1 Why boastest thou in wickedness, O tyrant?
God's loving-kindness lasts always.
2 Destructions does thy tongue devise;
Like a sharpened razor, thou framer of deceit!
3 Thou lovest evil rather than good;
A lie rather than speaking righteousness. Selah.
4 Thou lovest all words that swallow men up,
Thou deceitful tongue!
5 So God shall break thee down for ever,
Shall lay hold of thee and drag thee out of the tent,
And root thee out of the land of the living. Selah.
6 And the righteous shall see and fear,
And at him shall they laugh.
7 "See! the man that made not God his stronghold,
And trusted in the abundance of his wealth,
And felt strong in his evil desire."
8 But I am like a flourishing olive tree in the house of God:
I trust in the loving-kindness of God for ever and aye.
9 I will give Thee thanks for ever, for Thou hast done [this]:
And I will wait on Thy name before Thy favoured ones, for it is
good.
The progress of feeling in this psalm is clear, but there is no very
distinct division into strophes, and one of the two Selahs does not
mark a transition, though it does make a pause. First, the poet, with
a few indignant and contemptuous touches, dashes on his canvas an
outline portrait of an arrogant oppressor, whose weapon was slander
and his words like pits of ruin. Then, with vehement, exulting
metaphors, he pictures his destruction. On it follow reverent awe
of God, whose justice is thereby displayed, and deepened sense in
righteous hearts of the folly of trust in anything but Him. Finally,
the singer contrasts with thankfulness his own happy continuance in
fellowship with God with the oppressor's fate, and renews his resolve
of praise and patient waiting.
The themes are familiar, and their treatment has nothing distinctive.
The portrait of the oppressor does not strike one as a likeness either
of the Edomite herdsman Doeg, with whose betrayal of David's asylum
at Nob the superscription connects the psalm, or of Saul, to whom
Hengstenberg, feeling the difficulty of seeing Doeg in it, refers it.
Malicious lies and arrogant trust in riches were not the crimes that
cried for vengeance in the bloody massacre at Nob. Cheyne would bring
this group of "Davidic" psalms (lii.-lix.) down to the Persian period
("Orig. of Psalt.," 121-23). Olshausen, after Theodore of Mopsuestia
(see Cheyne _loc. cit._) to the Maccabean. But the grounds alleged are
scarcely strong enough to carry more than the weight of a "may be";
and it is better to recognise that, if the superscription is thrown
over, the psalm itself does not yield sufficiently characteristic
marks to enable us to fix its date. It may be worth considering
whether the very absence of any obvious correspondences with David's
circumstances does not show that the superscription rested on a
tradition earlier than itself, and not on an editor's discernment.
The abrupt question at the beginning reveals the psalmist's long-pent
indignation. He has been silently brooding over the swollen arrogance
and malicious lies of the tyrant, till he can restrain himself no
longer, and out pours a fiery flood. Evil gloried in is worse than
evil done. The word rendered in the A.V. and R.V. "mighty man" is here
used in a bad sense, to indicate that he has not only a giant's power,
but uses it tyrannously, like a giant. How dramatically the abrupt
question is followed by the equally abrupt thought of the ever-during
loving-kindness of God! That makes the tyrant's boast supremely absurd,
and the psalmist's confidence reasonable, even in face of hostile power.
The prominence given to sins of speech is peculiar. We should have
expected high-handed violence rather than these. But the psalmist is
tracking the deeds to their source; and it is not so much the tyrant's
words as his love of a certain kind of words which is adduced as proof
of his wickedness. These words have two characteristics in addition to
boastfulness. They are false and destructive. They are, according to
the forcible literal meaning in ver. 4, "words of swallowing." They
are, according to the literal meaning of "destructions," in ver. 2,
"yawning gulfs." Such words lead to acts which make a tyrant. They
flow from perverted preference of evil to good. Thus the deeds of
oppression are followed up to their den and birthplace. Part of the
description of the "words" corresponds to the fatal effect of Doeg's
report; but nothing in it answers to the other part--falsehood. The
psalmist's hot indignation speaks in the triple, direct address to
the tyrant, which comes in each case like a lightning flash at the
end of a clause (vv. 1, 2, 4). In the second of these the epithet
"framing deceit" does not refer to the "sharpened razor," but to the
tyrant. If referred to the former, it weakens rather than strengthens
the metaphor, by bringing in the idea that the sharp blade misses its
proper aim, and wounds cheeks instead of shearing off hair. The Selah
of ver. 3 interrupts the description, in order to fix attention, by a
pause filled up by music, on the hideous picture thus drawn.
That description is resumed and summarised in ver. 4, which, by the
Selahs, is closely bound to ver. 5, in order to enforce the necessary
connection of sin and punishment, which is strongly underlined by
the "also" or "so" at the beginning of the latter verse. The stern
prophecy of destruction is based upon no outward signs of failure in
the oppressor's might, but wholly on confidence in God's continual
loving-kindness, which must needs assume attributes of justice when its
objects are oppressed. A tone of triumph vibrates through the imagery of
ver. 5, which is not in the same key as Christ has set for us.
It is easy for those who have never lived under grinding, godless
tyranny to reprobate the exultation of the oppressed at the sweeping
away of their oppressors; but if the critics had seen their brethren
set up as torches to light Nero's gardens, perhaps they would have
known some thrill of righteous joy when they heard that he was dead.
Three strong metaphors describe the fall of this tyrant. He is broken
down, as a building levelled with the ground. He is laid hold of, as
a coal in the fire, with tongs (for so the word means), and dragged,
as in that iron grip, out of the midst of his dwelling. He is uprooted
like a tree with all its pride of leafage. Another blast of trumpets
or clang of harps or clash of cymbals bids the listeners gaze on the
spectacle of insolent strength laid prone, and withering as it lies.
The third movement of thought (vv. 6, 7) deals with the effects of
this retribution. It is a conspicuous demonstration of God's justice
and of the folly of reliance on anything but Himself. The fear which
it produces in the "righteous" is reverential awe, not dread lest the
same should happen to them. Whether or not history and experience
teach evil men that "verily there is a God that judgeth," their
lessons are not wasted on devout and righteous souls. But this is the
tragedy of life, that its teachings are prized most by those who have
already learned them, and that those who need them most consider them
least. Other tyrants are glad when a rival is swept off the field, but
are not arrested in their own course. It is left to "the righteous" to
draw the lesson which all men should have learned. Although they are
pictured as laughing at the ruin, that is not the main effect of it.
Rather it deepens conviction, and is a "modern instance" witnessing to
the continual truth of "an old saw." There is one safe stronghold, and
only one. He who conceits himself to be strong in his own evil, and,
instead of relying on God, trusts in material resources, will sooner
or later be levelled with the ground, dragged, resisting vainly the
tremendous grasp, from his tent, and laid prostrate, as melancholy a
spectacle as a great tree blown down by tempest, with its roots turned
up to the sky and its arms with drooping leaves trailing on the ground.
A swift turn of feeling carries the singer to rejoice in the contrast
of his own lot. No uprooting does he fear. It may be questioned
whether the words "in the house of God" refer to the psalmist or
to the olive tree. Apparently there were trees in the Temple area
(Psalm xcii. 13); but the parallel in the next clause, "in the
loving-kindness of God," points to the reference of the words to the
speaker. Dwelling in enjoyment of God's fellowship, as symbolised
by and realised through presence in the sanctuary, whether it were
at Nob or in Jerusalem, he dreads no such forcible removal as had
befallen the tyrant. Communion with God is the source of flourishing
and fruitfulness, and the guarantee of its own continuance. Nothing in
the changes of outward life need touch it. The mists which lay on the
psalmist's horizon are cleared away for us, who know that "for ever
and aye" designates a proper eternity of dwelling in the higher house
and drinking the full dew of God's loving-kindness. Such consciousness
of present blessedness in communion lifts a soul to prophetic
realisation of deliverance, even while no change has occurred in
circumstances. The tyrant is still boasting; but the psalmist's
tightened hold of God enables him to see "things that are not as
though they were," and to anticipate actual deliverance by praise for
it. It is the prerogative of faith to alter tenses, and to say, Thou
hast done, when the world's grammar would say, Thou wilt do. "I will
_wait on_ Thy name" is singular, since what is done "in the presence
of Thy favoured ones" would naturally be something seen or heard by
them. The reading "I will declare" has been suggested. But surely the
attitude of patient, silent expectance implied in "wait" may very
well be conceived as maintained in the presence of, and perceptible
by, those who had like dispositions, and who would sympathise and be
helped thereby. Individual blessings are rightly used when they lead
to participation in common thankfulness and quiet trust.