of the hope.